Free Her Perfect Gift by Theodora Taylor Page B

door still locked. He wasn’t there. He also wasn’t there when she tried back a few hours later, and then again during her dinner break.
    Maybe he wasn’t coming back, she thought. Maybe he had gotten what he wanted and decided he didn’t want her anymore. The thought should have elated her, but instead it made her lose her appetite. She ended up only eating two bites of the sandwich she’d made herself for dinner, and a black cloud dogged her during the rest of her shift.
    This is what you wanted , she reminded herself as she trudged up the stairs to her apartment. The only reason she was alive today was because she had learned to lay low at all costs and keep her life as simple as possible. No more kids, no men, no close friends, just work and Sparkle.
    Another wave of loneliness stole over her. But now she only had work since Sparkle was away at boarding school.
    She shoved the loneliness away. She was, despite everything, a happy person. She was lucky to be alive, lucky to have a job that paid her well. She didn’t need anything else, she told herself. And by the time she got to her apartment door, she was at least halfway to believing it.
    But then she opened the door and found Suro Nakamura in the middle of her living room, doing some kind of flowing but lethal-looking martial arts routine with a long wooden staff, dressed in nothing but a pair of black silk pants.
    “What are you doing in my apartment?” she asked, stopping short in the doorway.
    He came out of Kung Fu mode and faced her, standing the staff in front of him. “Have you eaten yet?”
    “What are you doing in my apartment?!” she repeated, louder and angrier this time.
    He grabbed a glass of water from a nearby table and pointed to a sleek suitcase standing near the couch. “I’ve decided to move in.”

CHAPTER 10
    AFTER dropping that bombshell, Suro set aside his staff. He then went into her tiny open plan kitchen and dug around her cabinets until he found a large plastic tumbler. Lacey watched in horror as he poured himself a glass of tap water as if he actually lived there.
    “You cannot stay here,” she informed him, coming to stand on the other side of the counter. She tried to ignore the sight of how good his upper body looked, roped with sinewy muscle and covered with a light sheen of sweat that showed just how hard he had been working out.
    He answered by pulling open drawers until he found her stash of takeout menus. “How do you feel about Indian food?” he asked, holding up one menu.
    “You can’t just barge in here and tell me you’re staying,” she said, ignoring the answering rumble of her tummy, which hadn’t been provided an adequate dinner. “It’s my apartment.”
    “In the apartment building I own,” he said, perusing the menu.
    “Yeah, but just because you own the place doesn’t mean you can squat here. Tenants have rights!”
    He put the menu down and came over to face her across the counter. “You’re right, Lacey. My being here does violate several tenant laws. You should call the police.”
    She stood there frozen with frustration, because she knew, and was fairly sure he’d correctly guessed, there was no way a woman in her position would ever call the police for anything.
    “You know the line between aggressive and insane stalker guy?” she asked. “You’ve totally crossed it. I mean totally crossed it. You’re like a football field over where that line should be!”
    She had hoped calling him on his crazy behavior would shame him into leaving but he just picked up his phone and ordered them a chicken curry for dinner. Which was how Lacey came to find herself, forty minutes later, sitting across the rickety old wooden table in her living room, sharing a meal with a man who apparently did not understand the definition of a one night stand. And to make it even worse, he had showered and redressed in dark jeans and a long-sleeved black Henley shirt, and outfit that both showed off his lean build,