I feel him looking at me without having to turn around and seeing his eyes.
Grabbing the bottle of water I’m looking for, I stand up straight, close the fridge door, and slowly turn around to avoid the inevitable, afraid of what I’ll find.
However, as I lock eyes with him, the sight that awaits me is difficult to describe. It’s a look of sinful nights, silk sheets, and bodies wrapped up in
each other.
He needs to stop looking like that. Like some dark, tortured prince who probably has tragic poetry written about Alm.
His jaw is clenched, his hands fisted at his side as if holding himself back. From what, I’m not sure yet. The problem is that I’m not sure I want him to hold back.
I try to ignore the flutter in my belly and the ache low in my core, but with every passing second we stand here and stare at each other, it’s becoming increasingly difficult. He awakens something in me I never even knew existed, much less know how to navigate.
He suddenly speaks, low and gravelly, “What?”
I blink, my brain struggling to compute what words are right now, but eventually blurt out, “Huh? Nothing,” I say, hoping my non–answer appeases him.
He does that
it head tilting thing I’m coming to notice he does just before calling me out on my bullshit. “You keep looking at my mouth.”
Feigning to be appalled, I even place a hand on my chest as I say vehemently, “I do mort”
He takes a couple of steps closer to me, close enough that his unique scent wraps around me, but not near enough for us to touch. Not yet, at least
In an amused tone, he says, “Little Menace, I have perfect eyesight.”
Then, without giving me a chance to get snarky with him, he shocks the hell out of me by saying, low and in a dark tone that could rival the deepest pits of hell, “If you want something, take it.”
As he looks at me, waiting for my response to his baiting of me, I can’t help but imagine what it would be like to give myself over to him and the desires he awakens in me. I have a feeling it won’t be gentle, and it won’t be love–making that’s sweet. It’ll be rough, intense, and soul- destroying.
You’ll never be the same once you give yourself to him. You’ll crave what he can do to you and your body like an addictive drug there’s no cure for. You’ll be a shell of your former self when you’re not in his orbit. He’ll become your be–all, end–all.
It should be something to be concerned about. And yet, I am not.
As I’m about to step forward and take the kiss we’ve both been craving, my goddamn doorbell rings, a–fucking–gain.
What’s it with everyone thinking my house is a revolving door today? I never get this much foot traffic over a weekend.
Thane growls, fucking growls, his frustration at being interrupted, and I’m right there with him. With all these unexpected interruptions, I can’t decide what the universe is trying to tell me. Is she warning me to stay away from him and not to sell my soul to this devil of a man? Or maybe she wants me to be entirely sure before I sell my soul to this devil of a man, and not jump into this with eyes closed, while dressed in my sluttiest lingerie.
When I get to the front door and swing it open, Gemma’s son, Michael, stands before me, his arms weighed down by a huge box.
“Michael?” I ask suspiciously.
“iti Harley, Mom sent me. She said it was your day off, but knew you’d want to see the new books delivered early this morning. Something about cataloging them before going onto the shelves?”
Michael is a sweet guy in his early forties. He is divorced, nice, friendly, helpful, but too bland for my tastes. He sometimes helps out around the shop as a favor to his mom. I’ve offered numerous times to pay him for carrying heavy items, rearranging the displays, and sometimes event showing the customers where certain sections of books are in the store.
1/2
Chapter 20
He always just hints that I can let him take me out for coffee as a thank you. Until now, I’ve had a valid excuse of being in a relationship, but I’m unsure how to navigate that conversation now that Steven was kicked to the curb. But, I’ll cross that bridge when I get there. Now is not the time to worry about it.
1 should be worried about the brooding mammoth of a man in my home that tends not to like it when other men are in my vicinity. Hopefully, he won’t growl at this one too.
“Oh, sure, of course. You can bring it inside and dump it on my coffee table, please.” I say as I open the door wider and indicate in what direction he should walk.
Following him into the living room, I see Thane sitting in the recliner, his arms crossed, a narrowed look around his eyes.
Michael hesitates for a second when he sees Thane, but recovers quickly and then places the box where i asked.
Being the polite host I am, I address Michael with a friendly smile: “This is Thane. He’s a.. I pause, unsure what I should classify him as, then go for something that won’t raise too many suspicions should Michael decide to tell Gemma about my houseguest: “He’s an old family friend who was in the neighborhood.”
Not liking my answer, Thane locks eyes with me from behind Michael’s back, his face screaming. ‘We will be talking about this later.
I don’t know why he’s got his panties in such a twist. It’s not like I can tell him that Thane’s a total stranger who got stabbed in an alley last night, whom I then rescued, brought to my home, tended to his wounds, and have almost kissed on numerous occasions.
Michael, being the friendly guy he is, turns around and extends his hand to Thane as he says, “Pleased to meet you, man. I’m Michael, I help out at the bookstore sometimes.”
Ever the grumpy sourpuss, Thane gives Michael’s hand a disgusted look as if it’s infected with some venereal disease, making no attempt to return his handshake or even introducing himself to the other man.
Apparently, he didn’t learn his lesson about manners in my house. Oh well, it seems I’ll have to embarrass him yet again.
“Thane,” I start in a sickly sweet voice, “be a dear, and greet the nice man before I smack you over the head with my lampshade.”
Michael chokes on a suppressed laugh at my speaking to Thane like that. Thane glares at me as if he could make me burst into flames with his stare alone. I, on the other hand, smile at him as if butter wouldn’t melt in my mouth.
