Blake tried not to do a double-take when Elle came out of the bathroom. It was weird, seeing someone else in your clothes. Even weirder having a complete stranger in your house, of course. But clothing was so personal.

“Blake, about the car—”

“Oh, listen, Elle, if you want to—”

“I can’t take it right now.”

Blake blinked at the woman. He took a step back, leaning his hip against the kitchen counter as he folded his arms over his chest. He wanted to prompt more, but from the skittish look in the woman’s face, she looked about to speak anyway. So he just watched her, trying to figure out what wheels were turning in her mind.

“I’d like to, but honestly, I don’t even know where I’d park it. I can’t stay at the hotel, and—” Elle shook her head. “You don’t need to know any of this,” she mumbled. Clearing her throat, she added in a stronger voice, “Is it okay if I come for it Wednesday? Or Thursday?” She finally lifted her eyes, hope glimmering in them. “Is there like some kind of stipulated period of time I need to collect—”

“Thursday. You’d need to have it out of there by Thursday.” The the cold tone of his voice gave him a small stab of regret. But business was business. The woman hadn’t paid. She was in financial issues as it was. He had no guarantee that, if he did give her his car back like he’d wanted to, that she would ever come back to him with the money. It wasn’t a ton of cash, but it would mean coming up short end of the month. Which would mean he’d have to take out of his savings to pay the guys. The shop did good, but not that good.

“Thursday,” Elle whispered, nodding and dropping her eyes to the floor. “That’s fine.”

He knew it wasn’t, and he knew she knew it wasn’t. But he forced a frigid smile on his mouth and waved a hand to the door.

“Need me to call a cab for you?”

“What?” Elle had been walking toward the door, turned and almost bumped into him.

Blake stopped short, dropping his arms back to his side. He’d wanted to grab her, thinking he’d bowled her over.

“A taxi. Should I—”

“Oh, no. Thank you. You’ve done more than enough. You’ve been—” She plucked at his sweater. It looked good, molded over her breasts as it was. “You’ve been too kind.”

“Don’t mention it,” Blake said.

She went to the door, opened it, and turned back again when he was less than a foot behind her.

This time, he did walk into her. She just moved so damn fast — there hadn’t been time to stop or back up. Elle rebounded from his chest, crashed into the side of the door frame, and hurtled back into him like a pin ball.

Blake caught her. Gripped her arms. She made a small, helpless sound, her eyes wide.

“My handbag,” she said, her voice strangled.

“Of course.” Blake wanted to take a step back. Wanted to release her so she could fetch her bag and go.

But he didn’t.

Because he’d just realized it had been years since a woman had been inside his house. Years since anyone beside himself had worn that sweater. Those slacks. Years since he’d been this close to a woman.

And dammit, Fate owed him one.