Page 35 of Read With Your Heart

Leon snorts. “What do you need a second chance at?”

“A safe home of my own.” My eyes drift to his for only a second before I look away. It’s more than I want to admit, but I don’t like his tone. “Here’s the list.” I lay the clipboard with the lined notepad on the kitchen table and walk out of the room. I’m at the end of my threshold with Leon and his snark. Over the past couple of days, he’s been short and sharp with me like he is with his sisters, but I don’t believe it’s because he cares about me.

I’m almost to the staircase when an arm circles my waist. My heart races even though I know it’s Leon. I stiffen in his hold.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters into my hair, his breath brushing near my ear. “I’m a dick.”

My eyes close, and I bite back how I want to agree with him. Instead, I want to melt into him, absorbing the heat radiating off his body.

“I’ve never had a home. I’ve never lived in a house until that shithole next door. It’s a nice dream,” he continues, his mouth still near the shell of my ear.

I nod, keeping my face forward. It’s the only part of me that moves as I’m holding my breath. My heart hammers in my chest, trapped between fear and frustration. Ultimately, I’m not afraid of Leon, not in a physical, stalkerish sense like the way I fear Trent. My roommate just startled me when he grabbed me. I’m not good with people sneaking up behind me and for good reason.

“What’d I do?” he whispers to me, still holding me around my waist. “You’re so stiff.” His arm releases me, and he steps back. I spin to face him, finding his hands in the air in surrender. “I get it, pretty lady. Took my kiss a few weeks back but don’t want my touch. No harm, no foul. That’s not what I’m here for anyway.”

“No harm, no foul?” I repeat, the words thick against my tongue as I speak. “Not what you’re here for.” I stumble over the comment. I took his kiss? What about the one I gave him? Neither should matter, but they do. Deep, deep down, I want his kisses because it would be the first act of tenderness I’ve received in years. More than a dozen years, to be exact. Of course, his lip brush was all for show because of Trent. Mine . . . mine was a genuine act of attraction.

“Yeah. I’m not here to get in your pants. I just need the room upstairs for a bit until I can figure out what to do next.”

I stare at him, eyes prickling for some reason, crushing the allure I shouldn’t feel for him. I don’t know whether to slap him or scream in frustration.

“Tricia.” His voice softens as my lids rapidly blink. “I’m not your type anyway.”

I stare at him, startled by his directness.

“Right. Of course not. Roommates.” I ramble, dismissing the fact he’s tall, dark, and handsome, and the opposite of Trent. When Leon smiles, my heart bursts into flames, and that dimple ignites a spark in a part of me long ignored by another human’s touch. He quotes Shakespeare when he’s frustrated, and it’s kind of sweet and totally sexy. The truth is, I’m not his type. I’m tomboyish with an athletic physique, plus a teacher with motherly tendencies, and none of that seems like it would attract a man like him. I’m comfy cardigans while he’s black leather jackets.

I turn toward the staircase and race to my room like a heartbroken teen. He’s absolutely correct. He’s not my type. He has dangerous written all over him, and I don’t want dangerous. I don’t even want a man. I just want to get my divorce and earn my house.

A home of my own where I’m safe from harm and heartbreak.

+ + +

The worst thing about roommates—especially the hot, handsome, devilish looking type of roommate—is showering. Not that I’m showering with him or even sharing the bathroom with him while he’s showering. It’s simply the concept of knowing he’s naked in my shower, just feet away from my bedroom. My imagination runs wild with images of him under the hot spray, rivers of water rippling down that firm chest which I’ve seen on display a few times. Because the thing about Leon showering is he always walks out of the bathroom with only a towel slung low around his waist, hinting at deep hip Vs. Suggesting something lower is thick and lengthy. And I conveniently find myself in the hallway when he exits the bathroom post shower.

On one occasion, Leon and I collide as I’m scurrying to my bedroom.

“Umph,” I stammer. The wind catches in my throat as Leon bumps into me, forcing me to the wall across from the bathroom door. The upstairs hall is such a small space.

“Sorry,” he mutters with sarcastic apology. His eyes dip to my lips while the wall of his body keeps me pinned against the plaster at my back. His arms instantly raise in surrender, but he doesn’t step back. Mine lift defensively though I’m not afraid of him. I’m protecting myself because my body hums and my fingers twitch. My eyes drop to his tattoo, but I’m too wound up to try to read it. My fingertips want to coast over the firm plains of his pecs instead and lower to the deep ridges of his belly. Then I want to travel the peak of his—

“Tricia.” His deep timbre slowly draws my eyes upward. I should have taught geography. I’d use his body as a topography map.

“Yes,” I choke out, my tongue thick as those silver eyes lighten to polished metal, gleaming at me. His eyes stay on mine as he casually and cautiously leans forward. He presses his forearm to the wall near my head, and I’m trapped within the confines of his body.

“I’m not him.”

The statement startles me. My heart hammers in my chest as I stare up at him.

“Do you understand me? I’m not like him.”

I nod. I know what he’s trying to say without saying it.

“Put your hands on my chest,” he quietly commands.

I swallow. My heart thumps in my throat. “What?”

“Just do it.”