Hunt felt the elevator slow and then the doors soundlessly slid open. Music, hot and loud, assaulted his ears and his headache immediately intensified.
Stepping into the hallway, he dumped his briefcase onto the hall table and rubbed his fingers across his temple. This was an ultrasecure building and the only person who had unrestricted access was his cleaner. Since he’d caught Flora using his stereo system before—which he normally didn’t mind—Hunt immediately assumed that her college classes had been switched and she was working late.
Exactly what hedidn’tneed.
Thinking that he needed to kill the music before his head exploded, Hunt stepped into his living area and blinked. He closed his eyes and pushed his forefinger and thumb against his eyelids, hoping the mess would disappear, but when he opened them again, it was still there. His handcrafted, stainless steel and glass-top coffee table was pushed to the side and was piled high with ribbon and festive too-bright wrapping paper.
Sheets of it were scattered across the wildly rare and expensive navy-and-cream carpet made in the ancient city of Tabriz, and piles of presents, all wrapped, were scattered across the room.
Hunt stepped over a heap of Christmas presents for Mae’s kids and picked up the universal remote buried in the detritus on the coffee table. He punched the power button and silence, welcome and warm, fell. Thank you, Jesus, he could finally think.
And God, what a mess. He hated chaos, physical and mental; it reminded him of his less-than-stable childhood, of sharing rooms with far too many boys, of not having any privacy, of feeling out of control.
This was his home and, obviously, Adie had come around sometime today, started on wrapping the presents for Miss Mae’s foster kids and left, shutting the door on the disorder.
Not what he expected...
“Hunt? Is that you?”
Hunt turned at the feminine voice coming from the direction of the kitchen. His heart sighed with pleasure, irritating him further. He wanted to be alone, dammit.
Or heshouldwantto be alone.
And how dare Adie think she had a right to be in his space when he got home, had a right to make a shamble of his very orderly and exquisitely decorated living area?
He heard movement behind him and Hunt’s entire system sighed and settled in a silent, but potent,there she isas Adie walked into his living room, dressed in faded jeans and a thigh-length cream jersey, thick socks on her feet. She held a glass of wine and...
And she looked right.
She looked like she belonged.
And that terrified Hunt.
And because he was scared stupid at how right she felt in his life and in his space, he lashed out. Rationality be damned.
“What the hell are you doing?” he roared.
Adie’s bright smile faded and she followed his eyes to the paper and presents on his floor.
“Uh—”
“You don’t have any right to be here, messing up my place, making yourself at home!”
The glass in her hand wobbled and her complexion changed from warm cream to cold milk. Her eyes turned to burning coals and her lips thinned.
“You told me you’d be done by five!” He tapped the face of his watch. “It’s after nine!”
“I know what time it is, Sheridan,” Adie calmly replied, placing her wineglass on the wooden trunk that served as a side table for his long buffalo hide couch. Hunt strode over to her, picked up her glass and whipped a coaster under the foot to capture the condensation rolling off the glass. The trunks were also antique, made from rare wood and would be impossible to replace if they got water stained.
Adie raised her eyebrows at his actions but Hunt didn’t care. He’d grown up with nothing so he protected and looked after what he had.
Resisting the urge to take a sip from her glass, he strode over to the drinks trolley in the corner and dumped a healthy amount of whiskey in a crystal tumbler. He noticed a dirty glass next to the decanter and irritation rose again. “You’re drinking my wineandmy whiskey? And could you have not taken your dirty glass to the kitchen?”
Adie folded her arms across her chest and the look she handed him was pure disdain. “Wow. Who spat in your cereal?”
Hunt gritted his teeth. “I’ve had a day from hell and all I wanted to do was to come home, zone out in my uncluttered, peaceful home and chill. But it looks like a war zone.”
Adie walked over to his red leather chair and sat down on the edge, bending sideways to lift up a flat-soled, knee-high boot off the floor. She slipped her foot into the shoe and pulled up the zip. Before reaching for the other boot, she looked at him, her pale face annoyed. Annoyed? No, her eyes were blazing with banked fury and held a healthy dose of hurt.