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And now Kent really wanted to punch his face in.

The first thing she noticed was that the front door was ajar.

Her heart raced. Her body started to shake. She tightened her hold on the bag of groceries in her hand. What should she do?

Call the cops, Abby.

Right. Right. Only problem was her phone was dead and her neighbors weren’t the type of people who’d welcome the cops bearing down on their doorstep.

Maybe she’d just forgotten to lock it this morning. She gulped. Except she knew she hadn’t. Was it the guy who’d approached her in the diner parking lot the other night? Had he broken into her house? Her mind went to the card in her top drawer.

No. Nope, not happening. She wasn’t calling him.

He had made it abundantly clear that he was just repaying a debt the other night. That she wasn’t his type. Oh, he’d tried to soften the blow by saying he wasn’t what she needed.

But how did he expect her to believe that? He was gorgeous, smart, rich, strong and kind to his sister.

She’d finally managed to read between the lines and figured out what he’d really meant. Then she’d gotten angry. After a few days, that had worn off and now she was just sad. Lonely.

And apparently, the victim of a break-in.

Seriously, what sort of an idiot would break into her place? Wasn’t it obvious from the outside that she had nothing worth stealing?

Her temper stirred. Like she needed this right now? Wasn’t the universe sending enough crap her way, now she had to deal with this too? She didn’t have the money to replace the door let alone anything else this asshole had taken or destroyed.

She gasped as she remembered the one thing in the house that might be worth stealing.

Her precious T.V.

Her outrage gave her enough courage to push the door open with her foot, step inside and yell out, “if you’re still in there, you might want to run now because I’ve called the cops and they’ll be here any minute.”

Someone walked out of the living room. Only they weren’t running. And they weren’t trying to hide who they were. Dark, angry eyes turned on her.

“You better fucking not have.”

8

The bag of groceries slipped from her hand. She winced as it hit the floor, knowing the likelihood of her having an omelet for dinner had probably just been destroyed. But that was a fleeting thought, since most of her attention was on the man standing too close to her.

He’d been a cute kid with his dark hair and olive skin. He had a tall, thin build. Although he was leaning towards gaunt at the moment. Worry stirred and she pushed it aside.

He’d never cared about her. Except, for when he was younger. And that was why she couldn’t let go. Because every time she tried to pretend she didn’t care, she remembered the sweet little boy who’d hold her hand as they hid under her bed while her mother fucked whoever she’d brought home that night.

Abby had often wondered whether her mom brought those men home for fun or if she’d charged them. Then she’d decided she didn’t want to know.

They had to have different fathers. Even though neither of them knew who their father was. Abby’s hair was a lot lighter, her skin far paler.

None of which really mattered right now, since he’d just broken into her house and scared the living daylights out of her. And made her drop a bag of groceries that were supposed to last her a week.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

“You better fucking not have called the cops!”

Before she realized what he was doing, Max had his hand wrapped around her wrist and was yanking her forward. Her foot connected with the bag, sending food flying.

“Fuck! You’re making a fucking mess, Abby!”

“Me?” she snapped back, trying to free her hand. “You’re the one who broke into my house, damaged the door and scared the shit out of me. What do you think you are doing! And let go of my wrist, you’re hurting me.”