He Kills Me, He Kills Me Not

start over. “I don’t want someone staying in my house with me.”
    “What about work?” he asked. “My men said you didn’t go to work today, but when you do, you’ll need protection.”
    She smiled. “No one is going to attack me at work.”
    He raised a brow. “You seem confident about that.”
    “All I have to do to get to work is walk from my bedroom to the living room. I’m a computer programmer. I work remotely from home.”
    “Well, I guess you put me in my place.” He softened his words with a smile, the first real smile he’d given her since he’d called her a smart ass.
    For a moment, she was frozen by the approving look in his eyes, the way his gentle smile transformed his face and made him look like a charming rogue instead of the intimidating police chief.
    The silence stretched out. Time to send him on his way. He didn’t want to be here anymore than she wanted him here.
    “So, how about it? Want me to check your doors and windows?” he asked.
    No . “Okay.” Damn. Why had she said that?
    He nodded. “I’ll start in the living room. I remember seeing a set of sliding glass doors in there. If they aren’t properly secured, someone could easily pop one of them off the track and walk right in.”
    “I doubt that.” She led the way into the living room. “I replaced the doors when I moved in. The company that installed my alarm recommended it.”
    She watched him check out the security bar and the locks, and examine the alarm sensors, all the time wondering why he seemed so edgy.
    “You’ve got hurricane glass, and you can’t take one of these doors off the track from the outside, at least not easily,” he said. “Good locks. I’m impressed.”
    “You seem surprised.”
    “I shouldn’t be, given your past. You obviously take your safety seriously. Most people don’t.”
    Crossing to one of the windows that framed the fireplace, he checked those locks as well, then glanced at her computer before moving to the second window. “I’ve never met someone who worked from home. Is it a nine-to-five type of job?”
    He finished examining the locks and security sensors, so she led him down the hallway to the first spare bedroom, a room she used mostly for storage. “My schedule is flexible. I work for a consulting company and I choose which contracts I want to take on. I just finished a six-month stint. I haven’t decided yet when I’ll take on the next contract.”
    He dusted off his hands after checking the only window in the bedroom. Then he moved toward the door where she was standing.
    Embarrassed about the dirt on the windowsill, she said, “Sorry about the dust. I rarely use this room.”
    He gave her a droll look. “I’m a guy. I don’t think I’ve ever dusted anything.”
    She laughed and led him to the second bedroom. He was sweet to try to make her feel less embarrassed, but as particular as he was about his appearance, and as shiny clean as his car was, she didn’t believe for a second that his house was anything less than pristine.
    The door was already open, so he stepped inside. His eyes widened as he looked around at all the exercise equipment. “A professional gym would be envious of what you have here.”
    A picture of him shirtless and sweaty after a vigorous session of weight lifting crossed her mind. She absently toyed with the hem of her shirt. “I don’t get out much—have to work off the occasional Haagen-Dazs indulgence somehow.”
    His gaze slid down her body in a slow, leisurely caress, as if he was evaluating the effects of her workout routine. When his eyes met hers again, the heat in his gaze nearly scorched her. She wanted to encourage him, wanted to throw back some kind of flirty comment to let him know the attraction was mutual.
    She couldn’t.
    She was too scared, but not of him. She was scared of herself. In the years since her attack she’d built a solitary, safe life. Until Logan, she wasn’t tempted to enjoy the companionship of a man again. Now that he’d awakened all those dormant feelings, she didn’t trust herself.
    Could she act like a normal person with him? What if he tried to hold her, kiss her? Would she welcome his touch or would the image of her attacker loom in her mind and send her screaming from the room? Seeing him look at her like she was crazy would hurt even more than when people looked at her scar and flinched.
    She couldn’t bear it.
    Deciding it was time for him to leave, she pivoted on her heel and