7. Gabby

I dragged the nameless man down the hall and away from that wicked witch of a woman before I tugged him into her bedroom.

“Holy shit!” I hissed, finally glancing back at him. “Future grandchildren? Are you saying that racist thing is your mother?”

He stepped up beside me and sent me an annoyed glance. “Not by choice, I assure you.”

“Wow.” I shook my head as I let go of his hand in order to hurry on toward the bathroom. “I mean, just wow. No wonder why I thought you were the devil. You’re Satan’s spawn.”

“Hmm. Original,” he murmured as he kept pace beside me, only to lift a finger in question. “Uh, where exactly are we going?”

“Shh.” I sent him a killer glare. “I left my clothes in her closet.”

“Well, well.” Stalling in the doorway of the closet as I entered so he could lean against the doorjamb, he eyed my hoodie and pants on the floor in the middle of the room with smug amusement. “Look who’s a little liar, after all.”

“Shut up,” I muttered, scowling at him. “I didn’t lie to you. Now turn your back so I can change.”

“Sorry.” Folding his arms stubbornly across his chest, he tossed me a mischievous grin. “But my mommy said not to take my eyes off you. You don’t want me to be a disobedient son, now do you?”

“Turn the fuck around,” I ordered.

“Ouch. Claws. Fine, be a spoilsport.” With a sigh, he slowly turned his back to me. “Just let me know when you need help with that zipper.”

“I got it up by myself, didn’t I?” Dropping the sack on the floor, I reached behind me and fumbled for the zipper’s pull tab. But when I got a hold of it and tugged, nothing budged. “Dammit.”

“The zipper’s stuck, isn’t it?”

“No,” I growled.

He sounded a little too cheerful when he sang, “I think it is.”

Oh my God, I swear, I was going to strangle this man before the night was over. “Will you just get over here and fix it then?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Sounding all too pleased by my incensed frustration, he turned around. What was worse, his voice went silken soft when he stepped directly behind me and whispered, “Gladly,” in my ear. It caused my hormones to shudder in uninvited delight, and I most certainly did not want anything about this man to delight me.

But I drew in a sharp breath of surprised pleasure anyway when his fingers softly brushed the base of my neck as he worked to unsnag the cloth of the dress from the relentless teeth of its stupid zipper. When he finally freed it, he took his sweet time dragging it down my bare spine, exposing more of my flesh, one inch at a time.

Realizing I wasn’t wearing a bra and he could probably see the top of my plain, black cotton panties, I reached back and caught his hand in order to stop him, except he’d already lowered the zipper as far as it could go, and I only ended up tangling my fingers with his large, warm ones and causing a shiver to race across my shoulders before he slowly pulled away with a soft, amused hiss of breath.

The front of the dress started to sag down, so I rushed to clutch it to my chest as I glanced up over my shoulder to meet his gaze.

He said nothing, just looked into my eyes with an intensity that caused heat to pool strong and heavy in the pit of my stomach. Flickers of arousal sparked in the most embarrassing places.

Irritated by all the unwanted desire, I made my voice extra brisk and dismissive when I said, “Thank you.”

He blinked once as if jolted out of a trance. Then he finally reacted to my tone by flashing me a snarky smile that was more predatory than solicitous. “Oh no, sweetness. Thank you.”

Rolling my eyes, I twirled my finger. “Okay, stop smirking and turn back around again.”

His smirk only widened. “You sure there isn’t anything else I can help you remove?”

When his gaze moved to my hand I was using to grip the bit of cloth concealing my breasts, I bit out, “I think I got it from here.”

All the while, I prayed he couldn’t tell how hard my nipples were.

Eyes glittering with knowing relish, he merely murmured, “Your loss,” and turned away before sauntering back to the doorway where he negligently rested a shoulder to wait on me.

I blew out an unsettled breath, then rushed at warp speed to change back into my things.

Once I was finished and pushing my feet into my shoes, I sounded a lot calmer, more professional, and in control of myself again when I said, “Here. Do you think you can hang this back up for—hey!”

My calm fled when I glanced his way and caught the reflection of his face in the vanity mirror of the bathroom that he was facing. At first, I was pissed to think he’d watched me change after all. But then I realized he’d averted his face, lowering it so he couldn’t see me through the mirror.

Raising his eyes now over my question, he murmured, “Hmm?”

When he noticed I was fully clothed, he turned and nodded without a word, taking the dress from my hands so he could hang it for me. I blinked, watching him, shocked he’d been so respectful as to give me my privacy when he easily could’ve watched me without me being aware of it. Huh. I hadn’t expected that from him.

After hooking the dress on its hanger, he squinted at me as if confused by my staring. But then he hitched his chin toward my trash sack. “What about that?”

“What?” I glanced down and cringed. Shit. “I guess I can’t very well carry this out of here now,” I grumbled, kneeling on the floor by the bag and pulling out my purse before setting it aside. “Not after I told your lovely mother I had my clothes in here. I’ll have to stash as much as I can on my person.”

