“Duff, I appreciate the offer, but —”

“I m-moved in down the hall if you n-need anything.”

I followed his gesture toward Mrs. Allen’s apartment. “Oh, okay. So, you’re living with Mrs. Allen?”

A shy smile lifted the corners of his mouth. “Y-yes. She has a dog.”

I put a hand on his frigid shoulder. “That’s not a dog, Duff. That’s a demon named PP. I’m about ninety percent certain he’s possessed.”

Duff chuckled. “At least he doesn’t have any teeth.”

“Just be careful. I think he has one fang left and he knows how to use it.”

After another quick glance toward the dragon’s lair, Duff lifted a hand. “S-see you later, then.”

“Sounds like a plan,” I said with a wink. “Just remember, steer clear of that fang.”

The smile that commandeered his features was contagious and charming. He took another step back, gave me a shy wave, then disappeared.

I started inside my apartment, then rethought that decision. If anyone would know what Garrett went through, what he had to endure in the fiery pits, Reyes would. He’d grown up in hell, after all, and then suffered a whole new version of the word here on Earth at the hands of Earl Walker, who had ended up with Reyes through nefarious means when he was very young, abused him mercilessly, then framed Reyes for his murder and had him sent to prison despite the fact that Earl Walker was alive and kicking.

Well, not kicking anymore, thanks to an expertly placed blade that Reyes himself had swung, but alive anyway.

I walked to his apartment and knocked. The fact that my hand shook a bit surprised me. It wasn’t like I’d never been in his company. Lots. And in various states of undress. But I’d never been to his humble abode, to his lair. He’d never had the home court advantage, and the realization that the minute I stepped through that threshold we would be on his turf gave me butterflies. That and the fact that I owed him. Again. He had saved my life tonight. Not from Tidwell but from Cookie. That woman was a menace.

He cracked the door open just enough to give me a partial view of him, and the butterflies swarmed. Especially when he cocked a brow in question.

“I thought we could talk,” I said, keeping my exterior calm. Unassuming.

For a moment I thought he was going to brush me off, tell me he was tired or he had work to do, he hesitated so long. But he turned and busied himself while I tried to peek over his shoulders into his apartment. Then he faced me again. A wicked grin crinkled one corner of his mouth as he secured another sticky note on the door before shutting it in my face.

I blinked, then read the note.

Use the key.

Oh, for the love of gravy. I marched back to my apartment, grabbed the key from my bag, then went back and used the darned thing, trying to figure out what the big deal was. Though I had to admit, I liked having it. I liked having access to his place, his life. I’d been denied him so long, it was nice to have one small piece of him, one tiny token of confirmation. It slid easily into the lock. Turned like it had been recently oiled. And naturally my mind came up with all kinds of situations for which that could’ve been a metaphor. I was such a ho.

I walked through the apartment and spotted one Mr. Reyes Farrow busying himself in his kitchen. In a domestic capacity. The image was jarring and endearing at once and I had to tear my gaze away before he noticed. I couldn’t let him get too used to the idea that I adored him. Best to keep him guessing.

I had yet to see his new digs. It wasn’t at all what I’d expected. Of course, I really didn’t know what to expect. Perhaps something in cool tones with lots of grays and chrome. What I got was warmth, very much like the man himself. It was nice. Lots of textures with earthy colors and a freestanding black marble fireplace separating two rooms. In the next was a pool table with dark wood and a cream-colored top. It was stunning. His apartment had a homey feel I hadn’t expected.

I looked up as he walked back in, his swagger drawing attention to his hips, up his slim stomach to a set of wide shoulders that would make any man proud. I knew they made me proud. He wore a white button-down hanging loose over jeans. The sleeves were rolled up, allowing his tan forearms to show from underneath. That led me to his hands. He had the most incredible hands, and his arms were like steel. I should know. I’d been held captive in them before. It was a place I longed to return.

He handed me a glass of red wine. Another nicety I hadn’t expected.

“A toast?” he asked, raising his glass.

“What are we toasting?” I clinked our glasses together, then brought mine to my lips.

“The fact that a girl I know named Charley survived another day.”

He didn’t call me Charley often, and it somehow seemed more intimate than when anyone else said it. It felt nice, the syllables falling from his mouth like honey.

When I didn’t drink, he called me by the nickname he’d given me. “Dutch?” And that felt even more intimate. His voice, rich and velvety and smooth like butterscotch, thrummed a string somewhere deep inside me. “Are you okay?”

I nodded and finally took a sip. A fruity heat filled my mouth, warming my throat as I swallowed the crisp liquid. “I’m fine,” I said. “Great, actually, thanks to you. Again.”

One corner of his mouth tilted, the gesture charming.

“I love what you’ve done with the place.”

He smiled and looked at his own masterpiece.