But first he had to get her out of the house. Jogging up the steps, he ignored the sudden brightness that worked its way into his chest at the thought of seeing her again. Reasoning it has more to do with the way the woman looked in that form-fitting pencil skirt earlier than the actual idea of getting to know her, he knocked on the door completely in control. Or so he thought.

***

Sarah was just putting the kettle on for tea when she heard the knock on the front door. Her hand still resting on the ancient kettle’s handle, she stood frozen for a moment as if not moving would magically make whoever her unwanted visitor was go away. She would bet money on it being a half-drunk Marcy coming to beg her to go out with them.

When the knock came again, this time louder, she sighed. Tightening the belt of her ratty old robe, she walked down the narrow hallway to the front door. When she threw open the door, the few choice words she had worked up on the walk from the back of the house where the kitchen was located died on her lips. There, on her front steps, stood the last person in the greater Chicago area she expected to see.

“What are you doing here?” She folded her arms around herself feeling self-conscious.

“Mind if I come in?” Falon didn’t wait for an answer, just pushed past her.

“And if I say no?” Sarah answered, automatically closing the door behind her.

“I already told you,” he said, looking around her home. “I don’t take no for an answer.”

When his eyes settled back on her, she felt herself fidgeting. She hadn’t planned on company and feeling rather out of sorts she immediately threw on comfort clothes when she got home a few hours ago. Standing in front of him in pajamas that were at least ten years old and a robe that looked like it had been dragged through Hell wasn’t exactly the impression she wanted to make on the man. Although why she was worried what he would think of her was beyond her. It wasn’t like she actually liked the man. Not anymore.

“Nice … outfit.” The mischief in his eyes set her teeth on edge.

“I wasn’t expecting company,” she said, lifting her nose in the air just as the kettle began to whistle. “If you’ll excuse me.”

Dear Lord, when had she turned into her aunt Phyllis? Her mother’s sister wasn’t exactly known for her charm and she had just done a spot-on impression of the stuffed-shirt old windbag. Falon Wolfe was bringing out the best in her.

She could hear him follow her into the kitchen. Going to the stove first, she turned off the burner under the kettle before placing it and a box of tea bags on her worn kitchen table. That table had been there as long as she could remember. She had eaten nearly every breakfast of her life at that table and remembered how almost every dent and scratch was made. Shrugging off the past, she turned back to the counter. Reaching into the cupboard she got down two teacups and placed them on the table.

“Tea?” she asked, taking a seat. Falon raised a questioning brow before pulling back the chair opposite her.

“I’ll drink, on one condition.”

It was her turn to raise a brow as she watched him rummage through her tea selection. When he found his flavor of choice, his eyes shot back to hers and she was lost for a moment in their tea-colored depths. If she had to name the color, she would say they were a dead ringer for Earl Gray. Shaking away her deranged musings, she waited to hear his condition.

“I’ll drink one cup of tea if you say you’ll go to the club with me tonight.”

There was no way she could suppress her snort.

“I was perfectly happy to drink my tea alone. I was just being polite.” She widened her eyes for effect. “You know where the door is.”

“I don’t think you understand me.” Falon picked up the kettle and poured the steaming water of his bag of tea. “I’ll drink one cup if you go. I’ll make myself quite at home if you decide against it.”

Sarah sputtered and nearly dropped the hot kettle full of water in her lap.

“Excuse me?” Was the man crazy? “This is my house, I’ll call the cops if you even think for one moment to squat here.”

“Squat?” Laughter danced behind his eyes and she had to tamp down the urge to throw the kettle at his handsome face. She watched in amazement as he leaned back in his chair placing his hands languidly behind his head and sighed. “I don’t think that you understand just how much power I have, Sarah Maxwell. It would save all those involved a lot of wasted time if you just said yes and drank your tea then went upstairs and put on a hot little number and went out with me tonight.”

She was speechless. Literally at a loss for words, which in and of itself was a miracle of sorts. Either he had grown into the world’s most arrogant man, an idea that she was wont to believe, or he truly had the clout to back up his not so subtle threat. Taking a deep drink of her steaming tea to buy herself time, she figured she had one of two options here. She could follow through with her own threat and call the cops, give the neighborhood gossips fodder for the next month and possibly drag her reputation, and by extension the agency’s reputation, through the mud, or she could go and meet up with Marcy and Frank for a few drinks and catch a cab home.

“I’ll go, but on one condition.” She placed her cup back on the table. “This isn’t a date.”

She stared straight into his luminous eyes determined to wait him out. The humor and challenge she saw there nearly had her squirming in her seat. There was no way she wanted it to enter either of their minds that this was something that it wasn’t. She didn’t want to have her body building up expectations for the end of the night that she was basically forced into.

“Deal.”

***

A half hour later Sarah stood in front of her closet wondering if she could go back on her word. Falon could find something in her four-story brownstone to keep himself busy for the night. Looking at the poor selection of clothing hanging in her closet she wondered if she could find the collection of old board games that were stashed in the attic.

“Need any help up there?” Falon yelled from the foot of the stairs. After finishing his own tea, he had rushed her through hers and herded her up the stairs to get changed. That was when she discovered her rather bland options. Remembering back to the things she had seen Marcy wear when going out, Sarah figured she had nothing to wear. That was as good excuse as any to stay in wasn’t it? Shaking her head and pushing the clothes back across the rod, she was sure that if she mentioned her lack of attire Falon would do something extravagant like arrange a hand delivered number from Neiman’s. She decided to save herself the embarrassment and kept digging.

“Need any …” Sarah whipped around at the sound of Falon’s voice in the doorway of her room. She clutched the plush towel she had wrapped around herself after her quick shower to her chest.

“What the …”

“I knocked,” he said in his defense. She watched him visibly swallow as his gaze raked her exposed body. “I just came to see if you needed any input on what to wear. My vote’s for this one.”

Sarah harrumphed and spun back to face her closet and its dismal offerings. Throwing a pencil skirt and a sequined top on the bed, she made to move to her dresser.

“Is that the best you’ve got?” His voice came from directly behind her this time and she had to fight down the shiver of awareness that rocketed up her spine. His warm breath on her shoulder had her wanting to forget about going out for a completely different reason than her not having anything to wear.

“Sorry to disappoint, but I don’t exactly think of night clubs when I go shopping.”

“That much is obvious.” He leaned closer, causing his dark scent to swirl around her. Crowding her so he could shuffle through her closet himself, Falon made quick work of her daily work attire. Obviously unsatisfied he kept digging until he came across a nearly forgotten garment bag hanging in the back of the closet.