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“Admit it,” Avery challenged.

“What?”

“That if you were positive the Night Watcher was only slightly unhinged—and let’s face it, a lot of men are—you would get turned on if you crossed paths with him again.”

Finley got up to look over her collection of DVDs. “I won’t be seeing him again.”

“Answer the question,” Avery insisted, suddenly a little too interested in the answer.

“I really don’t see the point—”

“Um, that’s why they call it fantasy, because it doesn’t need to have a point.”

She threw her hands up, knowing her friend wouldn’t leave her alone until she admitted it out loud. “Fine, in my little fantasy world, I would love to be accosted in the dark somewhere by the man and his sexy voice. Satisfied?”

“Accosted?” Avery mulled it over. “Certainly makes it strangely dangerous sounding, but damn erotic.”

Finley spotted the stack of romance books still sitting on the floor. She tossed Avery the one from the top of the pile. “Here. If you find the word accosted so titillating, expand your horizons.”

“Did you ask him why he wears the hood?” her friend asked, half joking.

“Maybe he couldn’t get a cape from the costume shop,” a rich, masculine voice said from the hallway.

Finley looked up and spotted Trace lounging in her open doorway. He propped a shoulder against the doorjamb, one hand hooked on the lip over the door, the other shoved in the pocket of cargo pants that perfectly encased his long legs.

Since helping her that morning, he’d exchanged his customary T-shirt for a sleeveless one that showed off his powerful chest and biceps to perfection. His mussed brown hair, intense green eyes and slow, lazy smile kicked her heart rate up a notch as she drank in the sight of him.

His full lips curved knowingly.

It was a full five seconds before Finley finally jerked her gaze away. Remembering her promise to steer clear of men like Trace, she struggled to calm the surge of pure, hot lust that curled down her backbone. Being caught staring at him really didn’t help her maintain the whole not interested angle. Then again, neither did fantasizing about the man.

Not that it mattered, or so she told herself. Had she met him before running the shop had turned into fifteen-hour work days, before she learned first-hand how much it hurt to fall for the wrong guy, maybe things could have been different. Between keeping the shop in the black, dealing with customers and fielding calls from an aggressive real estate agent, she didn’t have time to get involved with anyone. Certainly not with a guy who had a string of women who routinely came and went from the building. Sometimes more than one a week. The man was gorgeous and had more charm in his pinky than most of the men Finley knew. But nothing on God’s green earth was going to let her fall for him.

He crossed his arms, leaning fully into the doorframe. “Sorry to interrupt the conversation. Couldn’t help but overhear as I was walking by.”

Avery winked at Finley then fixed those perceptive brown eyes completely on Trace. Unfortunately, the look on her best friend’s face had matchmaker written all over it.

Finley rolled her eyes, not liking where this was headed. With the memory of her and Trace’s brief kiss still sizzling in the back of her mind, she needed Avery’s encouragement as much as she needed the man to finish what he’d started earlier.

Avery rearranged herself, as if prepping to interview him as a potential candidate. “You don’t think the Night Watcher is a kook, do you?”

“Night Watcher, huh? Is that what they’re calling him?” Trace surveyed Finley’s living room. One smooth, dark brow arched as he brought his attention back to her. “How’s the redecorating coming?”

“You know Finley and her craving for change.” Avery smirked unabashedly.

He didn’t take his eyes off Finley, a flicker of regret flashing in his eyes. “I didn’t know that actually. I don’t think she likes me very much.”

Finley barely got her mouth open and Avery was already answering for her. “That’s not true.”

The playful hurt look on Trace’s face said otherwise. “And how many times have you passed on invites to dinner?”

Avery’s jaw hit the floor. “What?”

Finley ignored the exaggerated look of shock on her friend’s face. “Maybe you’re just not my type.”

He straightened, taking a step into her apartment. “What is your type?” Challenge glittered in his eyes, daring her to deny the chemistry that crackled between them when he’d kissed her.

“She doesn’t have a type,” Avery argued, looking miffed neither one of them were paying attention to her.

Finley clawed her brain for some witty, clever retort and came up empty. Later she’d blame it on the heat, and not how she grew more aware of Trace with every purposeful step that carried him deeper into the room.

The corner of his mouth hitched up, showing off that damn dimple. His seductive gaze passed over her face, lingering longer than usual. A handful of butterflies slipped out of the cage and fluttered wildly in her stomach before she remembered the lanky redhead dropping by because she was too impatient about seeing him again.

His gaze seemed to zero in on the scrape at her temple. In less time than it took to cool her rapidly overheating insides, his expression turned to stone. What she thought was anger flared in his eyes, then retreated so quickly she might have imagined it.

He nodded at the disarray. “If you need any more help, I’m home for the rest of the afternoon.”

Avery grinned wickedly. “We may take you up on that if you promise not to wear a shirt.”

Finley gaped. “Avery!”

Her friend didn’t look remotely apologetic.

He backtracked, pausing in the doorway once more. His sexy smile made her stomach backflip. “That’ll be up to Finley.”