Which is why—as I wrap my hand around the handle on my car door, push it open, and step outside—I know I’m making the right decision.
It might not work out; it might end in disastrous flames. But that doesn’t mean thattryingstill isn’t the right choice.
The cold winter air greets me, and I wrap myself tighter in my thick coat as I quickly stride up the walkway toward his front door.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I ring the doorbell and step back, my heart hammering in my chest.
The door opens almost immediately.
Bates stands in the entrance, wearing that cream sweater he wore that day to Bound-to-Be when he pretended to have interest in becoming a client.
The knit hits just at his waistline, and every shift of his arms tugs it up enough to show the band of his boxers and a sliver of his lower abs, which drives me insane.
No man should look that damn good in an almost-cropped cream knit sweater.
His scent floods my system as the warm air from inside envelops me.
My eyes flutter shut as I breathe him in as deeply as my lungs can manage. It’s going to be impossible to be in his place, saturated in his aroma, and hold on to my willpower, all at the same time.
Nervously, he rubs the back of his neck and hair with his hand, his sweater lifting four inches up his torso, exposing even more of his toned body.
My mouth waters at the sight.
Hold it together.
“I was getting worried”—he smirks, trying to play it cool, but I’m sure he was sweating as badly as I was—“that you wouldn’t even get out of the car.”
He’s different right now than I’ve ever seen him. No sarcastic quips. No aura of arrogance encapsulating him. No sexual comments.
It’s almosteerie.
But I’ve come to learn that there isn’t one side to him. He has many layers, and I hold each one dear to my heart. I have fun discovering new facets that make him,him.
The vulnerable version who no one else sees? This one may be one of my new favorites. Along with the one who hides in my closet with a knife—we can’t forget about him.
“Me too,” I respond honestly, feeling my nerves rise in my throat.
“Come in?” His features soften, his voice so gentle that it throws me off. “Please.”
Nodding, I suck in a breath and lift my heeled boot, stepping through the threshold of Bates’s home and into unknown territory.
Awkward silence surrounds us as the door clicks shut at my back. He walks around me, stopping a few feet in front of me, his eyes glued to mine.
But I glance away, taking in his space for the first time.
The place looked big from the outside, but dear God, the inside … is gorgeous andmassive, way too much house for a single person.
My eyes wander hungrily, and I’m pleasantly surprised by the touches of warmth and liveliness in the decor. It’s not as dreadful as I expected.
Pops of color, fake plants, and art bring the space to life. He even has throw pillows on the couch, displayed with a chop indent atop each one.
“Your place is beautiful,” I murmur as he slips my coat from my shoulders and hangs it on his coat rack, along with my purse.
He chuckles nervously. “Thanks. I put a lot of thought into it.” He sucks in a quick breath, and it catches in his throat, like he was going to say something but thought better of it.
Talking about home decor in such a casual way with him …everythingabout this interaction thus far is throwing me off. I think it might be easier for us to talk if he pulls out his knife and puts on his mask.
“I—”
