“I asked you," he growled, taking a heavy step toward me, “a question."
“Your laundry," I replied casually, waving my hand toward the basket on the couch. “You never mentioned you were a historian–"
“This room is off limits," he said, cutting me off.
Well, this wouldn't do. I wasn't even close to finished looking through his treasure trove. He stopped short of me, crossing his arms over his chest. I did the same, mimicking his stance, even though my heart was thundering.
“If you didn't want anyone in here, you should have locked the door," I said tartly.
His steely expression didn't change, but I saw the flash behind his eyes and the way the corner of his mouth twitched with some unsaid, cutting remark.
'Try me,' I thought. 'I've dealt with worse than you.'
He said nothing furt
