I roll my eyes. She’s reiterated this statement so many time that I can mimic her facial expression, her hand movements, and even say it with the same tone of voice.
Me: I’ll do my best, but, Miranda, at some point, we might not get what we want. He likes his anonymity and he’s has gone to great lengths to keep it a secret.
Miranda: I don’t care. Get him here, or I’ll come to him.
Me: I’ll update you later.
Miranda: I’m not kidding, Indigo. Tell him to name his price.
And that’s enough of that. She’ll keep going, I’ll get aggravated, Miranda will make a statement, I’ll mouth out, and then she’ll hound me for questions, which I’ll refuse to answer, she’ll threaten to fire me, and I have half a mind to let her without putting up a fight. I will do a lot of things that can be portrayed as sketchy to get Miranda what she wants, but this isn’t one of them.
I stay where I’m planted. The subtle breeze helps the thick Florida early afternoon weather. The heat wraps around me like a damp hand, heavy and relentless, the kind that clings to your skin and slows your breathing. A lot like I’d imagine Toren’s hands would wrap around my hip while we’re in bed together.
His torch flares to life again, and even though I’m far enough away to be out of reach from potentially getting hurt, I swear I can feel the pulse of the heart, the sharp crackle as the spark bursts and scatters. The flashing gold against the shadowed area dissipates before my eyes. There he stands, like he belongs there, like the heat and fire answer to him, and in a sense it does.
The lack of a shirt beneath his protective gear has sweat dripping down his body, droplets clinging to his skin and tracing every line of muscle as he works. Each time he shifts, it reveals the slow, controlled strength he exudes. Toren’s arms flex with each adjustment of the torch, forearms becoming taut, veins faintly visible beneath his bronzed skin.
He doesn’t rush, not once. He takes his time with each movement. His head dips slightly, gaze fixed and completely absorbed. The outside world—the heat, the noise, and even I—doesn’t exist to him right now.
God, that focus. I’m almost jealous that it’s not on me.
I drag in a slow breath, but the air does nothing to cool me down. If anything, it makes it worse while I watch him working like that. Sweat drips down the back of my neck, but this time, it isn’t from just the Florida sun and humidity getting to me.
It’s fromhim.
The intensity of a man fully in his element is incredibly, distractingly hot. I pick my jaw up from the floor at exactly the right moment. The man gives me a show every single time he lifts the helmet upward. Between that and him taking his gear off or puts it on, yeah, I can’t tell which one is sexier. What I can say is that it’s going to live rent free in my head for the rest of time.
“You good?” he asks.
“Ye–yeah.” I clear my throat.
“Will you grab me a water from inside the house and get one for yourself too, Indy? It’s hotter than a sinner in church.” I stand up and knock the dirt off my jeans, leaving my purse whereit lies. There’s no reason to lug the damn thing everywhere, plus it gives me an excuse for when I’ll have to explain to Miranda why I don’t answer her texts and what I’m sure are a plethora of missed phone calls now, too.
“Something tells me your language would be more colorful if there weren’t a lady in your presence.” I grew up with a father who didn’t hold anything back. My mother would admonish him, but nothing would come of it. Needless to say, I can cuss like a sailor, hold the flashlight where it’s needed, and I’ve yet to find a project I can’t finish. Minus the squeaking door, which will be taken care of when I get home, or my father will give me a ration of hell.
“You got that right, cherry.” He moves the piece of metal from one table to the other, shooting me a wink before he gets back to work.
“I’ll be right back. Are you sure it’s okay for me to go inside without you?” I ask, my mind reeling about what all I can find out about the man behind the mask.
“No problem at all. Knock yourself out.” Toren grins, shakes his head, and then goes back to work. I would think that I have no effect on him except for the fact that I can feel his heated gaze lingering on my back the entire time I walk into his house.
Once I’m through both the screen and heavy solid wood door, I close both behind me in order to not allow the cold air escape. My eyes adjust from the brightness outside to the dim interior.
“Wow, this place looks rarely lived in,” I say with sarcasm. The kitchen is spotless, save for a few plates in the sink. There’re a table and chairs, no paperwork or mail littering the countertops, and when I take a quick glance in the living room, it’s much the same. The basics—couch, recliner, coffee table, and television are all that encompasses the room.
I move toward the fridge and open it to look for the water. It’s nothing fancy, a lot like Toren himself, a what-you-see-is-what-you-get kind of guy.
“You find the water?” I’m bent over, pulling out two bottles, when Toren’s voice scares the piss out of me.
“Oh, shit,” I sputter, backing out of the fridge and nearly dropping one of the bottles in the process.
“Fuck, are you okay? I didn’t mean to scare you.” He spins me around, his hand going to my head, checking to see if I’m bleeding.
“I’m okay. Didn’t trust me after all?” I’m unsure of how I get the words out. He’s standing in front of me in nothing but a pair of jeans and boots. His presence fills the small space, plus he’s right in front of me, hands cradling my jaw and making my heart beat at a rapid pace.
“Done for the day. It’s too damn hot, plus the smell of rain is lingering in the air, which usually means lightning is sure to follow.” He licks his lips, and I lose the heat from his hands when he takes a slight step back.
“I imagine that’s a recipe for disaster. Shit, I probably should get out of here before I’m caught in a downpour myself.” I didn’t think about afternoon thunderstorms when I decided to walk here instead of taking my rental car.
