Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 110201 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 551(@200wpm)___ 441(@250wpm)___ 367(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 110201 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 551(@200wpm)___ 441(@250wpm)___ 367(@300wpm)
I sat back on my heels and stared at the cabinet for a moment. It struck me as odd. For a guy who lived alone and never seemed to entertain, why did he need it? It was expensive and high-quality. The same for the large dining room table and its chairs.
Overhead, a floorboard creaked, announcing Clay hadn’t found the cat yet either and I needed to get back to work.
Across the hall from the dining room was his study, and I checked every spot I possibly could, fighting against my curiosity to snoop. I was nosy-natured, and he was an enigma, so it was tempting, but somehow I managed to resist. Only the things out in the open were allowed to grab my attention—like the drafting table next to the bay window. There were blueprints clipped to it, except they didn’t seem to be for his kitchen remodel. Whatever this building was, it was huge.
My focus had to move on.
There was a bedroom on the main floor, and once I realized it was the master suite, it was torturous to stay on-task. This was his room, full of dark-colored wood and secrets only someone close to him would know. Like how he slept on the left side of his big bed.
And he wore boxer-briefs.
I knew because the chair in the corner had become a catch-all of clothes, including a black pair of underwear. I began to picture what he’d look like in them, and then immediately forced it from my mind.
Come on, Lilith. Stop thinking about banging your next-door neighbor for two seconds.
There was nothing hidden under his bed except a pair of discarded socks. Where the heck had this cat run off to? I strode through Clay’s bathroom and into his large closet, but a thorough scan confirmed I was the only creature in here. Surrounded by his suits and dress shirts, it felt . . . intimate. I put a hand out, brushing my palm over the soft fabric of his suit sleeves—
“What are you doing?” His tone was brusque.
I nearly yelped in surprise, dropping my hand, and spun to face him. “Sorry.” Embarrassed warmth crawled along my cheeks. He stared at me through his sexy glasses, his chest rising and falling with his hurried breath.
Only I had the strange feeling he wasn’t irritated at me. The longer I gazed at him, the more I began to wonder if this was something else. His expression was impossible to read. Was he anxious?
Or intrigued?
I lifted my chin and pretended he hadn’t just caught me petting his clothes like a lunatic. “I take it you haven’t found the cat yet?”
He set a hand on his hip and let out a sigh. “No.”
Silence seeped into the space, bringing tension along with it. It seemed like he realized it at the same moment I did, just how alone we were in this small space with him blocking my exit. My brain warned me it was possible the cat didn’t exist. This man was my neighbor, but he was still a stranger, and I’d walked willingly into his house. Right into what could have been his trap.
But if that were true, why did he look like he was the one who’d been cornered? His hands hung awkwardly at his sides and were curled into loose fists. Not with anger, but . . . maybe discomfort? As if my presence in this space was causing him distress.
A voice inside me whispered the cat might not be the only wounded animal inside his house.
“I don’t know where he could be.” He sounded defeated. “I’ve looked everywhere.”
“It’s okay,” I said quietly. “We’ll find him.”
Clay was skeptical as he used a knuckle to push up the dark-framed glasses on the bridge of his nose, but he nodded.
“I can look upstairs—” A thought struck me. “Wait. Don’t you have a basement?” Most houses in our subdivision didn’t, which was why I remembered. “My mom and I walked through an open house before you bought this place last year.”
If he was uncomfortable I had invaded his closet, now he looked downright terrified at the idea of me going deeper inside his home. Something like panic flitted through his eyes, and his words came out in a rush. “He’s not down there. I always keep the door shut.”
Well. His quick response made me quirk an eyebrow. Maybe he was a serial killer.
He straightened and attempted to act natural. “He’s probably somewhere on the main floor. The kitchen, or the laundry room, or maybe the study.”
“Laundry room?” Oh, I was an idiot. “It’s off the kitchen, right? I totally missed it.” I’d gotten distracted by all the boxes and the renovations.
He led the way, both of us moving quickly out of his bedroom, down the hall, and through the kitchen.
The laundry room wasn’t much bigger than his closet. There was only space for his washer and dryer, but I put my hands on top of one of them and leaned over to look behind. Beneath the accordion dryer vent, I spotted a patch of white fur.