Chapter Four
It wasn’t until one in the afternoon that Moriah became aware of KC moving around in his bedroom.
A moment later, the door opened, followed by footsteps down the hall, then the bathroom door closing.
The toilet flushed soon after, and when the shower turned on, she started pacing the kitchen floor, her nerves tightening with every step.
Since she’d waited this long to talk to him, she figured she could hold out a little longer. Once he was showered and dressed, she would tell him he needed to leave and find somewhere else to stay.
As she straightened the already tidy kitchen, she searched for the right approach.
She couldn’t afford a repeat of earlier, not with a man like KC, who didn’t strike her as someone who took orders well.
If she wanted him gone without a fight, she’d have to handle this differently—less confrontation, more persuasion.
After recovering from his unexpected appearance—and his quick disappearance—in the middle of the night, she’d gone back to the bedroom she was using and quickly gotten dressed, choosing jeans and a large red T-shirt, the hem falling low enough to conceal the gun tucked into the back of her waistband.
A pair of sneakers completed the outfit in case she had to run.
She’d considered taking a shower, but the thought of being that vulnerable with him in the house had shut that idea down fast.
Her long hair was pulled into a loose ponytail, and her face was bare of makeup. She’d almost reached for her usual eyeliner and blush earlier before stopping herself. She wasn’t trying to attract KC—if anything, she wanted the opposite.
The sooner he was gone, the better. She needed sleep, and after that, she needed a plan.
She jumped as the bathroom door opened without warning, the sound snapping her out of her thoughts. She hadn’t even realized the shower had shut off.
Turning her back to the counter, she braced herself as his footsteps came down the hall and into the small kitchen off the main living room. The space had already felt tight, but the moment he stepped inside, it seemed to shrink even more, his broad frame taking up far too much of it.
His hair was still damp, darker from the shower, and his face was clean-shaven now.
The clean, masculine scent of soap and aftershave clung to him, fresh and subtle without being overpowering.
She’d thought losing the scruff might make him look less intimidating, but she’d been wrong.
If anything, it made everything about him sharper—more defined, more impossible to ignore.
Or maybe it wasn’t his face at all. It was him—all of him. The quiet confidence and the way he moved, like he belonged wherever he was.
He wore another fitted T-shirt—gray this time—and a pair of faded jeans that left very little to the imagination.
Her body reacted before her brain could catch up. Seriously?
She jerked her eyes away, gripping the edge of the counter as heat crept up her neck. She was annoyed—at him, at herself, and at the way her thoughts had veered somewhere they had no business going.
He barely glanced at her as he went straight to the cabinet above the coffee maker and grabbed a large mug. Her eyes flickered back to him and roamed over his broad shoulders and strong back. She tried her damnedest to keep her gaze above his waist but wasn’t successful.
He poured himself some coffee before returning the glass pot to its holder, then pivoted to lean his hips against the counter, ankles crossed. When he looked up and caught her staring, heat rushed to her face.
She turned away quickly, grabbing a cloth and wiping down the already spotless table for two, pretending she had something—anything—better to focus on. It also put a little more distance between them.
“How the hell do you drink this stuff? It’s disgusting.”
The rough edge in his voice caught her attention despite herself, and she glanced over in time to see him grimace and dump the contents of the mug into the sink.
She shrugged while brushing invisible crumbs into her waiting hand. “Well, it’s been sitting there since the middle of the night.”
She focused on wiping the same spot on the table, but her gaze kept drifting back to him, tracking his movements before she could stop herself. He didn’t say anything, didn’t even look her way, but something told her he knew every move she made.
He cleaned out the pot, then reset the coffeemaker with fresh grinds. As it brewed, he rifled through the refrigerator and pantry, taking out what he needed, apparently making himself bacon, eggs, and toast. She didn’t think this was the time to point out that he was eating her groceries.
The way he found a skillet and utensils without searching only confirmed what he’d told her—he was comfortable there. Familiar with every part of the house.
Which meant he probably wasn’t planning to leave anytime soon.
Her grip tightened on the cloth as she debated whether to wait until he finished cooking or take the plunge and tell him to go.
With his back to her, as he placed several slices of bacon into a skillet on the stove, KC put her dilemma on hold. “Are you hungry?”
The question surprised her. “Uh, no, thanks. I ate earlier.”
He grunted in response and kept his eyes on what he was doing. “So, do you have a name?”
She hesitated, making sure she stuck with the name she’d been using for the past few weeks. She’d change it again once she left Whisper, but for now, it was the one his uncle knew. “Maura Jennings.”
After moving the sizzling bacon to a paper towel-covered plate and adding four eggs to the skillet, he popped two pieces of bread into the nearby toaster. “Well, Maura Jennings, why don’t you tell me about yourself, hmm?”
She stared at him, wary of his questions. “Like what?”
“Oh, I don’t know... like... how come you’re renting my uncle’s place, and why you threatened to shoot me with a 9mm last night?”
He still didn’t turn around, and Moriah stared at his muscular back, trying to think of an answer he would accept. “A single woman can never be too careful. The gun is for protection. You never know when some lunatic will break in at two o’clock in the morning.”
He caught the intended sarcasm in her last sentence, glancing over his shoulder at her with a snort before turning back to his breakfast. “I said it last night, and I’ll say it again.
I didn’t break in. I have a key. And last time I had a psych exam, they determined I wasn’t a lunatic. .. or so they told me.”
What? Is he kidding? Why is he having psych exams? Maybe I should have called the police.
