I know that there’s something wrong with my brain, but there’sreallysomething wrong with it now. The sight of Maverick coming down the stairs and walking across the room towards a duffel bag on the far side that I didn’t notice before, is definitely going to break whatever circuitry I still have going for me.
My eyes fix squarely on the baby blue towel that’s slung around his waist. It’s riding low on his hips. It’s no bath sheet, and it’s a tenuous stretch to wrap around all that muscle. His abs are perfectly defined, thick and blocky, stacked like a perfect ladder above a prominent V. His pecs stand out, but it’s his shoulders that hold my attention. They’re built, stacked with muscle. His arms are the same, with corded veins running their length. A light smattering of hair circles his navel and trails down into the towel.
I manage to rasp a shaky breath in so that my lungs don’t implode. I realize just how good the whole basement smells now that it’s flooded with Maverick’s scent. Cedar with a new, sharp citrus tang since he’s fresh out of the shower. So fresh that beads of water actually cling to his shoulders and all those delicious muscles. I felt how strong he was last night, when he carried me like I weighed nothing, but the evidence of the power in his body is right there on display with every movement he makes.
My lips burn as I remember that kiss. For that moment, he was all I knew, my senses overwhelmed by him. It’s not just my mouth that throbs with the memory. The rest of me joins in. My body heats up and my face follows.
As my luck usually goes, Maverick spins around and notices that I’m awake right as I lick my bottom lip.
Because it’s dry.
But I know what that must look like while I’m ogling his mostly naked form. I’d freak out if I caught him doing that to me. I’d be humiliated.
Or turned on. So, so fucking turned on.
I clasp my thighs together under the blanket as Maverick stumbles back a step. He throws out a hand against the concrete wall to catch himself.
“Shit!”
I roll my eyes to try and gain some composure. I throw my palm up to my forehead too, wincing like my head hurts from being drugged. “Yeah, well, now we’re even on the jump scare front.”
He gapes at me. And gapes. And then slowly, his hands cross in front of his waist and secure the short little towel, even though it hasn’t slipped. Amazingly, his face turns red. Probably as red as mine is.
I flick my eyes up to the plants. “Some of those are toxic for cats. They haven’t got to them yet, but they probably will try. At the very least, they’d knock them down and you’d have quite a mess.”
“I can take them upstairs.”
He snatches up the duffel and loops the strap over his naked shoulder. His muscles ripple when he walks. I’m so tempted to keep staring right at him, but I force myself to make eye contact. At least until he starts getting plants down. He fits all eight pots in his arms. It’s quite a feat of balance. His back muscles should get an award for starring in the show they gave me.
“I’ll be right back. Uh, do you want coffee?”
“I’m a coffee snob.” I rub my eyes. They feel heavy, though no longer grainy. The Maverick Show in front of me took care of that issue. My mouth is parched too.No shit, it is.“Cancel that. I’ll drink whatever it is on offer. If you don’t have cream, that’s fine. I’ll take it black.”
He makes a face like he wants to hold up a hand and do gestures with it, including asking me how I’m really doing, but he has his arms full of plants and a heavy duffel on his shoulder. He looks at me, at the plants, at the cats on the bed, at the floor, then back at me. His face has gone red again.
It’s adorable.
No. I can’t think things like that. Noticing Maverick’s killer body is one thing. It’s kind of naked right in front of me and he’s a work of living artistry, but endearment, intimacy, and any sort of warm rush in the feelings department is off limits. I tried to cut it off before because I knew that my life wouldn’t be fair to anyone. This right here? This isn’t just a different can of worms. It’s the whole fucking four gallon bucket.
“Your bag is right by the couch. All the cats’ stuff is over there. I brought them their food and their dishes. I thought they might not eat if they didn’t have their familiar bowls. I put your laptop and your phone on your bag. Oh, and I brought the chargers for everything. I realized when I was already just out of Seattle, that I didn’t bring any cat toys. I’ll have to go out and get those. Or rush delivery order them to the house?” He’s rambling. The red is staining his neck now. “One other thing. My cousin doesn’t know that you’re here.”
“Ahh,” I say, drawing out the sound. “I see.”
Maverick’s eyes narrow in a way that makes them both dangerous and sexy enough to be borderline swoony. I might be trying not to notice, but I’m noticing. I don’t want to think that noticing is better than stressing about the major clusterfuck that this is probably going to be. Just because I’m not panicking yet, doesn’t mean that it’s not going to happen.
Worst case scenario… No. I don’t want to think about the worst. I’m so fucking tired of doing that.
Bestcaseis that Maverick’s cousin is chill and he gets it, and lets me stay. Alright, fuck, worst case is that Maverick drugs me, puts me and the cats back in the truck with our bags, and drives me straight back to the apartment.
To everything familiar.
To my not so gilded cage.
“Are you okay, Loreena?”
There’s my name again, rolling off his tongue like a velvet purr. Like he’s a giant cat that with feeding and petting, good food, care, and good love, would trust and arch and—
Wowwwww. All the wow. He’s no cat. He’s a man who did ten years of time and at the first chance he got, committed a bunch of serious felonies.
