The knock on my door is both alarming and annoying because I have an inkling I know exactly who it is.
Fuck, was she waiting to pounce the moment I returned home?
Christ almighty, all I want is some uninterrupted downtime. Is that too much to ask for?
Swinging my legs off the couch, I rumble with anger as my feet meet the soft wool of the rug, landing harder than necessary. I took no part in decorating my place. When I purchased it two years ago, I hired a high cost and well-known designer who took care of everything for me. She also took care of me—in the bedroom—during the redesign phase. If I recall, she was very competent in all that she did to and for me.
Now turned on once again, I realize the last time I got laid was the night with Margo, and lack of sex has me even surlier than I typically am on any given night. Let’s face it, the woman standing on the other side of this door will catch hell from me tonight because I am not in the mood for company.
Unless she’s offering that ass.
Then I might reconsider. I’ll have to see how things go.
With a snarl, I unlatch the locks and punch in the security code, swinging the door wide to find just who I expected standing outside the doorway.
“What?” I bark, gaining an evil satisfaction knowing I’ve startled her as she jumps back a step.
Sutton regains her balance, fumbling with a tower of food containers in her hands, working to ensure they don’t topple over. I lower my head, my menacing glare penetrating her soft features, the tight muscle in my jaw twitching as she chews her lips nervously.
Her eyes slowly drift down my bare chest, and then a little lower, before she swiftly lifts her gaze back to meet mine. Her wide-eyed expression is almost comical enough to make me smile because it’s obvious she noticed my semi pressed firmly against the thin material of my sleep pants. Good.
For some unknown reason, I enjoy making her feel uncomfortable. She’s easy to rile up and agitate. It brings back memories of being a kid and teasing my little sister and her friends, getting them to shriek and laugh and run away as I chased them around the house.
Maybe it’d be fun to chase this hot girl around the bedroom.
My icy glare cuts into her more, and she sways a bit under my scrutiny.
“You realize it’s after midnight, don’t you? I could’ve been sleeping.”
The covered dishes wobble again in her nervous hands, another Jenga-like jiggle, as she inhales a sexy gasp, her face covered with a sudden blush. Which I dare say, despite the interruption, is rather cute.
She’s actually rather cute. No, not just cute. She borders on beautiful.
Pouty, full lips, with an indentation in the bottom center that looks like someone at birth left a thumb in the plushy softness just for fun. A pretty nose that slopes a bit at the tip, making it adorably kissable. Deep hazel eyes that extract more green than gray, with flecks of gold scattered about that seem to express sincerity and honesty. As if they’ve never held or told a lie.
And her slender neck exposed because her rich auburn hair is piled high in a messy bun, beckons to be skimmed with my fingers and sucked by my lips and tongue.
My body inconveniently reacts even further. My erection grows hard and hot with seething want. Placing my hands in front of my crotch, I do my best to appear bored and irritated with her arrival, as I mentally reprimand myself for taking notice of her physical beauty.
Nope, nope, nope. Not happening, dude.
“Oh. . . hi, Miles. I know it’s late. . .” she stammers, her lashes blinking furiously, teeth scraping over her bottom lip again.
My aggravated sigh turns soft, much to my chagrin. “What do you want?”
I hope she’ll get to the point quickly if I continue acting like a dick, sending her scurrying away whence she came. I now want more than ever for Sutton just to leave me alone so I can forget the way she seems to bubble hot over my skin, heating me like an icy-hot ointment.
I don’t want anyone to get close. It’s the way it’s been for years and the way it has to remain—the only way I can survive. If being a bastard and a prick is how I accomplish that goal, then so be it.
I am not a man deserving of homemade meals, sweet, apologetic gestures, or kindness. Not after what happened with my Mel.
Not after what I let happen to my baby sister.
Sutton stands in front of me, uncertainty flickering through her eyes as she shifts the dishes to balance in one hand and gives a tiny wave with the other. “Um,so did you get my note?”
I feel a bit of guilt when I roll my eyes and reply with harsh sarcasm, “Yeah, I got it. What are you, like, in high school or something? Needing to pass notes in the hallway?”
Sutton chuckles nervously, perhaps misunderstanding that my mocking criticism is meant to be unkind, not humorous.
