“You said so yourself . . . he’s not going to let me get away with it, even if it’s a huge improvement.” Even if my blood raced every time I so much as heard his voice today, and my attention was only ever half on what I was doing, the other half wading through our past conversations, replaying words and looks, only now from the new version of Jonah, the one who’d stop me in my tracks if we were passing on the street.

I’ve somehow conveniently forgotten all the unpleasant exchanges and his games. Those were all the work of the angry yeti. My mind—or more likely my hormones—seems to be trying to compartmentalize Jonah in some sort of Jekyll and Hyde situation so I can freely lust over the hot Viking version.

“Don’t forget, he hasn’t been cleared to fly by the FAA yet. One call from me . . .” My dad winks.

I’m sure he’s only kidding, but I appreciate it all the same. “Can we just lock the door anyway?”

He shrugs. “If that makes you sleep better, sure.”

“Good, thanks.” I collect our dinner dishes. “Oh, and I’m making overnight oats for breakfast. Do you want me to make you some?”

“I don’t normally eat breakfast, but . . .” He seems to mull it over. “Sure. I’d love that.”

“’Kay.” I smile with satisfaction. “Night, Dad.”

The heavy rain last night brought with it cooler weather this morning. Gooseflesh instantly sprouts along my bare skin as I step out of the steamy bathroom. I hug my towel tightly around my body as I dart to my bedroom, intent on dressing quickly.

I catch a familiar scent the second I step inside and pause to inhale deeply. That’s Jonah’s soap. But it’s not possible. I locked the kitchen door before I jumped into the shower.

I scan my room warily. My phone and laptop are on the chair; the clothes I laid out for the day are on the bed, untouched. The rest of them hang neatly in the closet.

In a half-turn, I realize the problem.

The top of the dresser is bare.

Every can, every bottle, every brush. Every last cosmetic I own.

Gone.

I dive for my purse.

He’s even taken my essentials from there—my compact powder, my mascara, my favorite blush lipstick.

“Jonah!” His name is a curse on my tongue. I rush out of my bedroom and down the hall.

He’s in the kitchen, leaning casually against the counter with his back to the sink, his legs crossed at his ankles, eating a bowl of overnight oats.

My bowl of overnight oats.

A key dangles on a ring from his finger in a taunting way. A key to this house, I’m guessing.

“Where are my things?” I demand, my annoyance clouding all other thoughts for the moment.

His hand pauses halfway to his mouth, and his eyes drag over my body, stalling at my bare thighs for a few too many beats, reminding me exactly how short this towel is—about four inches away from me being mortified—before continuing his meal. “What things?” he says casually.

“Everything you took from my room.”

“Oh. Those things.” He takes his time licking the spoon. “They’re in a safe place.”

The white shirt beneath his flannel jacket has damp streaks over it. A dreary rain still falls outside, though it’s lighter than yesterday. Light enough for Jonah to trek all the way home with my things and then back again just to taunt me?

“At my house,” he confirms, as if reading my mind. “And you’ll never find them.”

“This isn’t funny. There’s over a thousand dollars’ worth of makeup there.” Eye shadow palettes that will crumble if handled roughly, and I’m guessing Jonah wasn’t overly gentle.

“Shit. A thousand bucks? I think that’s a felony in Alaska.” Not that he sounds at all concerned.

“Maybe I should call the cops, then.”

“Yeah. Good idea. Do me a favor, though, and make sure you ask for Roper. He’s been complaining that he’s bored.” He points toward the bowl with his spoon. “This is good, by the way. What is this?”

My frustration with him swells. “It’s mine.” I storm forward and, with one hand still gripping my towel to keep it in place, I yank the bowl from his grasp. Taking a clean spoon from the dish rack, I spin on my heels and storm back to my room, slamming the door behind me.

A knock sounds a few minutes later.

“What!” I snap, yanking my leggings up over my hips.

“I’ll give everything back.”

“You’d better.”

“Eventually.”

A strangled sound escapes my throat. “You are such a dick!”

“What? I’m just helping you. Maybe now you have a shot at getting laid.” His amusement rings clear as he echoes my words from yesterday.

“I don’t have problems in that department, either,” I throw back haughtily.

There’s a pause. “Who’s Corey?”

“My ex.” I tug my socks on.

“Why’d you break up?”

Do I want to indulge his curiosity? Will he somehow use it against me? “We grew apart. Or got bored, I don’t know. I ended it before I came here.” I throw open the door to find Jonah leaning casually against the wall, his gaze on the ceiling above, giving me a clear view of a jutting Adam’s apple. Even his neck is pleasant to look at.