Blake realized he had a smile on his face and hurriedly smoothed it away. It was fascinating, watching the woman move around his house. Weird, but fascinating. She looked so cautious, so unsure of what she’d find lurking around the corner.

He glanced around, saw the corner of a Playboy jutting out from under the couch, and hurried over to shove it under the furniture with his the toe of his boot.

That would have been embarrassing.

Hopefully, she wouldn’t snoop around. Wouldn’t notice the stack of similarly uncouth magazines packed behind his crate.

Blake forced a long, hard breath into his lungs and made himself to turn to the window. Elle probably couldn’t see him through the frosted glass, but he didn’t want to take the chance either. Besides, it seemed that, if he played his cards right, she’d be naked on his bed.

His fingers tightened around his coffee cup.

What the hell kind of a thought was that? He wasn’t a fucking horny teenager. He had no right to expect anything of the woman. He’d invited her here to dry off. Maybe eat something.

Food!

The thought turned him to the kitchen. He plucked open the fridge and stared gloomily inside. Food. Or, complete lack thereof.

So he’d never intended to feed her. So what? Surely she could have seen it for the ruse it was. But what if she didn’t? She’d seemed genuinely surprised by the question. And her answer had seemed sincere. What if she was starving? It sounded like she’d been thrown out on her ass by her ex — maybe her last meal had been more than a few hours ago.

“Uh… do you like Chinese?”

For a moment, he thought Elle hadn’t heard him. So he crept closer to the bathroom. A warm fog escaped over the top of the frosted glass enclosure, the smell of his soap.

“Elle?”

“What?” There was a note of panic in her voice. The water snapped off, and he could see her pale shape twisting as she face him through the glass.

“Uh, sorry, I just… do you like Chinese?”

“Food?”

“Yeah.” As opposed to? “Yeah, food. To eat.” He rolled his eyes at himself, and slapped a hand over his eyes. Smooth Blake… real smooth.

“Uh… sure. Anything except pork. And no seafood.”

He waited, almost sure she was about to rattle off a string of other requirements, but there was silence for a second or two, and then the water turned back on.

So chicken or beef.

Blake went into the kitchen and dialed the closest Chinese takeout in the area. They did an excellent chow mein, and a half-decent spring roll at least. The sad part was they knew him just from the sound of his voice by now. He’d just wrapped up the order when the water turned off. He heard Elle moving around the bathroom — bare feet slapping on the tiles — and blurred movement as if she was fluffing out her hair with a towel.

He glanced down at himself, and grimaced at the stained clothes he still wore. He usually changed the moment he got home, but… Blake went over to his cupboard and tugged out a clean t-shirt and pair of jeans. All his clothes were worn in, but at least this pair of jeans didn’t have any holes in them. And the shirt, although probably not as white as it used to be, didn’t have any grease on it.

Blake turned, wanting to ask something inane like her thoughts on Peking duck, but stopped. She stood at the threshold of his bedroom, head tipped to the side, towel fluffing at her wet hair.

His robe was too big. It gaped open at the front, showing a long sliver of pale flesh almost to her bellybutton along with the inner slopes of her breasts. A few beads of water clung to the underside of them like dew. He blinked, forced his eyes up, and gave her a crooked smile.

“Should be here in a few minutes.”

“Take it you don’t cook?” Elle said as she padded out of the bathroom.

Blake passed her on his way in. She turned to watch him, hand pausing on her hair. He grabbed up her clothes — she’d hung them over the shower rail — and gave her a small smile as he passed again. “Not often. Plus, haven’t bought groceries in a while. Been a bit busy, what with work and stuff.”

Her eyes narrowed at the sight of her clothes in his hands.

“Dryer.” Blake pointed to the far corner of the loft.

Then Elle was glancing around again, eyes wide and curious as she toweled her hair.

Blake threw her clothes inside, selected an hour long program, and slammed the door shut. When he turned back to Elle, more of her stomach was visible as she twisted to peek into the kitchen. She seemed oblivious to her gaping robe and the effect it was having on his lower body. Blake licked his lips, grabbed up his cup, and sank down onto the couch in self defense. A few seconds later, Elle joined him.

