Page 29 of My Favorite Hero

And so pretty.

Some would say girly.

I opened the front door, standing on the porch, trying to decide where to hang my creation. I would love to be able to hang it off the eavestrough, but the only ladder I knew of was the one I had used the other day, and it wasn’t very tall. I had seen a long aluminum ladder in the garage when I’d taken the totes out of it that Jesse had told me about, but it was high on the wall, and I certainly wasn’t asking him to get it for me.

Once he found out why I needed it, he would refuse.

I pursed my lips as I studied the porch railings. I could use the ladder and screw a hook into the top and hang it there. That would work. But then I spied a hook already in place on the upper piece of trim on the wall that separated the two halves of the porch. I dragged the chair over and climbed it, hanging the wind chimes. Using my finger, I measured the width of the wood and was pleased to know the hook was more on my side than his. I wasn’t encroaching on his space. I stepped off the chair and stood back, satisfied.

There was a light breeze today, swirling around the wood and tubes, setting off the bells and the soft echo of the clapper. It was melodic and sweet. Not too loud. Perfect.

I walked down the steps and looked at my porch. With the wreath and the wind chimes, plus the welcome mat, it was homey and, yes, girly. The table and chair I had set up were inviting, and I looked forward to sitting on the porch on nice summer days, reading and enjoying the sun. I already imagined decorating it at Christmas. Wrapping garland around the rails, adding lights and bows. A huge wreath on the door. Maybe a Santa figure or a cute teddy bear that lit up. A huge urn of greenery.

“What the hell is that?” a voice snarled behind me.

I turned, my breath catching. Jesse had obviously been out on a run. His shorts hugged his muscular thighs like a lover clinging tight. Every sinew, muscle, and attribute was outlined.

And it was quite the attribute.

He had removed his shirt at some point, no doubt using it to wipe down his chest. His massive shoulders tapered to a thick waist, his six-pack tight and defined. His arms bulged, and his pecs made me swallow convulsively. The sudden urge to run my hand down his chest, to slip my fingers under his waistband and feel him—really feel him—as I kissed his frowning mouth overwhelmed me.

How could someone look so miserable, yet so desirable at the same time?

He glared at me, shifting his weight from one foot to another. I swore his attribute moved. Shifted a little as if swelling. Maybe it liked my attention.

I shook my head. Why was I thinking about his cock? He was Thorne. As in, a thorn in my side.

“What?” I asked stupidly, my voice thick.

What was what? Was I drooling?

I inconspicuously wiped at the corner of my mouth, but I was fine. Then I realized he was glaring over my shoulder and recalled the wind chimes.

“If you’re finished eye-fucking me,” he growled, “I believe I stated quite firmly yesterday, no wind chimes.”

“I am not eye-fucking you,” I retorted snidely, because really, I was eye-fucking him. He was rather delicious to look at, even hot, sweaty, and angry.

Or maybe that added to the attractiveness.

Jesus. I needed to get a grip.

I crossed my arms. “The wind chimes are on my side of the porch. I checked the tenant rights online, and there is nothing that says you can stop me from having them.”

“It’s on my beam,” he snapped.

“I measured. The hook is more on my half than yours.”

He stomped past me, and I couldn’t help but ogle him as he did.

He rippled. His muscles bunched and flexed, moving under his skin like a wave on the ocean. His thighs and calves were well-developed, and I could imagine him carrying someone out of a fire with ease.

I found myself imagining him carrying me around with that ease. If he flung me over his shoulder, I could touch that spectacular ass of his. I wasn’t sure I had ever seen an ass on a man so well-formed.

His voice brought me out of my musings. I frowned as I realized he had a tape measure and was holding it on the beam. “The hook is on my side, if you want to be exact,” he said smugly. “In fact, that means these belong to me.”

Before I could protest, he deftly unscrewed the hook and took my wind chimes, walking into his house and shutting the door.

Firmly.