Sighing regretfully, I dumped the rest of the contents on the floor. Unfortunately, I wouldn’t be able to hide it all under my clothes; I’d have to leave some things behind.

Dammit. I’d been so close to getting everything I’d wanted for Miguel, too.

I glanced between my choices, deciding the bottle of soda would be the first thing to give up.

“What is your brother sick with?” Examining the pile as well, my fellow burglar—who’d ended up not quite being a burglar after all—knelt next to me, resting his forearms on his bent knees as he watched me deliberate what to eliminate next.

“Flu,” I said distractedly, wondering if I could open the saltine box and maybe just take one sleeve of crackers, even as I stuffed the pain relievers into my too-small purse, then the chicken noodle soup into the pocket of my hoodie.

The man held out his hand. “Give me the tissues.”

I looked up in alarm. Oh shit, was he going to prevent me from taking anything? Why hadn’t I considered that possibility?

Probably because he’d just covered for me to his mother, and he had his own unknown ulterior motive for breaking into her house.

God, I was so stupid for blindly trusting him.

But then he opened his jacket, flashing me the insides. “I can probably hide them here.”

My mouth fell open. “You…” I shook my head. “Wait, you’re going to help me?”

He met my gaze, dead serious, no longer arrogant or sarcastic. “Why not? You worked your ass off for these.” Then he lifted one eyebrow until it arched in that snarky little bend I was becoming all too familiar with. “Isn’t that how you put it?”

Oh, wow.

For the first time since meeting him, his acerbic manner didn’t grate on my last nerve. I just blinked at him, beginning to see a vague glimpse of the man beneath. And I realized it was all a front. He expertly hid his true self behind taunting barbs and haughty expressions. There was more to him than the asshole he tried to convince people he was.

How incredibly unusual.

He motioned toward my stolen goodies with one finger. “The tissues would be in that rectangular-shaped cardboard box right there,” he explained unnecessarily, having way too much fun talking down to me.

Damn, he was really good at playing the sarcastic jerk. Except this time, I saw the compassion behind his supercilious ruse.

“Uh…” Shaking my head to clear it because I was still discombobulated by this turn of events, I grabbed the tissues without hissing at him for his rude crack and I handed them over, murmuring, “Sorry. Here.”

He frowned at me in confusion, then tipped his head to the side as his eyes narrowed distrustfully. But even as he took the tissues, he added, “The soup too. You can probably conceal the soda in your front hoodie pouch, if it’s the only thing in there.”

He had a point. Nodding, I removed the can from my hoodie’s pocket. “Okay. Thank you.”

The thank you actually made him rear his face back in shock. This time, he refused to take the can from me, just eyed it as if I was offering him poison instead. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” he hissed.

“What do you mean?” Lowering my voice, I gaped at him. “Nothing’s wrong with me.”

I thrust the chicken noodle soup at him again. Why didn’t he just take the damn can before his mother showed up in the closet too, wondering why the hell we were taking so long?

He glanced toward the opening of the closet as well before turning back to me and whispering harshly, “You’re acting weird.”

“Oh my God.” My eyebrows shot sky high. “You’ve known me five fucking minutes. How do you know what my weird is? And besides, this is frankly a weird, super unreal situation. How else am I supposed to act?”

My irritated answer, along with the scowl I sent him, seemed to settle him again. His shoulders relaxed and his features lost their alert confusion.

“Well, your compliance was at odds with the first four minutes and forty-five seconds of our association,” he explained.

Wow, he didn’t respond well to politeness, did he?

But compliance? Did he seriously just call me compliant? Way to make me sound like a submissive little lap poodle.

Maybe his pomposity wasn’t entirely an act after all. He was probably a genuine asshole with just a small side serving of kind.

Narrowing my eyes, I bit out from between gritted teeth, “You were helping me. I was being grateful. But don’t worry; I’m over it now.”

“Good,” he bit out. “We don’t have time for that bullshit, anyway.”

My mouth fell open. Gah, maybe the glimpse of kindness I’d seen had been the true ruse.

“We have to get everything out of sight before she walks back here,” he went on as if I didn’t already know that.

Even though he had a point, I rolled my eyes, hating it when people stated the obvious to me. But, “Fine,” I muttered, tossing him the can of chicken noodle soup so abruptly he had to fumble to catch it. “Just so you know, though, I think I might hate you.”

“You and a million others,” he answered distractedly as the soup disappeared inside his jacket without a trace. “Now open the saltines. We’ll have to divide that between the two of us.”

I wanted to deny him so bad—out of spite—but since it was the very same idea I’d had too, I settled for snarling, “That’s what I was going to do.”

Ripping the box open, I glared his way and watched him straighten the sleeves of his jacket as if he didn’t have a care in the world.

Bastard.

“Here.” I shoved half the saltines his way.

Jaw hard and eyes narrowed with disdain, he mirrored my expression as he took them and tucked them up his jacket sleeves. I followed suit, hiding my two stacks of crackers inside the baggy arms of my hoodie.