After removing the paper towel, he slid the sunny-side-up eggs beside the bacon, added the buttered toast, and carried the plate to the small bistro set she’d wiped down. Moriah stepped back, putting the table between them as he sat.
His gaze flicked toward her, and a smirk tugged at his mouth when he caught her staring, her eyes wide and her mouth agape.
“That was a joke, Maura. I’m in the military. My job requires me to go through a psych exam every once in a while.”
Relief washed over her. She closed her mouth, and some of the tension eased from her shoulders. “Oh. Okay.”
She crossed the small kitchen, tossed the cloth into the sink, then leaned against the counter and studied him as he ate.
His jaw flexed with each bite, the movement drawing her attention more than it should.
His forearms tightened and relaxed as he lifted the fork—controlled and efficient, like everything else about him.
And then there was his mouth. His lips were firm, but with a softness to their shape that held her gaze.
Moriah found herself wondering what it would be like to be kissed by a man like him—then immediately shut that thought down.
A guy who looked like that didn’t lack for attention, and she had no doubt he’d taken full advantage of it.
Still, she noticed she hadn’t seen a real smile from him yet, and despite herself, she wondered what it would look like.
Suddenly conscious of ogling him, she cleared her throat. “So, is your name C-a-s-e-y or K-C?”
“It’s K-C, as in Kevin Christopher. But nobody’s called me by my full name since I was a little kid, and then, only when I was in trouble.”
She tilted her head in curiosity. “Were you in trouble a lot as a kid?”
“That’s putting it mildly.” He pointed his fork at her. “But we’re not talking about me—we’re talking about you.”
She lifted one shoulder in what she hoped passed for a bored shrug. “What’s to talk about? I needed a place to stay, and your uncle was kind enough to rent me his house.”
After finishing the bacon and eggs, he soaked up the remaining yolks with his toast. “Where’re you from?”
“Los Angeles,” she lied.
Why is he so nosy?
Swallowing the last of his breakfast, he raised an eyebrow at her. “That’s odd. You don’t have a West Coast accent. More like from the middle states.”
Dropping her gaze to the floor to hide her astonishment at being caught in a fib, she shrugged again. “Well, my family moved around a lot. I didn’t even know I had an accent.”
He studied her for a few moments, and she fought the urge to shift under his scrutiny. If he suspected she was lying, he didn’t push it. “So, how did you end up in our little town of Whisper, and where did you meet my uncle?”
At least this part of what she was willing to tell him was true. “I’ve been traveling around a lot and ended up at the Walmart over in Elizabeth City. Your uncle noticed me looking at apartment rentals posted on the bulletin board and offered to rent me this place.”
Dan Malone had approached her to see if she needed help, saying she looked “lost.” Not trusting a male stranger, Moriah had started to walk away, but stopped when he mentioned a house available for cheap rent.
Still wary, she’d taken his driver’s license and cell phone when he offered them.
At his suggestion, she’d called information for the Dare County Sheriff’s Department, then asked to speak with someone who could confirm his identity.
Mary Schreiber, the secretary, had vouched for him without hesitation, saying Dan Malone was a good friend of the sheriff, an upstanding citizen, and the owner of an empty beach house.
She’d gone on to describe him as a kind man who was always helping those in need—and someone Moriah could trust.
With that kind of endorsement—and no better options—Moriah had taken him up on the offer to rent his place, even if he was friends with the local sheriff.
When he realized she didn’t have a phone, he’d even let her keep hold of his cell during the drive, giving her a small sense of control until they reached the beach house.
She knew trusting a stranger was risky, maybe even foolish, but there had been something in Dan Malone’s soft brown eyes that convinced her he was one of the good ones. And she hadn’t come across many of those.
“Yeah, that sounds like Uncle Dan. He’s always bringing in a stray or two.”
Her eyes narrowed, her chin lifting a fraction.
“No offense,” he added.
“None taken,” she mumbled, even as the word lingered. Stray. It hit closer than she liked—too close to how she felt, drifting from place to place, with no one to count on, while trying to survive.
Picking up his plate, KC stood and carried it to the sink. He rinsed it off, then set it in the dishwasher with the fork and knife, then washed, dried, and put away the skillet and spatula he’d used. By the time he wiped down the cooking area, everything looked as if it had never been touched.
Moriah watched him finish, then lifted her chin. “So, you’ll be leaving now?”
He spun around slowly, crossing his muscular arms over his equally powerful chest. “What makes you think that?”
“Well, um… uh…” She faltered, then folded her arms to match his stance and shifted her weight. Be firm. “You can’t stay here. I paid Mr. Malone my rent, and I don’t want or need a housemate.”
His eyes narrowed, heat flickering in them as his gaze dipped—brief, but long enough to make her aware her arms had pushed her breasts up. “What do you want then?”
Her mouth parted, caught off guard by the edge in his tone.
The moment stretched a beat too long before he shook his head, as if pulling himself back, and straightened.
“I’ll tell you what. I’ll talk to Uncle Dan and see if I can crash on his couch.
Shouldn’t be a problem. Not as comfortable as my bed here, but it’ll do. ”
She nodded, still watching him as he left the kitchen. A few minutes later, with his sneakers on and keys in hand, KC walked out without another word.
It took her a full ten minutes to realize he’d left the rest of his things in the smaller bedroom. She wasn’t sure if she was upset or pleased to know he would have to return for them.
And that bothered her more than anything.