They’re not here now, though. We’re very much alone. Looking back, I probably should’ve held off on that second beer. I’m nowhere near inebriated, but I’m definitely loose.

Shelby takes the lead, hopping up the first steps. Her short hair bounces, wisps brushing at the nape of her long, pale neck. My mouth waters.

Then she’s several steps ahead of me and I’m struck with an altogether different view of the gentle curve of her waist, the sliver of soft-looking skin just above the delicious slope of her ass.

She’s wearing the hell out of those pants.

I shake off the thought, willing myself to cool down and follow behind her in a completely nonpervert way. Half a staircase between us is probably enough.

Christ.

I reach the top and Shelby’s already doing a slow spin, her brilliant brain taking in the detail work. I settle against the door jamb of the far bedroom, crossing my arms over my chest and watching her.

Her long fingers skim the dusty shelves before she leans across to the windowsill, pounding once and trying to open the window. It sticks; painted shut probably. She tries again with the next one. And the next. She gets to the last one and huffs in silence when it doesn’t budge.

“We might just have to replace them, Shelb.”

She shakes her head. “Not if I can help it. They’re still good. Airtight. Besides, they’re custom to the house. If we replaced them, I’d lose the top shelf of the bookcase. It’s all one piece.”

I’m beginning to see what her dad was talking about. She’s stubborn.

I sigh and move behind her, making a fist and banging against each corner as hard as I can without shattering any glass. She’s right about one thing: the windows are airtight. I’m just not convinced it isn’t a century of lead paint making them that way.

I reach down, a hand on either side of her and tug up, pretending not to notice the way her breath catches at my nearness or how I can feel the heat coming off the bare skin of her neck.

The window slides open with an almighty creak, cool evening air rushing in, and she gasps in pleasure. The sound shoots straight to my core, burning me alive.

A window for Christ’s sake. Imagine the sounds she’ll make when I take down that wall downstairs.

Fuck. No. Don’t imagine that. Not while only millimeters from being pressed against the sweeping curves of her back.

I take a giant step away. “There. That wasn’t that difficult. I bet the rest will open with a little elbow grease.”

She spins slowly to face me, color high in her cheeks and her blue eyes full of something that’s definitely not what I hope it is.