Page 91 of Final Shift
“Ethan?”
“Hmm?”
“How’d you really get in?”
“Does it matter?”
“Considering I am a woman and I live alone, yes, it matters.”
Ethan went still. When he turned, his eyes held a touch of glow. “No one would harm you here. If they tried, you would gut them.”
His confidence in my gutting skills warmed the cockles of my cold, dead heart, but even I wasn’t invulnerable. I tugged my sweater closer and shivered.
His eyes snapped to the belt of my sweater. “You’re cold. Do you have a heavier cardigan?”
“Ethan. How did you get inside my apartment?”
“You need better locks,” was all he said before he stormed past me, heading toward my bedroom.
I scrambled after him. “What the hell? Ethan!”
He barreled through my bedroom door and went straight to my closet to flip through my clothing.
“You cannot be in here!”
“Why don’t you have more sweaters?”
I shoved against his side. “Get out of my bedroom!”
A lacy nightgown lay carelessly tossed across my recliner and the bed was still unmade. I’d tossed my slippers in a haphazard pile by the nightstand, and a racy dark romance novel lay face down by the lamp. Heat rose to my cheeks.
“You’re cold all the time, Moira. Why haven’t you bought anything?”
“Because I’m busy!” Lies. I kept forgetting, only remembering when I was back home and shivering in the few cardigans I had.
I wore the cashmere he bought me all the time, but what I really needed were a few heavy wrap sweaters to wear around the house.
His lips thinned. “If you lived in my territory, I would remedy this.”
I huffed. “Rowan is not my dad, nor is he my Lord. I am not a shifter, lest you forget!”
“You are one of his people.”
I crossed my arms over my chest. “I’m Evie’s people.”
“Then why hasn’t she bought any for you?”
“Because I’m a grown woman!” I shoved him one more time, but he was a brick wall.
Ethan reached out and gripped the cardigan I wore, rubbing the fabric between his fingers. “Cashmere but too thin. Two ply.” He clicked his tongue. “Cheap, Moira. You’re a vampire. I know you’ve got a hoard of cash stashed away for a rainy day.”
“Oh my gods. I’m going to murder you.” Also, how did this guy know the ply of cashmere fabric?
This time he let me push him out of the closet and back into the kitchen. The bastard hadn’t spilled a drop of his tea. “Have you decided?”
“If I had, my answer would change after this stunt,” I muttered.
His stunning eyes narrowed. “How often do you wear that nightie you threw on your chair?”
