Lila
Dane's gaze was frightening. His eyes cold as steel. His expression completely unreadable. Was he angry because she'd almost given them away?
She'd hustled up through the laundry the second she'd gotten home and changed. He'd said she could always come, that she didn't need to be invited. He'd said she was always welcome. She'd wanted to surprise him, sneak up on him if she could. She'd imagined he would be in the kitchen, humming like he did when he cooked. That she'd slide up behind him and put her hands under his shirt…
But when she'd gotten into the closet from the laundry stairs, she hadn't anticipated that he wouldn't leave the light on. She'd barely been able to see. Something caught her foot before she found the closed door—and she'd heard voices before she opened it.
