Having no idea who could be here, I rose and walked the short distance to the door. Rhage peeked his head out, ears flattened as I rose on the tips of my sock-covered toes and peered through the tiny hole . . . which showed me nothing more than maybe a distorted view of a chest, but who really knew?
Peepholes were so pointless.
Settling back on my feet, I threw the deadbolt and cracked the door open. My stomach immediately pitched.
Under the bright overhead light, Brock stood in front of my apartment door. “Hey.” He planted a hand against the frame of the door and gave me that half-smile while he kept his other hand behind his back. “You busy?”
For several seconds, I couldn’t even find the words to formulate what I needed to say and then I blurted out, “How do you know where I live?”
“You’re my employee. I have all your tax information, which has your address,” he explained. My gaze snagged on the thin silver chain hanging from his neck, disappearing under the collar of his gray Henley. “And if I didn’t have that, pretty sure Andrew would’ve given it to me.”
My dad so would have, too. “Can I just point out that showing up at my apartment unannounced is kind of creepy?”
The look to his lazy grin said he probably hadn’t thought of that and he also didn’t care. “You going to let me in?”
I gripped the door handle. “Why are you here?”
“I wanted to talk to you.”
My brows flew up. “And you couldn’t have done that at work?”
“Nope,” he replied.
“And since you’ve been looking at my employment documents, you would’ve seen my phone number. So you also couldn’t have called me?”
“I don’t like talking on the phone.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Are you for real?”
“As real as a heart attack.”
Jerking my head back, I stared way up at him. “Did you seriously just say that out loud?”
“Maybe I did.” One shoulder rose as the grin reached his eyes. “Are you going to let me in, Jillybean?”
“Not if you call me that,” I shot back.
He tipped his head down, and there was a soft flutter in my chest. “Why do you have a problem with me calling you that?”
“Maybe because I’m not twelve years old anymore?”
“Hmm.” Brock straightened. “I doubt that’s the reason.”
“Whatever,” I muttered. “What do you want to talk about?”
“I’ll tell you if you let me in.” His gaze turned shrewd. “Would you be more open to letting me in if you knew I brought something for you?”
The center of my cheeks heated. “You shouldn’t have brought anything for me.”
“Well, it’s too late for that, because I did.” He cocked his head to the side. “And I think once you see it, you’ll be really, really happy you let me in.”
“I don’t care about what you’ve brought.”
“I don’t think you’d say that if you knew what I have.”
I shifted my weight from one foot to the next as I glanced behind him. Cool air was drifting into my apartment, and if I weren’t careful, Rhage would sneak out. I nibbled on my lower lip as I weighed my options. Letting him in wasn’t like I was opening myself to anything other than having a conversation with him.
“Decisions, decisions,” Brock murmured.
Rolling my eyes, I stepped back and grumbled, “Come in.”
Brock dropped his hand and walked inside, his head turning as his gaze swept over me. I closed the door.
“Nice socks,” he commented. “You know, it’s like you’re recognizing two seasons right now—summer and winter.”
I glanced down at myself. Oh crap! I’d forgotten I was wearing cotton sleep shorts paired with knee-high socks. And these were short shorts. Grateful that I was wearing a long cardigan over the shirt, I self-consciously tugged on the hem of my shorts while he looked around the apartment. I saw he had a little brown bag dangling from his fingertips.
“So,” I said, fiddling with the sleeves on my cardigan, “what did you bring me?”
“Oh, so now you’re curious about what’s in the bag?”
Crossing my arms, I stared at him while I hoped it wasn’t obvious that I wasn’t wearing a bra, because I could feel my nipples pressing against the shirt I wore.
Brock chuckled as he lifted the bag and reached inside, pulling out a small white carton. He then turned, spying the small kitchen. “So, how long have you lived here?”
“Um, I don’t know.” I watched him walk over to the island and place the carton and bag on it. “I think I moved in here about four years ago.”
“Nice place.” His gaze strayed to the stack of books on the other end of the island, and a fond smile appeared as he started to open the carton. “It’s safe here?”
“Yeah. There have never been any problems here.” I crept closer. “Most of the people who live here are married or work in D.C and commute.” My gaze dropped to his back. Did he ever get the large phoenix tattoo colored and filled in? I bet he did and it looked amazing. Then again, his back with all those ropey muscles always looked amazing. “So, where . . . where do you live now?”
“I bought a house outside of Shepherdstown,” he told me. “Got an amazing view of the river. You need to see it.”
I stopped walking, thinking his fiancée might not be too keen on that. Then again, I doubted she would see me as a threat.