This was risky plan, and I’d been shivering long enough in my spot to begin to second-guess myself. It could backfire and embarrass me, but at the same time, I thought it was unlikely. Clay was attracted to me. He’d said I was one of the most beautiful women he’d ever seen, and his desire had been unmistakable the night I’d talked him into adopting Noir.
He wanted me. He just needed a little push.
And I’d make it as easy and clear as possible I wanted him, too.
I had confidence, but it threatened to run away from me the moment I heard the mechanical hum of the garage door. The sound came from all the way across the house, which meant I had time. I could grab my stack of clothes and dart into the hall bathroom, then emerge once I was dressed. Clay would never know I’d been naked in his study, my bare skin pressed to his leather chair.
A door opened, and the alarm system chirped.
Footsteps crossed the tile floor of his kitchen, followed by a clatter as keys were dropped on a counter. Then, silence . . . as if he had paused.
“Lilith?”
No turning back now. I straightened my posture, lifted my chin, and spoke like my heart wasn’t threatening to beat out of my chest. “I’m in here.”
Clay followed my voice, his feet carrying him down the hall toward the study. I sucked in a preparing breath, leaned an elbow casually on an armrest, and curled my lips into a provocative smile.
When he stepped into view, every muscle in my body tightened. He wore a simple gray t-shirt, jeans, and his sexy black-rimmed glasses. Shit, he looked good. But he pulled up short at the sight of me.
His eyes went wide, and his mouth dropped open, but he didn’t produce a single sound. It was like everything in him had shut down and quit working, including his brain.
“Hey, neighbor.” My tone was sultry. “Welcome home.”
He didn’t blink, and his chest wasn’t moving. Had he forgotten how to breathe? Everything inside me buzzed, thrilled at how I’d stunned him speechless.
I’d hoped to surprise him, and I certainly had, but . . .
It had been cold under the vent, and the longer he stood there and stared at me without moving or saying a word, the worse the chill on my skin became. Time dragged, and dragged, and I swallowed thickly.
“Clay,” I whispered, “are you okay?”
Behind his glasses, his eyes clouded over before his gaze dropped to the floor. “What happened to your clothes?”
I wasn’t prepared for his harsh tone, and it cut through me like a knife. Of all the different emotions I’d anticipated, anger hadn’t been one of them.
“I . . .” My confidence tumbled off a cliff, and I shot to my feet, blood rushing hotly to my face. “I thought you’d like this, but I must have misread the situation. I’m sorry.”
I reached for my clothes on the desk, but his sharp command froze me into place. “Stop.”
The stillness of the room was oppressive, and I was sure if he didn’t say anything else, I’d be frozen like this forever with breath halted in my lungs.
“You thought,” his voice was as precise as the blueprints spread out on his drafting table, “that I’d like this? Seeing you naked?”
Oh, God. My mouth went bone dry, preventing me from speaking.
When he lifted his gaze to mine, it rose slowly up the length of my body, evaluating each curve and every inch of bare flesh.
“You’re right,” he said finally. “I like it a lot.” His expression heated as he took a step closer, but he arched a disapproving eyebrow. “But I don’t do well with surprises. I don’t like the unexpected.”
I had no idea what to say. “Oh. I’m sorry.”
He acted like he hadn’t heard me, because his expression remained stern. “I don’t like my plans being disrupted.”
It bubbled up out of habit. “I’m sorry.”
“And I had plans for you. This,” his gaze swept over my nude form, “is way ahead of my schedule.”
If he had sounded playful or teasing, I would have laughed with nervous excitement—but he hadn’t. If anything, his tone hinted at his annoyance, and it had a strange effect. I was eager to please him, to alleviate his irritation with me, even when I had no fucking idea how. I was already naked and throwing myself at him. It spun me for a loop that he was upset about it. Especially when he’d said he had plans for me and getting naked was on his schedule.
I crossed an arm over my stomach and gripped my elbow, wanting to reach for him but unsure of how he’d feel about it. I regrouped, shifted on my heels, and let go of my elbow so I could put my hand on my hip.
“Oh, yeah?” I tried to achieve the same sultry tone I’d used earlier. “And did your plans include us going downstairs to your workshop?”
My question caught him so off-guard he reared back a step and tension flooded through his frame. “Excuse me?”
Oh, shit. I’d misread his reaction. He wasn’t surprised by my question—he was offended.
His eyes narrowed, and I shrank perfectly in time with them. My brain fumbled and searched for a way to fix it. “It’s beautiful, you know,” I said quickly. “The cross you’ve built, and all of the—”
“I don’t remember giving you permission to go into my basement.” He was hard and cold, even as his eyes burned with outrage. “That’s my private space, and you had no right to be there.”
“That’s not entirely true.” I didn’t like his accusation. “You kept the door closed, and I respected that all week, until I couldn’t avoid it. Yesterday, when I was over here, there was a huge crash, and I needed to make sure something terrible hadn’t happened.”
He paused. “What?”
“Those boards you’d left leaning up against the wall? One of them fell over. I had no idea what that sound was, so you can’t blame me for checking it out. What if it had been part of the ceiling falling or a beam collapsing or something?”
Clay’s gaze slid away from me as he considered this new information. We had to look ridiculous, me standing there buck naked in his study while he was fully clothed.
“I wasn’t snooping, I promise,” I added. “I was trying to be helpful. Trying to be good.”
He repeated the word like it was unfamiliar. “Good.”
“Yeah. I didn’t plan to go down there and find your workshop, but”—I shrugged—“you can’t blame me for looking. I was interested. Don’t worry, I didn’t touch anything, even though I wanted to.”
He looked at me cautiously, unsure if I was telling him the truth.
“And I’ll say it again.” I wanted him to hear the honesty in my words. “The stuff you’ve built? It’s gorgeous. Like, the fucking sexiest art I’ve ever seen.”
His shoulders lifted as he drew in a deep breath, and when he pushed his glasses back on his nose, Clay seemed to collect himself. My compliment had a powerful effect on him, which he tried not to show. He straightened. “It’s not art.”