“Go sit down. Choose something to watch on TV.”
“Umm, okay.” Seemed kind of rude to say no, that she wanted to run up to her bedroom and hide. With a sigh, she let out Mr. Fluffy then once he was inside and settled on the rug in front of the fire, she turned on the TV. The news came on with coverage about a warehouse at the docks in Seattle catching fire.
“What the hell?” Spike muttered behind where she stood with the remote.
She jumped. Holy. Shit. He need not worry about that Devil’s Sinner guy getting to her, because Spike would kill her himself with a heart attack.
“Sorry,” he muttered. “Pass me the remote?”
She handed it over and he turned the volume up.
“Hope they can get it contained,” she said as the story ended and he gave the remote back with a frown. He seemed worried about it.
“Hmm. Yeah. Find a movie or something. Be back soon.”
That was strange. She flicked through the channels, wishing she could watch some cartoons. She wouldn’t mind watching something upbeat and funny right then.
“Find something?” he asked.
“If I keel over from a heart attack, you know it’s gonna be your fault, right?”
He gave her a pointed look. “You need to be more aware of your surroundings.”
She handed the remote back and sat on the sofa as he spread out in the recliner.
“What do you do for a job?” she blurted out, trying to ignore his muscular forearms. Was it weird to notice a man’s forearms? They were just so sexy. Same as his hands. They were large, like dinner plates.
What would it be like to feel his hand smack against her bare butt cheek?
Okay, don’t go there, Millie.
“You daydreaming again?”
“What? No!”
“Uh-huh. You always ask people questions then zone out?”
Oh no. She had done that, hadn’t she? “Sorry. What did you say?”
“I’m an investor.”
“An investor?”
He shrugged. “Find start-up businesses or people with ideas and I think they’ll make money; I might offer funding.”
But to do that . . . wouldn’t it mean he already had a lot of money? But that would be rude to ask, wouldn’t it?
He sighed. “Ask. Can see you’re dying to.”
Well, she wasn’t dying to . . . it wasn’t like it was her business. But . . .
“Are you rich?” She smacked her forehead with her palm. “Shoot. Didn’t mean to ask it quite like that.”
He snorted. “I’m okay.”
Uh-huh and did okay equate to hundreds of thousands or millions?
Yeah. That was definitely too rude to ask. He just stared at her as though waiting for her to ask something else.