As they entered the living room, her gaze was caught by the rumpled blanket on the couch. “Were you sleeping down here?”

“I was,” Cara confirmed mid-yawn. “I sleep like the dead, but I figured if I was down here, I’d wake up if Stuart came back and tried breaking in again. Now that you’re here, I’m going up to my bed. That couch is the worst. It feels like a bunch of rocks covered in upholstery.”

Carefully avoiding John’s gaze, Molly made a hmm sound. “Once all of this is over and we have some spare cash again, we’re getting an alarm system.” She very deliberately didn’t mention that they might not be living in that house after everything was said and done.

Cara offered a good-night wave and climbed the stairs as John turned toward Molly. Reluctantly, knowing he was about to complain about sleeping on the couch made of rocks, she met his gaze.

“You need that alarm system sooner rather than later,” he said, proving that she hadn’t actually known what he was going to say after all. “I know someone who’ll do it at cost.”

“You know a lot of someones,” she said absently, staring at the couch as her conscience fought with her caution. “It’s handy.” Her conscience won, and she waved him past the sofa and toward the stairs. “Come on upstairs. No sense in you sleeping on a rock mattress when there’s a free bed.”

He didn’t protest. As he climbed the stairs behind her, he said, “I do know a lot of someones. You should take advantage of that. Unless you think I’m offering just so that I have another chance to search for the necklace.”

She tried unsuccessfully to hold back a laugh, and her attempt to restrain herself turned it into a snort.

“What?” he asked, sounding torn between huffiness and reluctant amusement.

“You’re…” She almost told him that he was cute when he pouted, but she swallowed the words at the last minute. Instead, she cleared her throat and scrambled to think of replacement words, ones that wouldn’t sound so much like flirting. “Nothing. Don’t mind me. I think I’m so tired I’m getting delirious.”

“Bed, then.” His huge hand touched her back ever so lightly, as if to help support her as she walked, and her skin instantly warmed. She knew she should pull away rather than soak up the contact, but it felt too good. Besides, she still felt a residual smidgen of guilt for so quickly assuming his motives were selfish when he’d saved her life at least once that night.

When she reached the bedroom, her hand hesitated on the doorknob for a moment before she turned it. It felt strange inviting John Carmondy into her room when she’d never thought about him except with irritation—and perhaps the tiniest bit of objective lust—until a few days ago. Now, she was trusting him to watch her back…well, mostly trusting him.

As her thoughts tumbled around, trying to figure out how she felt about her changing relationship with John, he stepped into her room, instantly shrinking it to dollhouse size.