Her hand, much to her chagrin, was already kind of out. What in God’s name was she going to do with it? Strum her hand down those muscles like she was playing a xylophone solo? Reflexively touch each quadrant, like a child learning to count?
He slapped a fuse into her hand.
And when it seemed she wouldn’t move he slowly, gently curled her fingers closed over it.
Andbang.
Shut the door again.
Shot the bolt.
And killed the lights.
She stood motionless. From just that little touch, her entire self seemed to be humming like a plucked string. How about that? Her subconscious had known he had amazing abs.
The first step she took away from the door was a little unsteady.
The next one was more certain.
Because she’d lay odds he was still watching. And she’d be damned if she’d let on that he’d rattled her.
For some reason, the notion that he was looking out for her was as disturbing and comforting and oddly beautiful as the moon.
It was cold and he didn’t heat the house at night, but Mac stood in his bare feet and boxers and tweezed open his blinds with two fingers to watch Avalon move through the dark, find the basement door, fumble with the keys, then vanish inside.
And despite the fact that she richly deserved a foray into the spidery basement in the deepest dark of night, he was rooting for her.
Because with some logic he barely understood but which was having its way with him now, because his mind was sleepy, it seemed like the world itself wouldn’t be safe unless she was.
And so when the lights blazed on again in the house he smiled.
And a few minutes later, when the lights went back out again, he decided to go back to bed.
He folded his arms around the back of his head and smiled.
Because she was safe, sure. Because of the look on her face when she’d gotten a look at him in those boxers.
But also because of what he had in store for her tomorrow.