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I guess that was just my imagination running away with me.
Plucking it from the box, I feel the weight of it.
“Jesus,” I mutter, discovering that it’s even heavier than I assumed.
I know I’m taking liberties, but for a moment, I forget about everything as I slide the timepiece onto my wrist, pretending for just a moment that I could afford something like this. That my family are no longer in the shitty situation we’ve always been in and that we’re able to live in a house this big and have more watches than days of the week.
I’m still wearing that watch while admiring another a few seconds later when there’s a loud crash on the other side of the room.
My heart jumps into my throat and I freeze in fear, my fingers curling around the timepiece in my hand, the links digging into my skin.
A dark shadow approaches from the entrance and I stop breathing.
I shouldn’t be in here, I knew that when I crashed inside and the last thing I need is to be caught.
Heat surges through my body making my skin glisten with sweat as my hands tremble.
Then he appears, and for a moment, the briefest moment, I breathe a sigh of relief.
Without looking up, he slams an almost empty bottle of whisky on the side giving me a look at his bloody, busted knuckles. Then he reaches behind him and drags his shirt off, exposing inches upon inches of tanned skin. The sight is enough to make me forget my own name. The swelling of his eyes and cut lip barely register in my brain and I soak up every ripple of his muscles.
But then, he looks up and notices me, and everything I remember about this guy from downstairs vanishes in the blink of an eye. The fierceness of the anger that’s burning in his eyes forces me to take a step back.
The light sparkling silver I remember looking back at me is long gone and in its place, dark, unfiltered fury.
“What are you doing?” he barks with a deep voice sending chills down my spine as he stalks farther into the room, making the space around me suddenly seem so much smaller.
“I… uh… I didn’t mean… shit—”
I’m still trying to muster up any kind of response and remind myself that I’m actually capable of talking when he closes the space between us, letting his heady manly scent fill my nose. That along with the sight of him half naked is sensory overload and it only makes the trembles wracking my body worse.
The watch that I’m still clutching is ripped from my fingers before it lands across the room with a thud a beat before my back crashes against the wall.
I stare up at the angry bull who’s glaring down at me with more hate and frustration than I’ve ever experienced before.
“I-I’m sorry, I—”
My words are cut off as his burning fingers wrap around my throat and I’m forced to suck in a shocked breath.
“Why are you in my room?” he seethes, dropping lower so there’s barely an inch between our faces.
His alcohol-scented breath races over my face and I shudder, my mouth watering.
Wait… what?
That should not be appealing in any way. Especially while he’s trying to scare me.
But there’s something. Something equally as thrilling as it is terrifying about being captured by this man.
His grip on my throat is firm and unrelenting, but what surprises me more is that I seem to love it. The longer it goes on the more my body begins to burn up, but in a whole other kind of way.
“I-I-I—”
“Spit it out,” he snaps, his grip tightening momentarily, proving to me just how vulnerable I am right now.
“I-I—”
“Thought you’d break into my room and steal my shit?” he answers for me, clearly getting pissed off and impatient with my stuttering. “Weren’t you making enough tips tonight? Thought you’d try pawning these for extras?”
