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My eyes don’t look haunted. They actually have a sparkle to them, and I don’t know if I’ve ever seen that before. Then there are my cheeks. They’re flushed and almost cheery looking. In fact, I’ve never really felt joyful in my life, but I do right now, and I know it’s not just the sex. It’s him. It’s Wells.
Then there’s my neck. That causes me to pause. There are bruises there, on each side, finger-long bruises that have already started to purple slightly.
Once I’ve brushed my teeth, washed my face, and moisturized, I attempt to brush my hair and then throw it up in a messy bun with a claw clip to hold it in place. Moving into the bedroom, I don’t even think about what I’m going to wear. I just do.
I reach into my dresser and take out a silk pajama set. It’s a sapphire-blue silk shorts-and-camisole set. Pulling both of the pieces on, sans bra and underwear, I reach for a long sweater that I like to wear around the house. It’s oversized, cream-colored, and fluffy.
Shuffling through the condo, I listen for Wells but don’t hear anything. Frowning, I step into the living area and am surprised to find him standing at the window, staring with his chin tipped down toward the sidewalk below.
“Wells?” I ask.
He hums, bringing his mug to his lips and taking a drink. I assume it’s coffee, and I smile at the fact that he helped himself. I know he shouldn’t feel so comfortable in my place, but at the same time, this man made himself comfortable here. He walked right in, more than once, like he owned the place.
“I have a feeling I should be very scared of you,” I say.
Wells doesn’t turn to me immediately. His attention is still on the sidewalk below us. Then he lifts his head and slowly turns to face me. His eyes find mine, and his lips curve up into a grin that consumes his entire face.
“Yeah, cupcake. You really fucking should. Terrified even,” he murmurs. “But you aren’t.”
Shaking my head once, I sink my teeth into my bottom lip and scrape them backward slightly. “I’m really not,” I whisper.
He chuckles and takes a step toward me. He lifts the hand that isn’t grasping the handle of the mug and wraps his fingers around my bruised throat and gently squeezes, just enough that it reminds me of the bruising there.
“You should be,” he says before he dips his chin and touches his mouth to mine in a kiss.
It steals my breath.
When he breaks the quick kiss, he runs his nose alongside mine before he releases his grasp on me and lifts his head, his gaze finding mine before he speaks. “Lunch will be here soon. I hope you like Greek.”
I frown. I find that an odd cuisine to like in the middle of downtown Dallas. Granted, I do like Greek and all different types of foods, but it’s just not what you expect. Unless he is Greek? I shift my gaze to my feet slowly before I lift it up again to meet his.
“Are you Greek?” I ask.
He smiles, giving me a wink. “I’m not. My father’s family is Scottish. My mother’s is from Eastern Europe, where exactly, I’m not sure. But not Greece. Although Greece is a beautiful country and the food is amazing, they aren’t from there.”
Wow.
He’s been to Greece.
I haven’t been out of the East Texas area… ever. I have a feeling that I am, without a doubt, out of my element with him. He is far above me in a million different ways. I feel like a newborn fawn trying to walk on wobbly legs beside a gazelle that is galloping gracefully through the grasslands.
That’s what I am, too. A newborn animal compared to him. I’m not sure how old he is, but it’s clear he’s far beyond my years in experience. I decide I’m going to ask him some questions since he seems to be in a talkative mood.
“What do you do for a living, Wells?” I try not to sound like I’m prying, but at the same time, I think I should know a little more about this stranger who has just had sex with me… twice.
“Real estate.”
That’s all he says, and it’s clear he doesn’t want to elaborate on it. Which is fine. At least I know what he does now. That’s more than I knew before. He gives me a smirk, then my buzzer for the front door sounds.
He turns away from me, and I watch as he walks to the door as if he owns my place. He answers the intercom, talks to the delivery man, and buzzes him up. I stare, unmoving, as all of this takes place, and wonder how on earth he isthiscomfortable in my place.
Maybe it’s because he’s just that confident. He is clearly aware of who he is as a man and in this place. He is in charge, he walks around as if he owns it, and he fits and moves well in here. I’m not sure why, but even though it strikes me as odd, I don’t dislike it. In fact, I think that I actually like it.
A few moments later, with two bags in his hands, he turns toward me. “Hungry?”
My stomach makes a loud growling noise, answering for me. His lips curve up into a grin before he turns toward the kitchen. I watch him, moving closer, but not so close that I’m in his way.
Again, he moves through my kitchen as if he’s been here a million times. As if he lives here. And as I watch him, I think to myself that I wish he would never leave. Then I scold myself because that sounds just as crazy as the fact that I gave this stranger my virginity just a few hours ago, this stalker, this man who just appeared in my apartment.
