Neither of them spoke. It was all she could do to keep from fidgeting under his impassive stare. Delaney was all too aware of her bare feet, the brief shorts and top she’d changed into after she’d showered. The shirt’s narrow straps hadn’t allowed for a bra, and that had been fine with her. The temperature had neared one hundred that afternoon, and she hadn’t planned on seeing anyone this evening. But now she felt naked, exposed in a way that had her skin tingling and her pulse chugging. She was at a distinct disadvantage, and the sensation was unwelcome.

“Unless you’re planning to charge me with unlawfully accepting a place to live, you’re done here, aren’t you?”

He leaned one shoulder against the door frame, folded his arms across his very impressive chest. “Am I?”

She measured the space between him and the doorway with her gaze. The only way through was to squeeze by all that hard sinew and smoldering animosity. Deciding to stay put, she backed up to rest a hip against the desk corner. “How’d you get in?”

He held out a key. “We keep a spare outside. You’ll want to put it somewhere safe. This place doesn’t have more than a standard dead bolt to secure the doors and like I said, it’s pretty isolated.”

“I like isolated.” But she took the key and slipped it into the pocket of her shorts. “I’ll be fine.”

“There wasn’t a vehicle out front. Or in back.”

Her gaze narrowed as comprehension dawned. “How long were you lurking around outside before you decided to invite yourself into the house?”

He didn’t answer her question, a fact that didn’t escape her. “I knocked. But you wouldn’t have noticed if I’d driven a truck through the place with those things on.” He pursed his lips, twisted them to the side in the direction of her discarded headphones, an act she’d already learned was uniquely Native American. The gesture drew her attention to his mouth, to the chiseled lips and the uncompromising chin, and a crazy little spiral of heat arrowed through her.