Dawson did not like the storm crossing the pretty strawberry-blonde’s face. She clearly didn’t like his answer, and his brain screamed some of the words she’d said. What are you doing in my house?
What are you doing in my house?“Your house?” he asked at the same time she practically shrieked, “You don’t live here. I live here.”
IHer light green eyes held plenty of panic, and Dawson needed to figure out how to erase it. She was pretty, with long limbs and a lithe frame, but she also possessed some powerful strength, and if he wanted to stay here—which he did—he better get talking.
“Did you buy the place?” he asked.
“Yes.” She folded her arms, which made a squelching sound from how wet her clothes were. “I was very clear about when I was moving in. You sent me the key, remember?”
He hel