Reaching for her coffee, she finally seemed to realize how revealing the robe was. Her eyebrows shot up almost an inch, and she hastily grabbed the two halves of the robe in a fist, casting him a furtive glance from under her lashes.

He made as if staring at the blank television was the most interesting thing he’d done all day, and took another long swallow of coffee.

“Thanks. For the shower. Coffee.” Elle murmured into her cup.

“Pleasure.” Blake shifted on the couch. It was surprisingly uncomfortable — if he didn’t feel like re-reading one of his books, he usually turned the TV so he could watch it from bed… on the rare nights he didn’t fall asleep the instant his head touched the pillow, of course. “So, he really cut you off? Just like that?”

She stiffened, and he cursed himself. Of course she wouldn’t want to talk about her jerk off of a—

“Yup. Just like that.” She sighed, took a slurp of coffee, and rested the rim of the cup against her lips. “Well, I guess I can’t really say, ‘Just like that.’ I mean, I knew it was coming. I just didn’t know what a bastard he’d turn into.” She set her cup down, turning to him in a flash of movement that he almost leaned away from before he could stop himself. “You know, I didn’t even get to tell him I knew? About her? About the—” her voice caught “—the other woman? I invited him to the restaurant. I was suppose to break up with him. But no!” Elle waved a hand, shaking her head and letting out a small, rough laugh. “Oh no. That’s not how Sam operates. He always has to be in control. Always has to have the last fucking say. Couldn’t even let me break up with him.”

Perhaps realizing she’d gone off on a tangent, Elle dipped her head and blinked rapidly.

Dear God, not tears. Please. He could handle entitled rants and vehement explosions and just about anything in between — but not crying. What the hell did you do with a sobbing woman? Hold her? Sure — like he’d known her long enough for that to not seem weird. Hand her a tissue? Shit, he was all out of those. Had been for years. At least since Sally—

But then she straightened her back, took a long breath, and grabbed up her coffee again.

“Doesn’t matter. Done’s done. Guess it just means I’ll have no excuse to go back to him.”

“Go back to him?” Blake sat forward, sloshing coffee over the side of his cup as he slammed it down. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

Elle glanced at him, eyes wide and skittish. “I didn’t say I was—”

“He fucking cheats on you, doesn’t even have the decency to let you break it off, leaves you penniless on the street, and you want to go back to him?”

Elle’s eyes had grown wider with each subsequent insult he tacked onto his harangue until those blue orbs sat like polished sapphires in their sockets.

“I wasn’t going to—”

“Fuck that.” Blake stood, walking to the window in an effort to flush out the sudden surge of energy bursting through him. “Fuck him.”

There was a long silence, broken only by the sound of a small, ladylike slurp.

“Who was she?”

Blake stiffened at the question, but he didn’t take his hand from the glass or turn to face Elle. Instead he stared through the glass, like he had so many days and nights in the past — stared at the nest of pigeons roosting against one of the vents in the warehouse’s roof.

“Sally. My ex.”

“How long?”

“What, married or cheated on?”

“Both.”

“Five years and four.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah. Shit.” Blake straightened, ran a hand down his face, and turned to face Elle. She had twisted around on the couch, arms over the back of it, chin resting on top of her hands as she stared at him. “Sucks, doesn’t it?”

“That’s putting it mildly.” Blake sighed and sank back onto the couch. He stared at his cup for a moment, but no longer felt the urge to drink it. “I found them in bed together.”

Elle drew air through her teeth. When he looked at her, she dipped her head like a bashful kitten, giving him a small, bleak smile.

“I’m so sorry.”

He shrugged. “Don’t be. Happened years ago.”

“How long?”

“Seven years, three months.”

“You remember to the day?”

Blake shrugged again. When he turned to Elle, he could feel a sad smile pulling at his mouth.

“Trust me, you will too.”