“What about the trash sack and empty cracker box?” I said when I realized it would probably be bad to leave them behind in the closet for his mother to find later.

“Give them here.”

I handed everything over without a word, and he worked quickly to flatten the empty box of saltines and then wad the bag into a ball before he lifted the tails of his suit jacket and tucked them both into the back of his pants. He’d just lowered the jacket back into place, when a voice barked from the opening of the closet.

“What the hell is taking so long?”

I sucked in a surprised gasp, while the man stepped in front of me as if to shield me from his mother. Protecting me.

“I was trying to talk her into a quickie,” he answered smoothly. “But she was resisting.”

He really did know exactly what to say to needle a person most. It made me realize he’d purposely turned so rude to me a moment ago because he knew it would erect that wall between us again and conceal the person he didn’t want me to see he was.

It was as if the man actually preferred to have people dislike him.

“Just get out of my apartment,” his mother snapped, glaring. “I don’t like it when you show up uninvited.”

“Of course.” Reaching behind him, he snagged my hand, knowing exactly where it was without looking. “And as always, it was simply lovely to see you again.”

She snorted as he began to pull me from the room. But when the woman turned her glare my way, she blinked in surprise and held up a hand.

“Wait a second.” She stepped in front of us as she pointed at my face, then took in my hoodie and yoga pants I was wearing. “You’re that insolent maid.”

I wrinkled my nose. “No,” I said, shaking my head. “I’m not. I tried to tell you I wasn’t a maid, but you—”

The woman dismissed me and whirled toward her son. “You weren’t with her when I opened the door and found her loitering in the hall earlier.” She sounded accusative.

He shrugged before smoothly answering, “I had to stop by the bathroom first. She was waiting for me outside your door when you opened up and accosted her with your carpet-cleaning demands.”

The apartment’s owner narrowed her eyes and sliced a suspicious glance between the two of us. She seemed to be thinking too hard, trying to find holes in our story, and it probably wouldn’t take long before she bumped across a couple dozen of them, so the man said, “But since you refuse to help us and lend a dress, we’re leaving now.”

“But—”

“Thanks for nothing,” he added, dragging me past her and out of the closet, through the bathroom and bedroom, then down the bright, white hall and into the front room.

A relieved breath hissed from me as soon as he reached for the handle to the exit. We were going to make it. Freedom was on the other side of that door, and the woman behind us would never be the wiser to the fact that we’d just stolen from her. Well, I had stolen, but her son was most definitely assisting me.

The man pulled the door open, and we both surged forward, only to lurch to a halt when we found our way blocked by a maid who stood there with a cleaning caddy in one hand, and her other raised, poised to ring the bell.

Eyes widening, she tripped backward away from us, immediately apologizing. “I—I’m so sorry. Is this a bad time? I can come back later.”

“The hell you will,” the apartment owner commanded, storming up behind us and nudging me aside so she could grab the maid and haul her into the apartment. “Are you seriously just now getting here to deal with my stain?”

“I’m sorry, ma’am. I came as soon as I—”

“My carpet is ruined by now, you worthless—”

“I cleaned it,” I blurted, unable to continue watching her berate the poor, innocent maid.

In response, the witch zipped her attention to me. Narrowing her eyes on me, she pushed the maid back into the hall without even looking at her, and she slammed the door in her face.

Then she stepped closer. “You did what?”

Her son leaned in until he captured her attention. “I believe she said she cleaned the carpet.”

Her gaze zipped between the two of us before she sniffed. “Is this some kind of joke?”

He squinted. “Why would cleaning a carpet be even remotely funny?”

“Why would some floozy of yours clean my carpet?”

“Maybe because she’s not a floozy. And…” He lifted an eyebrow. “You asked her to.”

His mother’s eyes only narrowed more.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” Losing his patience, he snapped, “She’s my date. So she was trying to be nice to my mother in order to impress me. Is that so hard to believe?”

She stared him down a moment longer before saying, “Yes.”

“Wow,” he murmured breathlessly. “And people wonder why I have all the issues I do.”

“I’m not paying her.” The witch’s gaze moved to me. “I’m not paying you for what you did,” she stated directly.

Wow, indeed, I wanted to echo. But instead, I nodded and hugged the loot hidden away under my clothes even closer to my body. “Fine,” I said, lifting my chin a little. “I wasn’t looking for payment.” Not anything else, anyway.

The woman seemed at a loss. But then she repeated, “Fine,” and motioned toward the door. “You may go.”

“But we were having so much fun in your company,” the man next to me smarted back.

Oh my God. Gripping his arm and accidentally causing the sleeve of saltines he had hidden up there to crinkle, I cleared my throat to mask the sound, and said, “Let’s go, darling. I can borrow a dress from my neighbor.”

He allowed me to lead him into the hall, but as soon as his mother slammed the door behind us, he took control, steering the way we went. I glanced behind me, afraid she was going to find her things missing and come racing after us, demanding recompense, but the bejeweled door remained firmly closed.

We’d done it. Holy shit. We’d really done it.

We’d escaped without getting caught.