February temperatures in Los Angeles remain as cool as January. If we’re lucky, there might be a little less rain and slightly more sunshine.

That is if we’re lucky.

Lately, we haven’t been lucky.

The forecast calls for more thunderstorms and colder temperatures. Not exactly my favorite weather, but there’s a silver lining. Much to my delight, this has me breaking out my boots for work, the flat, comfortable ones that zip to right below my knee.

For clothing, I decide on a figure-hugging pencil skirt and a tight black V-neck silk blouse with bell sleeves. Very matchy-matchy, but still I like it.

While brushing my hair, I pull it back, and then let it fall, deciding to wear it straight. Yes, I know he likes it down, and yes, I’m leaving it down for that very reason.

Finally, I slip on one of Makayla’s signature crystal gemstone necklaces. I chose the desert rose because it signifies all things possible.

Cross your fingers that it works.

Besides, he owes me one freak-out.

It’s a little before seven thirty, and I decide to head on out. This will help me mentally prepare myself to see him, and all his hotness.

In addition, I can go over my speech again. Although I really haven’t finalized even the first few words.

Crap.

Pulling my suitcase behind me, I open my door, and suddenly everything I worried about all night and morning disappears.

Just like that.

Because there he is, leaning against one of my pillars, with two cups of coffee in his hands, looking like he just walked off the runway.

Black and white never looked so good.

Black suit.

White shirt.

Funky black and white tie.

Simple and yet smoking hot.

A Simon Warren, I can tell.

I want to lick him, and I haven’t even apologized.

I’m so screwed.

But then a slow, easy smile turns up the corners of his lips and my heart melts a little. Mind you, my heart has never melted. Somehow that smile says it all, and I know in my gut that everything is going to be all right.

“Maggie.” His voice is warm and gooey caramel, smooth and yummy.

“Keen,” I say, trying to keep the excitement out of my voice. No need to overwhelm the guy. “You’re early.”

With my body a trembling bundle of nerves, I find that I’m struggling to get myself, my raincoat, umbrella, suitcase, and oversized purse out the door.

With his eyes devouring every inch of me, he sets the coffees down on the porch railing, and I swear the air crackles as he rushes toward me. “Hey, let me give you a hand.”

The Maggie of yesterday would have scoffed at the thought of Keen Masters helping her. The Maggie of today can play the damsel-in-distress card if it means gaining empathy. “Yes, that would be great. Can you grab—”

Just then he reaches for my suitcase and as soon as our hands connect, a zap of electricity whispers wicked promises for the night. “What is all this, anyway?” he asks, although it comes out much more mumbled as the first signs of thunder boom in the distance.

The wind picks up and I feel like I’m talking too loud. “I’m going to stay at my mother’s tonight. The early morning flights are killer, and staying in West Hollywood shaves an hour off the morning commute to LAX.”

He wheels the suitcase to the top of the steps. “Great idea. I’ll grab my stuff before we leave and get a hotel for the night.”

Disappointed he didn’t whisper a naughty invite in my ear, I lamely agree with him. “Yes, it will be much easier that way.”

Okay, that was dumb and this is awkward.

Keen grabs one of the coffees and hands it to me. Right away I can see the box next to the word vanilla is checked.

My heart skips a beat. Yesterday in the kitchen he had paid attention to what I was drinking.

“You brought me coffee? Do I have to call you ‘dear’ now?” I say with a smirk.

“No.” He laughs. “But you can call me ‘sir.’”

“Um…no.”

We laugh together and it feels good. Like everything is going to go right back on track. Whatever track this is. Undefined. Unknown. And okay.

Instead of reaching for me, though, he takes a seat on the railing beside his coffee and leans slightly forward, his head dipping down and his eyes lifting.

After taking a sip of my coffee, I warm my hands on the cup and meet his gaze.

That’s when I know nothing is back on the unknown track. I know I have to come clean. Open the door.

“About last night,” we both say at the same time.

Uneasiness creeps over me, and not because in the distance I can see the sky growing darker. Call it intuition, call it whatever you want, I just know I am not going to like whatever he says next.

It can’t be good.

Suddenly I realize he’s out of character—he’s being way too nice. The coffees aren’t about him wooing me.

The question is what are they about.

A peace offering? No.

An apology? For what? New Year’s again? The hate fuck last night? Crossing the line? We talked about all that last night.

“You first,” he offers.

I sip more coffee and try to release the tension in my muscles. “No, you first.”

He runs a hand through his more-than-perfect hair. “I’m sorry I didn’t come over last night.”

“Umm…what?” I hold up my free hand.

He leans farther forward, leaning his arms on his thighs, those blue eyes still piercing me though. “I should have called.”

Not expecting that in the least, I have to admit that it hurts like hell to know he didn’t even try to come to me.

Here’s the thing: the shock on my face isn’t something I can control, nor is the ire I’m feeling. “You really are an asshole!” I shout.

He straightens. “Let me explain.”

I throw him a disgusted look, feeling triumphant when he flinches. “Don’t bother. I locked the door anyway.”

The muscle in his jaw flexes. “You weren’t going to let me in?”

Anger sparks in my eyes. “No, I wasn’t. I changed my mind before I even made it in the house. Decided I couldn’t trust you. And obviously for good reason.”

His nostrils flare. “Bullshit.”

I blink rapidly at the nerve of him. “Why weren’t you coming over?”

He shrugs. “I thought it was for the best.”

“Bullshit,” I curse, using his word. “You were afraid.”

Standing up, he takes a step toward me. “You got me all wrong, sweetheart. I’m not afraid of anything, but obviously you are.”

“Don’t call me ‘sweetheart’!” I scream.

Just then the door swings wide open and Brooklyn stands there in a pair of board shorts, running his hand through his hair.

We both look at him like deer caught in headlights.

“What the hell is going on?” he says with a yawn.

“Nothing,” we both say at the same time.

“Then what’s with the yelling?”

We look at each other and Keen gives me a slight nod to take the lead. What? No, he only relents control because he’s scared of his little brother. I should clue Brooklyn in, but I won’t. What happened between us happened between us and for some reason I’m not ready to let anyone in, so I straighten my shoulders and smile at him. “We are just discussing something that we can’t seem to agree on.”

Brooklyn raises a brow. “Anything I can help with?”

I ignore Keen’s questioning look. “No, you know how your brother is.”

Brooklyn grins at me. “Yeah, you mean he can be an ass.”

With a wink, I point my finger at him. “You know him well. Don’t forget I won’t be back until Sunday.”

“Right; I’ll water the plants.” He laughs.

It’s a joke between us. We have no plants or nothing live to take care of. It makes going out of town easy. Something Brooklyn does way more of than me.

Without even looking, I can feel the burn of Keen’s stare on me as I grab my suitcase and head toward his car parked at the end of my walk. “Be a dear and unlock your car, will you?” I toss over my shoulder. “And the trunk as well,” I add, keeping my voice sweet for Brooklyn’s sake.

“Just leave the suitcase—I’ll load it,” Keen calls to me.

That damn chivalry, he can shove it right—well, you know where. “I got it.”

To my surprise, the lights flick and the trunk pops right away. I had forgotten the trunk was in the front, so I’m thankful for that little hint. Still, I leave my bag on the walk for him.

The beep-beep of the lock and the creak of the trunk mask the murmur of voices from the front porch, but I don’t even bother trying to hear what Keen and Brooklyn are discussing.

I really don’t care.

In fact, as far as I’m concerned, the past is long erased. Right now, Keen Masters is nothing more than a two-week inconvenience that I have been saddled with.

And trust me when I say I know just how to handle inconveniences.