Paint was dried on my aching fingers when my phone dinged, alerting me to a text message. I shot off that stool like it bit my behind and grabbed the phone. It was from Reece. Two words.

You up?

I responded quicker than a gunslinger in the Wild West, firing back a yes. After a moment, he shot back be over in a few.

My heart was racing as I glanced up to where the time showed on the phone. Holy crap, it was almost three in the morning. Hurrying out into the living room, I placed my phone on the coffee table and was about to haul ass back to the bedroom to change when I saw headlights through the front window.

I dashed over and yanked the curtain back. The headlights were right in front of my car. They’d stopped. A second later, they turned off. Deep inside, I knew it had to be Reece, and he must’ve texted me while he was on his way here.

Like a wild animal that had run out in front of a car, I couldn’t move as I watched a tall shadow take form and head across the sidewalk. When a soft knock on my door sounded, I might’ve squeaked. A little.

Spinning around, I dropped my glasses on the coffee table and then darted over to the door and stretched up. I couldn’t see crap out of the peephole, but knowing it had to be Reece, I opened the door.

Holy hot guy . . .

It was Reece and he was dressed like something out of my fantasies. A tight black shirt accentuated the broad shoulders, defined upper arms and chest. There was no mistaking how cut his tapered waist was. The shirt was tucked into black tactical pants and the black boots he wore completed the badass ensemble.

Okay. I was totally down for this part of the SWAT uniform.

I dragged my gaze up as I stepped back, letting him in. He stalked forward, a large duffel bag in his right hand. His knuckles were bleached white. So caught up in eyeball screwing him, I hadn’t realized he was checking me out in the same hungry, intense way I’d been doing to him. It was in that moment I realized I was only wearing the shirt.

I so did not even need to look down at myself to know I looked like a hot mess.

Reece closed the door behind him, locking it without peeling his eyes off me, which I thought, took some talent. I drew in a deep breath. “Is . . . is everything okay?”

There was something in the way he stared at me as he placed the duffel bag behind the recliner. It was raw, wholly unfiltered and a bit . . . unstable. As if he were a band stretched too tight.

He shook his head. “No.”