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“Not really. I don’t care, to be honest with you. I came here because I wanted to do the right thing, and now that I have, I’m leaving and plan on never returning. Good day.”
I turn in vain because we both know I’m not going anywhere.
Punky seizes my wrist, drawing me into his chest. I put my arms up, a defensive move to protect my chest from being pressed to his. But sadly, all that it does is allow my hands to touch his warm, hardened flesh.
A sigh escapes me in betrayal, and I curse it, and this illogical response I have to him. I need it to stop. But when his heartbeat thumps beneath my fingers, I know stopping is nigh on impossible.
His scent is comparable to a warm summer’s day, but on the flipside, I can smell an approaching thunderstorm beneath the surface. He has one hand wrapped around my wrist, but with the other, he cautiously brushes a strand of hair from my cheek.
The simple action has the ability to leave me breathless.
We’re inches apart, and the world soon fades into the background so it’s merely us. It’s quiet here.
I take a moment to examine him unguarded because I need to know why I’m so drawn to him. The silver hoop in his bottom lip emphasizes its fullness, and the one in his nose draws attention to how elegantly straight it is—or was before he was beaten to a bloody pulp. It’s slightly upturned, which just adds to the air of arrogance he owns with each breath he takes.
His jawline is chiseled, a sprinkle of dark scruff hinting he hasn’t yet shaved. His body is muscular, but lean. Every muscle is defined, taut, and when my gaze drops to his rock-hard V-muscle and dusting of hair leading from his belly button into the sweats which sit low on his tapered waist, I need to remember to swallow.
He is bloody beautiful.
“Why aren’t ya afraid?” he queries, watching me with those astute eyes.
“Afraid of w-what?” I question, my heart beating madly, threatening to break free as I peer up at him from under my lashes.
He licks his bottom lip, his tongue brushing over the ball in the hoop. “Of me.”
His question isn’t cocky. He seems genuinely curious as to why I’m not recoiling from his touch. If only he knew the truth.
“Because there are nastier things in this world than you, Punky,” I reply, saying more than I should.
He cocks his head to the side, appearing to weigh my confession. “I doubt that,” he counters heavily, still watching me as if trying to work me out.
This is a dangerous game; one I have to lose.
“Where were ya comin’ from the other night? I went back to find ya, but there wasn’t a gaff for miles.”
And this is my cue to leave.
“Good talk, but I’ve got to go. I gave back what’s yours, so let’s never do this again.” Sarcasm is my security blanket. It’s how I cope with awkward situations—like right now.
I yank out of his hold, making a beeline for the front door, but Punky quickly sidesteps to block my exit. “What’s the rush, love?” he says with a lopsided grin. “I was just gettin’ to know ya.”
“Yeah, well, I have no interest in knowing you. So please let me leave.” I attempt to push past him, but he doesn’t budge.
“Ack, now yer just hurtin’ my feelings. Yer the one who broke into my gaff.”
“I did no such thing,” I argue, offended. “You really should lock your door.”
Punky appears taken aback by my revelation.
“Your brother and sister told me you lived out here. So don’t worry, I’m not stalking you. I’m sure you have enough of those—stalkers, I mean.” It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask who Amber is, but I don’t. I’m already in too deep.
Punky bursts into husky laughter, surprising me. “I don’t know about that. I don’t have time for such nonsense.”
“But you surely have enough time to be a bloody arsehole!” I spit before I can stop myself.
I expect Punky to be tired of my insolence by now and throw me out, but he does nothing of the sort.
“Aye, that I am, but at least ya know. I don’t know what to be expectin’ with ye. Ya steal from me, with no explanation, and then ya come into my home, like everythin’ is going to be sound. What do ya want from me?”
