Urban Sensation. Debra Webb

took the glasses from her hand and slid them back into place before she could analyze anything about his eyes other than the redness that spoke of too little sleep or too much alcohol. “I didn’t come here to talk about me.” He settled his gaze back on her. At least, she presumed he did; the glasses once again concealed his eyes.

      This was too much. Way too much. She scrubbed her hands over her face, rubbed her own eyes, then smoothed a hand over her damp hair. She needed coffee. She needed to think. She had four unsolved murders on her plate right now and she didn’t need to have to deal with this, too. But she knew him…too well. There was no fighting him when he’d made up his mind about something.

      Resigned to her fate, she crossed her arms defiantly. “What do you want?”

      “Coffee?” The tilt of his lips could hardly be labeled a smile.

      She sighed, feeling a new surge of defeat despite her challenging stance. He was here. A cup of coffee couldn’t hurt. She could use one herself. Her gaze performed a tour of him once more. Some part of her, too weak or stupid to know better, needed to understand what had brought about this change in his appearance…in his manner. She shouldn’t care…and yet she did.

      “One cup of coffee.”

      He acknowledged the condition with a single nod of his dark head, then stepped aside and she led the way down the stairs. The idea that he was right behind her had goose bumps skittering over her skin. She hated that he could still do that to her. It was so damned unfair.

      When they reached the entry hall Princess finally decided to bother to get up and greet the intruder.

      She sniffed and yapped once. When she didn’t get the desired response, she followed her mistress into the kitchen to see what would happen next.

      Once Rowen got the coffee brewing, she tossed a scoop of gourmet Kibbles into the polka-dot ceramic dog food bowl and added fresh bottled water to its twin. The dog refused to drink tap water. How was that for spoiled?

      When the smell of her favorite blend of coffee had filled the air, she topped off two cups, both black. She remembered that he had taken his coffee straight up, the same as she did. It bugged the hell out of her that she could remember so much about him.

      She set the cup in front of him at the small table in her cozy kitchen.

      Rowen almost never ate in the dining room. Not in the past three years, anyway. She preferred the warmth and earthiness of the whitewashed cabinets and butcher-block counters. Who wanted to go to the trouble of setting a table when preparing dinner for one? That, she reminded herself, in no way diminished the fact that she was over Evan Hunter on that level. She didn’t need him. Sure, he still possessed the power to make her body tremble, but there were other men out there. She simply hadn’t had time to pursue a personal relationship lately.

      “What’s happened to you?” she asked again. She claimed the chair directly across from him so that she could appraise his face, or what she could see of it. His mouth remained fixed in a firm line, but the unflattering expression failed to lessen in any way the full, sculptured appearance of those tempting lips. Of all his assets, why the hell did she have to focus on that just then? She blinked and pushed aside the troubling notion.

      “I developed a condition,” he said after giving the question lengthy deliberation, “that requires I shield my skin and eyes from light.”

      As he spoke, she watched his mouth move, noted the angular lines of his jaw. She’d kissed his face so many times, had reveled in his sheer beauty. As hard as she’d tried not to she’d become infatuated with him even before she’d known his name. The infatuation had given way to deeper feelings as they’d dated those few weeks. Eventually, the budding relationship had moved into serious territory. Then his work had concluded and he’d had to return to Washington.

      He’d promised to call…to come back every weekend. But she’d never seen or heard from him again. Not once in three years. She’d called everyone she knew to call. Had even shown up once at the address he’d given her. A neighbor had told Rowen that she’d heard Mr. Hunter died.

      That moment had served as the final straw. Rowen couldn’t take anymore. She’d worked for months after that to put him behind her. It wasn’t until the past year that she’d finally felt free of his irrepressible memory. Now, here he sat in her kitchen. A new trickle of ire gave way to a stream of outrage.

      She braced her hands on the cool tabletop and closed her eyes. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

      “Rowen, you must listen to me,” he urged.

      This was insane. She pushed up from her chair, the legs scraping across the old brick floor. “I’m sorry.” She backed away a step, needing the distance. “I can’t do this.”

      “Rowen, wait—” He pushed to his feet, simultaneously reaching for her. The abrupt move jarred the table, sending both cups tumbling over and coffee sloshing across the table.

      She tried to grab her cup but only succeeded in sending it spinning off the edge to crash on the rustic floor.

      Swearing hotly, she turned to dive for a dish towel, but her attention jerked back to her guest. Those gloved hands had closed over his ears as if the sound of shattering stoneware had been too much for him. She’d jumped at the sound herself. The racket wasn’t easy on the ears, even when one was expecting it. But this. She watched as he slowly relaxed, unclenched his jaw, took a deep breath, then lowered his hands. This was an altogether different type of reaction.

      Realizing that she was staring, Rowen crouched down to gather the broken pieces of stoneware, her mind whirling with more questions. What the hell had happened to him? Was he sensitive to noise, as well as light?

      “Let me help you.”

      He had apparently recovered enough to grab the dish towel and stoop down next to her. Her gaze lingered on him as he mopped up the mess they’d both pretty much been instrumental in making.

      “Thank you.” She took the towel and the broken cup and quickly disposed of them before turning her attention back to him. He waited right where she’d left him, next to the table. She should just ask the questions throbbing in her brain. He was the one who’d shown up back in her life, not vice versa. She had a right to know, didn’t she?

      No. Nothing he could possibly say would change what had happened.

      She wasn’t doing this. She would not let him drag her back down that road. “I have to get to the office.” So much for coffee. She’d pick some up on the way. Right now, she just wanted out of here…away from him. “Say what you have to say and go.”

      Evan, with an ache still reverberating in his skull, understood why she felt this way. He’d hurt her. Memories of what they’d shared tumbled one over the other into his mind before he could stop them, adding to his misery. He’d hurt her deeply. He wasn’t strong enough just now to fight the sentimental pull of that shared history. But he had to fight his personal feelings, had to try and make her see.

      He ignored the pain that attempted to fragment his thoughts. Though the medication dulled his senses to a degree, he was still susceptible. Any unexpected sounds or sudden moves set off a shockwave of excruciating pain. He hated the way the medication left him off balance. But it was the only way he could tolerate the bombardment of sensations outside of his secluded home.

      With her impatience mounting, he had no time for long drawn-out persuasion. Clearly, playing on her compassion wasn’t working. Cutting to the chase was his only remaining option.

      “You have four dead bodies,” he said flatly. He had known that what he intended to propose would require a good deal more finesse, but she wasn’t going to allow him the luxury. “No motive, no evidence, no acceptable manner of death.”

      Her gaze narrowed. “How do you know about the fourth one?”

      He couldn’t very well tell her that the stench of death still hung on her clothes or that her fragile emotions screamed loudly of what she’d experienced