What's Yours is Mine Read Online Free PDF Page A

the Heimlich?  
    He went on, embroidering a tale that got taller by the minute and involved the ruler of Dubai coming to her rescue and ultimately taking her camel racing and making her his fifth wife. By then, Darcy was snorting with laughter, trying hard to avoid spitting milk through her nose.
    Will had ended his recitation with a severe look. “And to think, all of this could be avoided by switching to something actually digestible. I suggest oatmeal.”
    Maybe he had been weird about food then after all, and she just hadn’t picked up on it. She hadn’t picked up on a lot of things about him, it seemed.  
    Her stomach growled, bringing her back to the present. She still held the box of twig granola but hesitated before pouring. Was it ethical to eat someone else’s food if they’d stocked your own pantry?  
    Contemplating the issue, Darcy poured rice milk (again, ugh) into the pathetic excuse for cereal and started munching as she gazed across the room. It sure was a pretty room, with pale wood floors and light pouring in from the skylight and windows. His furniture was several cuts above Ikea: clean, hand-carved lines, with inlaid stonework on the coffee table.  
    And there he was, the man himself. Stretched out on the couch, asleep; his arm over his eyes to block the sunlight. He’d donned a T-shirt and boxers sometime in the night. She’d been sleeping so soundly she hadn’t heard him rummage through his dresser. She, the lightest sleeper in the West. Astonishing.  
    Damn, but he was good-looking. His arms all muscle and sinew, dusted with fine, sun-bleached hair, his face like a goddamned angel carved from soft marble, Raphael or Gabriel, one of them. Ha, no, Lucifer, the fallen angel. An ironically beautiful exterior for such a self-serving, dark soul.  
    A dark soul she’d had mind-blowing hate sex with. Not her finest hour. Well, he’d be gone before the day was out, and maybe if she promised to be a really good girl, this would be the last time she’d have to deal with him.  
    Except… What if he was right and she didn’t really own the place after all?  
    Panic welled up, and she almost spit out her bite of tree bark and nuts.  
    No. It was her home. She’d signed the paperwork; the bank had her mortgage. It would be fine.  
    She put the bowl down and crossed over to the pile of stuff she’d dumped by the door last night. Her cell phone still had a charge, thankfully, and she still had Janet the Enthusiastic Realtor’s number in her favorites.  
    “Gillooly speaking.”
    “Janet. It’s Darcy Jennings.” Darcy crouched by the door, half sitting. She spoke softly to avoid disturbing her slumbering opponent.  
    “Darcy! How do you like your new home? Isn’t it wonderful? Everyone in the complex is saying how much they love it. The sound of the ocean, the skylights, the exposed wood, the arched ceilings…”
    “Yeah, it’s great. But there’s a problem. You know Will Dougherty?”
    Janet sounded puzzled. “Will’s a sweetie. Surely you can’t have any gripes with him. He’s a perfect gentleman.”  
    Would Janet still think so if she’d seen them going at it last night? Darcy flushed. “Um, yeah. Can you look up the exact address of his condo? The unit number, I mean?”
    “I’m not sure I should give out that information. Maybe you should ask him.”
    Darcy rocked back on her heels. “Yeah. Well. I know what he thinks. He, uh, seems to think this is his condo.”
    “Come again?”
    “My place. Number fourteen. He thinks he bought it. Can you look it up?”
    “Just a sec.”  
    Darcy could hear the shuffle of papers, the ringing of a phone in the background, the clacking of fingertips on a computer keyboard. Finally, Janet came back. “Um.”
    “What?” A jolt of panic rose in her chest. “It’s not his. It can’t be. I signed the paperwork by proxy. You said it was completely legal.”  
    “Yeah. Um.” Janet sighed, her breath whistling down the phone