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“I guess. Mine is small but it’s just me and I don’t spend a ton of time there.”
“Too busy traveling the world and kidnapping the wrong girls?”
“Something like that.”
“I’ve lived in worse places than this,” I tell him as I rinse the shampoo out of my hair. “When I was in college, I had to live in this apartment with four other girls. I think it was their first apartment away from home because they were slobs. They didn’t even do their own laundry. They just had their moms come get it and do it for them. Can you imagine?”
“No.”
“You aren’t really giving me a lot to work with here, Locke.”
Locke huffs out another laugh. “I already told you I don’t talk much. Besides, we don’t need to get to know each other.”
I let out an exasperated sigh. “What are we supposed to do until your boss calls? Just sit and stare at each other?”
He mutters something to himself, rolling his shoulders back.
“What did you study in college?” he asks, not sounding all that interested.
“Accounting.”
“Really. Sounds boring.”
I laugh, turning the water off and grabbing the towel that’s hanging up.
“Not to me. I’ve always liked numbers and math.”
"Really? Why?" Locke asks as if he couldn't fathom someone getting a degree in anything numbers related.
“There are rules and everything can always be figured out. Plus, I always had to watch my money and accounting seemed useful.”
“How…practical.”
I roll my eyes, securing the towel and nudging his back so that he steps out of the way. “Not all of us can live exciting lives working for the mob,” I say sarcastically.
Locke grunts in response, but his lip curls up slightly and his gray eyes spark with a playfulness I haven’t seen before. How the hell is this guy so damn sexy? And why can’t I stop having these thoughts about him?
I shuffle past him into my room, thankful for the space. He waits outside while I tug on some yoga pants, a sports bra, and a plain black t-shirt.
“Are you hungry?” I ask as I join him in the hallway.
“Yeah.”
I get started making some eggs and toast while Locke paces around the living room. The man is so tense all the time, so on edge. I wonder when was the last time he actually relaxed, let his defenses down. I can’t picture him in casual clothes, lounging on his couch while reading a book.
As if reading my thoughts, he stops at my bookcase and peruses the shelves for a minute. His fingers trail over the spines of my books and I get the image of those calloused fingertips caressing my skin, teasing the curve of my hip as they follow a path up my side to cup my breasts...
“What about you?” I blurt out awkwardly. I need to get myself under control. Locke pulls his hand away from my bookshelf and stares at me. “What would you have studied if you went to college?”
“Kidnapping,” he deadpans.
"Haha." I roll my eyes, but inside I'm doing a happy dance. I got the big, growly kidnapper to tell a joke.
He actually grins this time and the act changes his whole appearance. He looks even more beautiful than I could have imagined. I’ve seen his half-hidden smirks and restrained smiles, but I’ve never seen him grin before. Suddenly I can see the softer side of him. Gone are the sharp edges and hard glares. It’s such a contrast to his normally unreadable face that I forget I should be afraid of this man.
Part of me wonders if this is what he would have turned out like if he had never joined the mob. If his parents hadn’t abandoned him and he wasn’t forced to repay his debt. Would he have been happier? Would he have smiled more?
Part of my heart breaks for the man Locke could have been. I know how hard, how scary it is to live on the streets and have to worry about finding something to eat and a safe place to sleep. I can’t imagine doing it when I was ten.
