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Renzo stood, offering his hand, and when Renzo took it, he was hoisted to his feet. He let out a surprised sound when Renzo didn’t let him go but instead brushed the tips of his fingers against Emil’s palm. “You have very pretty skin. I’d hate to see frostbite ruin it.”
Before Emil could respond, Renzo let go and turned, jerking his head toward the house before striding off. For a moment, Emil considered running. It was a good time to go. The one thing he hadn’t wanted when he moved was to complicate his life by getting involved with someone. He wasn’t a good person yet, and he couldn’t impose the shards of the man he wanted to be on some poor, unsuspecting person who deserved better.
He could leave it at the bizarre interaction and never, ever see this man again.
But the words all died on his tongue, tasting of ash. He tried to shake his head, but he found himself putting one foot in front of the other, breaking all his rules to follow Renzo inside.
CHAPTERSIX
What are you doing?What are you doing, Renzo thought to himself on repeat as he listened to Emil follow behind him. They lived in the middle of nowhere. This wasliterallyhow people made it onto serial killer websites. But there was something about Emil that Renzo couldn’t shake.
Something more than just his vulnerability that had triggered Renzo’s need to take care of him. Emil was clearly lost and definitely in pain, but he was also searching, and Renzo understood that in ways most people probably couldn’t.
Reaching for the door, Renzo looked over his shoulder, waiting for Emil to climb the steps. He really was a beautiful man. Not usually Renzo’s type, if he was being honest. His hair was a rich brown, and his skin was the sort of pasty that came from genetics that stretched back to European people who sprung to life from ice and snow.
But there was something about him that Renzo couldn’t stop staring at, though he couldn’t put his finger on it.
“So. This is your place,” Emil said awkwardly, shoving his hands in his pockets. The walk from the fire pit to his place was short—relatively—but he knew Emil had to be chilled down to his bones.
“It’s actually my sister’s. I’m kind of house-and-brother sitting while she’s away. She takes a vacation every year right before Christmas,” Renzo explained. Which was also probably not a smart thing to do—telling a stranger when his sister wasn’t going to be around.
Matty was strong, and he was actually very well skilled in self-defense, but he also froze when things got scary. And Renzo was hardly a fighter. His abs were deceptively cut and had no bearing on whether or not he could throw a punch.
Which he couldn’t.
“Uh. Don’t commit crimes over here while she’s away,” Renzo said.
Emil laughed quietly as Renzo shut the door, and he gave a little shudder before wrapping his arms around his waist. “Do I seem the type?”
“I don’t actually know what type you are. Yet.” Renzo had avoided profiling people like the plague. He’d learned far too much from his ex, and it made him sick to his stomach to do it. “I’ll figure you out eventually, but for now…?”
“Honor amongst thieves. So to speak,” Emil said, and there was a little twinkle in his eye that made Renzo’s heart thunder.
“I feel super secure now,” Renzo said, then winked in spite of his nerves, then led Emil into the kitchen and gestured to the breakfast bar. “Sit. My sister has a very fancy Japanese water heater that’s always full and always hot.”
“I used to have something like that in my office,” Emil mused.
Renzo could feel the man tracking him, and he was suddenly too aware of how clunky his body moved. “That’s cool. Where do you work?”
“Nowhere at the moment. I had a midlife crisis and burned everything to the ground.”
“Hm.” Renzo grinned over his shoulder. “Arsonist.”
“Just emotionally,” Emil defended. “You saw how bad I was with actual fire.”
“Fair.” Renzo plopped two bags of mint in two mugs since the chamomile box was empty. “Am I sorry to hear it? Are you going to try to tell me you’re in financial distress, because you drive aBugatti, man.”
“Car fan?”
“No, but even a peasant like me can see how sexy it is.” He shoved the first mug under the spout and filled it, then did the second before turning around. He caught a glimpse of something on Emil’s face—something like pain—before it was gone. Christ, he was being rude. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I have a terrible case of foot-in-mouth syndrome, and it flares up at the worst times.”
Emil laughed very softly—the sound almost a whisper—and he took the mug from Renzo. “I have a friend like that. Well, acquaintance. He’s dating my friend. It’s not important.”
Renzo would have bet everything he owned that wasn’t true. Something told him Emil’s friends were the only important things in his life. “Well, anyway, am I sorry about the job?”
“God, no.” Emil sipped his tea, then held the mug between his hands like he was warming those long, long fingers with it. “My job was terrible. It was like all the worst parts of me rolled into one corporate title.”
“Then I’m glad it burned down.”
