"Not if you came knocking," she argued, followed by a soft chuckle. But she got the point. He could've turned her away, though, but he hadn't. And even though he hadn't invited her inside with so many words, he hadn't told her to leave. Or find the couch for that matter.
Teeth sank down on the inside of her cheek, head tilting as he came closer. He was spinning quite the story, she'd give him that. This was no princess and the fucking pea. Though Imogen tried to fight it, she couldn't help but smile at his words. God, the cocky bastard. "I'm sorry." She waited until he was finished with his little speech before she apologised. "You're right, that is like straight out of a book." Nodding, her fingers itched to reach out and touch him. "But I think you've got me all wrong. See - even though I may read a few romance novels here and there, they're not really my cup of tea." Closing the gap between them, the brunette had her head tilted back so her eyes could be on his. "What I do enjoy is a good psychological thriller. The darkness in people. How they think. All the different methods people use to kill someone. How to get away with it." Was she revealing too much? "Even though most of them are fictional, there are some sick, sick people out in this world," she continued, getting up on her toes. The way his gaze had once more been on her lips had not gone unnoticed. "And I came here, to you, because I trust you." Feeling like she was on thin ice, she still couldn't back down. Her hand on his chest now for support as she could feel the warmth of his breath on her lips. "I don't care that you don't want me, Mr. Wyatt. Just tell me where I can find a blanket and a pillow."