“Lethal spider. With babies. Lots of venom. Football season. Must be healthy. Towel is not important right now, Giselle!”

I sigh. “Spiders have an acute sense of touch, by the way—it’s what the hairy legs are for—so don’t move, m’kay?”

“Giselle, are you screwing with me? I can’t feel anything. Is she really there?”

“Shh, let me read up on this,” I murmur as I quickly check Google. “Yep, I was right. ‘Wolf spiders carry their young on the dorsal side of their abdomen for weeks, even after hatching. No other spider is known to do this.’ Which means we can’t kill her, Devon. Regardless of how she tormented me, she was probably just hunting food for her babies and got tangled in the sheets. We have to get her out of here uninjured. No telling how many fanged spiderlings she has. Hundreds.”

His nose flares.

“Okay, I have an idea.” I dart out of the room, and he begs me to come back.

“Not laughing now, are ya?” I call back and hear an answering growl.

After grabbing a large bowl from the cabinet, I dig through the kitchen drawer for the longest kitchen utensil I can find, snatching a two-foot wooden spatula that I bet he uses on a grill. Perfect.

“How you holding up?” I say as I come back in the room.

“I felt something. Did she move?” he says in a wary tone.

“Nope. Still there. You’re just paranoid.” I creep closer.

He bites his lower lip as he eyes the spatula. “Are you going to hit me with that?”

“Of course not. I’m going to swoop her into the bowl.”

He takes a breath, slow and steady. “Sweep her away from me, not toward me. If it gets on my face . . .”

“Trust me.”

“Trust the girl who screamed so loud I’m shocked the police aren’t here? Okay, okay, sounds good.”

“I think Cindy likes you. She might be sleeping.”

He rolls his eyes. “Fucking Cindy? Stop trying to figure out the damn spider, and get it off me. Please.”

“I like it when you say please.”

“Please, please, get Cindy off me,” he groans.

I inch in closer on the foot of the bed, perpendicular to Devon. “I want something in return.”

“Just ask,” he bites out.

“I want to see you naked—not now, because you shouldn’t move, but later, after the rescue.”

His eyes find mine and lock, the pupils dilating in a rush, pushing out the forest green to nearly black. And his voice is thick when it comes. “Deal.”

Steeling myself, and it’s easy because I get a treat at the end, I hold out the spatula a few feet from Cindy and swing, knocking her as gently as I can. She sails off his shoulder and straight to the floor. I grab the glass bowl and place it on top of her. “I just scored,” I say and look back at Devon and grin.

He gets down on the floor with me, and we stare at the bowl. “She’s not that big.”

“I disagree.”

He huffs. “Do you really know of a man who almost lost his foot?”

“Um . . . ,” I murmur, standing up.

He stands with me, a steely glint in his gaze. “You lied.”

I hold my index and thumb close together. “Just a little. I can, you know, in times of danger or a prank. In my defense, the man did go to the hospital.”

“This whole time, I could have just knocked her off and been done with it.”

“Maybe, but I wasn’t lying about the babies. Those are real, and I don’t know how they haven’t all scattered, considering the beating poor Cindy has taken.”

“And now you feel sorry for the scary spider.”

“But, but . . .” I laugh, clutching my sides. “You were scared! You were frozen!”

He gives me a glare as he bends down, and how in the world has his towel stayed on this entire time? I guess it’s a very large towel. He nudges the lip of the bowl until it touches one of her legs, and she crawls along the side. He scoops up the container, and she slides to the bottom. He walks out of the room, and I follow him, soaking in the back muscles, the pert rise of the towel where his ass is—

“Are you ogling my backside?”

“Yes,” I chirp as he grins and opens the door to the penthouse and stalks to the elevator.

“Are you going to take her out nearly naked?” I hiss, getting in the elevator with him.

“Yep.” He pauses, sweeping his eyes over me before looking down and hitting the button for the garage. “You aren’t dressed either.”

I cross my arms, hoping to hide my nipples poking through my cami. “We’re on a mission. Clothing can wait.” And I really do want Cindy and family gone. I have to see it for myself.

The elevator stops, and we get off and walk near one of the concrete columns. I watch Devon as he sets the bowl down on its side, and Cindy eases out, slow and steady, then darts under Red.

“No!” I call out. “Not my car!”

Devon grins. “Your car?”

I feel a blush rising on my cheeks. “I love you, you know. Red is incredible, and I can’t thank you enough. Everyone stares at me on the highway. I don’t drive her fast and always clean out my mess—”

The rest of my words halt as Devon moves like a blur in front of me, his hands on my shoulders. “What did you say?”

I lick my lips, replaying my words telling him how much I appreciate him loaning me his car, which reminds me that my car is probably ready for me to pick up and has been for a while, only I haven’t had time to get it—or maybe I haven’t wanted to. Devon is still staring at me, and I know what I said—I do, totally—but it makes my heart dip and my legs shake, and I don’t know why I said those words. I shouldn’t have, because it wasn’t like it was meant to be taken seriously—just words that slipped out, that are currently causing him to frown. I need to take a step back, mentally, and tiptoe my way through this, because if one little comment said in jest makes him wear that horrible hesitant “What am I doing?” look on his face, then I never, never want him to know how I feel.

“I just meant, thank you for letting me drive your car,” I say quietly.

His throat bobs, his Adam’s apple jumping up and down as he swallows thickly, his grip on me loosening before his hands finally fall to his sides. He stares at me—one, two, three, four—then drops his eyes to the floor. No level-five gaze here, just a man who is looking for a place to run.

“You sure that’s all you meant?”

“Yes.” Succinct and clear, my voice holds as I resist the urge to not gasp out in . . . pain? Yes, pain.

He gives me a final look and heads to the elevator. We don’t say anything the entire way up, me on one side, him on the other, his countenance set in hard lines, a baffled, unhappy—yes, definitely unhappy—expression on his face. And I put it there, after the fun of Cindy. My words dug under his skin, confusing him and putting another barrier between us, because let’s be honest: the man wants me. I know he does because of those long gazes, the soft touches, the way he kissed me, the way he held me tonight at the club. It’s more than just hormones, but he doesn’t want to want me, and that knowledge sits in my stomach like a boulder.