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“Coming!” I finally holler toward the door, acting as though there’s nothing the matter with such a late-night visitor. I might as well be baking cookies in the middle of the day.
I grit my teeth as I walk toward the door, my shoulders rising toward my ears and my heart pounding in my chest. It’s all I can hear as my fingers wrap around the doorknob. It feels hot and cold at the same time, and I can barely turn it without my fingers slipping in my sweat.
I pull the door open an inch, just enough to peek outside. “Who is it?” I ask. I can see nothing but darkness outside.
But that’s only because the man standing outside is so big that he blocks the light from the moon entirely, casting a thick shadow that’s as cold as it is black. I’m chilled by it, iced over on the spot like I’ve been blasted by a sudden January snowstorm.
When he speaks, his voice is so deep and coarse that it feels like sandpaper against my skin. “Are you the owner of this house?”
“What do you want?” I ask, reluctant to tell him anything about myself.
He leans forward, his face coming into view and startling me by how handsome it is. I was expecting a monster, but instead I got a model with pale gray eyes and tattoos crawling up his throat.
He’s no less threatening than a monster, though, considering that he’s triple my size and it all appears to be pure muscle. I don’t know what a man has to do to get that big, but I doubt it’s helping old ladies cross the street.
“I would like to speak to the owner of this house,” the man says, his voice enriched by a thick Russian accent.
“You already are.”
His eyes narrow. “Let me inside and we’ll talk about why I’m here.”
“Sounds like a great way to get murdered,” I reply dryly.
He chuckles. “You really think I came all this way to kill a woman I don’t even know?”
“Maybe.”
He leans forward again, the smell of rain and wicked possibilities weighing heavy in the air between us. “I’m here to talk about the house.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Why?”
“I used to live here.”
I laugh. “Oh, come one. You’ll have to do better than that to get me to open the door. I mean, I don’t even know who you are.”
“Avraam,” he replies without missing a beat.
I’m taken aback by the suddenness of his response, but I doubt he’s lying. He wouldn’t be able to come up with a fake name that quickly, unless he planned this all ahead of time. If so, I’m already screwed, so what good is it going to do to resist?
“Well, Avraam,” I say, opening the door a little more. “My name is Kimberly, so if you’re going to murder me, at least you know who you’re killing.”
I can see his face better now – sharp jaw, thick eyebrows, and salt and pepper hair. He frowns, and somehow that makes him even more attractive. Avraam is dangerous, and not just because he’s knocking on my door late at night.
The door comes open another inch, despite the warning bells ringing like gongs in my head.
“It’s cold and I’ve been through a terrible rainstorm,” Avraam says, stepping closer. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to come in and dry off.”
I pull the door the rest of the way open, examining him thoroughly before making any final decisions. Heissoaked, and that can’t be comfortable, considering how cold it is tonight. I don’t see a car anywhere. Did he walk here? If so, from where? Does he live nearby?
Questions swirl in my mind but remain unanswered as he walks in, his powerful presence forcing me aside harder than if he had used his hand and shoved me.
“Nice place,” he mutters, shrugging off his coat and hanging it on the hook beside the door. “You’re a minimalist, I assume.”
I’m struck by confusion until I realize why he’s saying that. “Oh no,” I say with a nervous laugh. “I just moved here. Haven’t had time for the furniture, but it’s coming. They’re expecting me to be here to pick it up tomorrow.”
He turns, his body casting a long shadow down the hallway. It makes him seem even taller than he is, though I’m certain he’s almost seven feet tall. His slicked back hair almost touches the ceiling, and his legs are about as long as my entire body.
I could suck his cock standing.
