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My breath catches and I should laugh at his almost vampiric question, but this man is as far from a debonair Count Dracula and more devastating, because this man is real. Hot. Breathing. And there’s something deep in those tiger eyes that whisper he’d like to have me up against the wall if I let him.
“I—”
“Avah,” he murmurs, leaning in, his mouth against my ear, breath hot and he smells divine, like man and fresh sheets, dark and clean and willing to get filthy as hell. “Open your door.”
He steps back, and I almost stumble, and then I unlock my door.
My place is a little messy but clean and he’s still got the box. I don’t want to open it, even as my gaze goes to it. “I-I’m going to have a shower and get changed,” I say, and then I turn and hurry off.
* * *
Fresh jeans, what my friends in Cali call accident underwear on, and a pretty button-down shirt with a sweetheart neckline, I brush out my hair, sweep on a little mascara and a swipe of matte lip gloss and I head out.
Nicolo takes up too much space and I like it. Those thoughts jump at me. And then I see what he’s doing.
His dark head is bent over the contents of the package, and the scrap of material from the trash.
“Secret admirer or boyfriend you’re not telling me about?”
Nicolo doesn’t even look at me. Yet he knows I’m there. I swallow. “Wrong address?”
He turns then. “Your address. On this box and the one you tossed.” He holds up the newest one in vibrant red lace and ribbon.
I swipe the vulgar thing from his hand. Then drop it.
“Now, I’m not fucking saying you wouldn’t look spectacular in that, but somehow crotchless panties and peekaboo nipple number doesn’t strike me as something you would wear. So, I’ll ask again. Who is it from? Or should I say they?”
He swings the one I tossed by one large, strong finger.
Heat burns my cheeks. “I don’t know, okay. Sometimes it happens. Or . . .”
“Sometimes it happens? Like you’ve got a stalker who only appears seasonally?” He cocks a brow, and it makes him look all that more hotter.
“I work in the public eye. There are drinkers and . . .” I trail off, my own words sounding ridiculous. I just got here, and who would do that, anyway? “My dad—”
His brows rise. “Your dad? That’s some fucked up shit, babe.”
“No. I just meant he . . . he didn’t want me to move away. Maybe he’s trying to scare me into coming back?” I shrug, trying to make it seem I’m not letting it bother me.
He snorts out a laugh. “Tesoro, I doubt it. Not unless your father is highly inappropriate.”
“No.” I try and smack that scrap of material away, too, but he holds it high, and I keep trying until his other arm slides around my waist, pinning me to him. I find it hard to breathe. “He’s the type to scare off men. Protect me.”
“He can try,” Nicolo says softly.
I’m hot all over and not from embarrassment.
“Also, unless the bar or you like to give out your address, I think this is stalker behavior.”
“Are you trying to scare me?” I frown and lick my lips nervously.
“I’m trying to make you take things seriously. I want you to be aware. I like you.” Nicolo’s husky voice rolls over me in waves as he speaks, and I watch his mouth.
I want him to kiss me. I want to feel his mouth on mine. But he lets me go and steps away.
“Okay,” I whisper the word as he takes the lingerie and wads it up, dumping it in the box.
“So, what do you want to do?” He asks this like all that just didn’t happen, and I don’t really know what to say.
