I shift into the bathroom to do a quick makeover. Dakota’s bathroom is old and cramped, with original tile and poor lighting. I’d never rent this place but I know why she does. It’s charming and quirky, just like her.
And I’ve left her out there with Sebastian.
I throw on daytime makeup and run a brush through my hair. The sides are beginning to grow in. I haven’t decided if I want to shave them again or grow my hair out. Or just lop all my hair off. For now, I leave it down and brush the morning nastiness from my mouth.
When I reemerge, I can hear Dakota’s voice carrying from the greenhouse. I round the bend to find her holding up Sebastian’s T-shirt—charcoal gray, today—as she examines his work. “. . . Yes, the crows circling around her head, that very much signifies the sudden loss of her uncle, and the guilt that haunts her.”
I don’t know where she comes up with this shit. She didn’t even smoke a joint this morning.
“Hey!” I exclaim too loudly. Sebastian peers over his shoulder, his arm raised in the air to accommodate Dakota’s intrusion. He has a strange look on his face—part amusement, part annoyance, part unreadable. When his gaze drifts over my outfit, his expression warms a little.
And it warms my body along with it. It’s impossible for me not to react to this man’s attention. We were so close to ending up in my bed last night. As if falling asleep hasn’t been impossible already, add a break-in and complete trashing of the house, and I’m not entirely certain that I was ever fully unconscious last night.
Leaving me plenty of time to think about Sebastian.
He looks like he got about as much sleep as I did, his eyes tarnished with heavy circles. That he still showed up here to help me speaks volumes. It must be in his protective nature. Or he’s still hoping to get laid.
Maybe I’m too cynical.
Regardless, I wonder how long I have him for today, before he leaves.
I direct my focus to Dakota, though I can still feel Sebastian’s eyes on me. “I borrowed your shirt, just until I can get my clothes out of Ned’s. Hope that’s okay.”
Dakota merely winks, and I know it has nothing to do with borrowing her clothes.
“This is really nice work, Ivy. You should be so proud of yourself.”
As awkward as this is, I should probably check on Sebastian’s tattoo. “Did you follow my instructions?” I ask, moving in closer to inspect the swollen lines and pink skin around it. As expected only twelve hours later. But I can tell that he’s already washed off the ointment and coated it with fresh moisturizer.
“It took a while,” he says, lowering his arm. “We should probably get going so we get to your shop for nine, right?”
Dakota and I now seem to be ogling him without shame. I clear my throat. “Yeah. I don’t want the painters taking off.”
Dakota, who still has his shirt hiked up and bunched in her fist, lets it fall. She pats him on the shoulder. “Grab the spare key hanging by the door on your way out.”
I assume that instruction was for me, but who knows with her? “Will you be here later?”
“I’m heading into work soon, but I’ll be back before dinner.” Dakota opened a little store five minutes away, basically replicating the same one that her aunt owned in Sisters, which sold an eclectic collection of art and jewelry made of recycled and natural materials. As far as I can tell, it’s doing quite well, but that would make sense given this is California, and everyone’s about the environment and art.
“Oh, don’t let me forget, I want you to look at a design I did. I’m thinking of having you do one here.” She trails her fingertip down the top of her right shoulder.
I’ve done all of Dakota’s work, save for her first. “All right. I’ll make sure to bring my kit with me when I come back tonight.” To Sebastian, I ask, “Ready?”
He nods, taking quick steps to get in front of me and out the door, as if he’s eager to get away from Dakota as fast as possible.
“I thought you said you knew how to tell time?”
“I said I’m never late.”
“Thirty minutes early is almost as bad as being late.”
“That shirt looks nice on you,” he responds, ignoring my selfish complaint completely.
“Then enjoy it, because it’ll be the last time you see me in anything that resembles bubble gum,” I grumble, opening his passenger-side door. “Can you drop me off at my house after so I can get out of it?”
“Yeah. But I’ll be coming with you. You’re not going in there alone.”
“Is that so?” I roll my eyes, but I can’t ignore the small thrill that zips through my body. God, I think I’m attracted to this dominating side of him, and I hate it when guys try to tell me what to do. But when Sebastian does it, I don’t mind. It makes me feel safe. Maybe that’s because, for the first time in my life, I truly am not safe. “Do you think the burglary might not have been random?”
With his hand on the ignition, he pauses. “Can you think of any reason why someone might want to break into your dead uncle’s house?”
“No.” Same answer I gave to the cops last night. “But there must be a reason.”
“Did he say anything to you recently, about coming into money or needing money?”
“You think this was about money?”
“Everything’s about money,” he says under his breath.
I sigh. “Ned liked to gamble but . . .” I tell Sebastian about the hundred thousand against the building and his empty accounts. “Do you think that’s what it’s about?”
“Could be. Or something he knew about that he shouldn’t. Did he say anything about any of his clients lately? Maybe someone told him something that they shouldn’t have?”
I frown. “No. Nothing he mentioned to me, at least. I told you, he wasn’t exactly the warmest guy. I have a hard time imagining someone spilling their deep, dark secrets to him.”
After a long pause, Sebastian offers, “Well, then it could be nothing.” His face is unreadable. “People in the neighborhood would have heard about your uncle’s death, and unfortunately that means that thieves would assume the house is an easy target.”
I study his face. “But you don’t actually believe that, do you?”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“Because they tore the place to shreds and smashed the flat-screen—the only thing worth stealing in there.”
He sighs, his gaze drifting out the window. “Could have been jacked up on drugs. Could have been pissed off that there was nothing there to take. Whatever the reason, you’re not stepping foot in that house without me again for now. Understood?”
“For now? What does that mean?”
He slides the key into the ignition and cranks the engine, but doesn’t answer.
I guess the bodyguard who showed his protective head last night is here to stay. “I don’t need a bodyguard.”
“No one said you did.”
“I’m serious. I’m not paying you to do this. I can’t afford it.”
He snorts. “I never asked you to.”
Then why are you still here? “Don’t you have things you need to do? People to see?” Maybe that’s the issue. Maybe he has nobody else to fill his time with. Maybe he’s a complete loner, married to his job, with no friends or family. I really don’t know him at all.