“Why?” she asked, standing and facing him. Probably closer than he wanted to be. The few times they’d gotten close, she’d noticed that he smelled clean and uniquely manly, but she doubted the man knew what cologne was. She liked the freshness of him. She’d smelled a lot of great colognes, but Zeke’s scent was his alone. It fit him, and it drew her in as surely as his tough confidence as a soldier did. She also liked the glimpses of when his confidence had slipped. When Holly pushed him or when he had to hold her hand for the prayer.
“Just to cover our bases,” he said. “Would you like me to hang your clothes as I go over them?”
“Sure.” She smiled at that. This tough guy was going to hang up her clothes. What would he do with her underwear? It would be fun to watch. She stood back and gestured to him. “Go ahead.”
He only stared at her. “I’m sure you have … something other to do than watch me.”
“Nope.” She lifted her hands. “Blaine and Charlie didn’t let me bring my phone or laptop so I have no work to deal with, no emails to check, no business books to read, and no social media to scroll through.”
“That’s good.”
“Good that I’m going to be bored like a loafer until that scum is caught?” She arched an eyebrow. She loved her work. As a youth she’d designed everything with a pencil, making her own patterns by hand. Of necessity through her schooling and her career, she’d learned to master the computer programs they offered and then had a brilliant software designer work with her to come up with her own. It now outsold others on the market.
She could sketch by hand again. That would be fun and a great creative outlet.
“No, I didn’t mean that,” he said. “I’m sure with your energy level, ‘loafing’ is not possible.”
She smiled. It was cute how he tried to use a British term.
“I meant that if your stalker does know you personally, he could’ve tampered with your phone or computer and installed a tracking program.”
“Hmm. So I guess I’ll just read the stack of romance novels Myrna brought over.”
His eyes widened, and his cheeks darkened.
“Or I’ll watch you go through my clothes.” She smiled broadly. “I enjoy watching you.” She was baiting him, but she was also telling the truth.
“You like watching me?” he repeated, as if he’d never heard such a thing in his life.
“Come now,” she goaded him. “You can’t tell me women haven’t gone bonkers over your handsome face and fit body your entire life.”
He eased away from her but bumped into a shelf. She didn’t succeed at hiding her smile.
“I don’t … I’m not very confident with women.” He looked away, rubbed at his neck, and then balled his hands into fists at his sides as if humiliated he’d said that much.
Mia stared at him, shock filling her. “That’s impossible,” she protested, drawing his gaze back to her. “You strut around like you’re the king of the world. You could bully best any man in the world. I’ve never seen a man as blindingly confident as you are, even on the telly. Every woman probably pursues you.”
He didn’t respond for a few seconds, as if weighing her words or possibly measuring his next ones. Finally, he said, “I could best any man in the world, but I don’t strut.”
“Oh, pardon me, but you absolutely do strut.” She wished he’d told her he didn’t want women pursuing him, but what man wouldn’t? They probably came at him in droves.
Mia pushed out her chest and tried to imitate his walk, all swagger and toughness. Turning back to him, she liked how the faint smile on his lips transformed him, softening his face and making him more approachable. “See? That’s how you walk. Proving to chaps everywhere that they’d better stand down or Captain Zeke will knock them down.”
He actually laughed. Mia froze as the warmth of that laugh filled her. It was the most delightful chuckle she’d ever coerced from a person. Then his laughter stopped far too quickly, and he was rubbing at his neck again.
“So you’re trying to tell me that you’re confident in your walk and confident in your walloping of any man who challenges you and confident in your military and protection and all those wonderful talents you have, but you’re not confident with women?” She stared intently at him, loving the way his grayish-blue eyes got bluer.
Instead of answering about his lack of confidence with women, he deflected, “Don’t you feel most people are confident in some areas of their lives but nobody’s confident in all areas?”
“Broaden that argument.”
He smiled slightly. “Well, I’m definitely confident in my fighting and any combat or leadership skills regarding combat, but I couldn’t create clothing like you do.”
“Okay, I’ll give you that. Yes, I definitely excel at creating, the business world, and I’m confident in any social situation because I was trained and expected to be from birth on up, but I’d have no clue how to … combat anything. I bow to your superior knowledge.” She bowed slightly, grateful for his expertise and that they were talking so easily. He might shy away from touch, but at least he could hold up his end of a conversation. She was thoroughly enjoying this, and almost forgot they were in the closet of a fallen heroic warrior, hiding from a psycho stalker, and would be awkwardly sleeping in the same room in a few hours.
“Well, thank you. I bow to yours.” Of course he didn’t so much as incline his head.
“You’ve never created anything?” she asked. “I mean …” She scanned her brain for things a military man would create. Creativity was such a part of her that she couldn’t fathom not having that outlet most days of the week. Sunday was the only day she never worked. Besides her December siesta or holiday. “You’ve never tried to whittle an arrow or file metal into a knife or form a spearhead from a rock or an axe from … whatever axes are made from?” Something flashed in his eyes, and she blinked in surprise. “You have. Oh my, you have. Tell me all about it.” She made the mistake of grasping his arm. He stiffened and the result of rippling muscle under her fingertips was appealing, but she didn’t want to make him uncomfortable. She released him. “Please tell me about it.”