Or that his palm was firmly cupping her waist, his fingers splayed so every single pad touched her.
A few lights were on — one downstairs, in what she had always assumed was the kitchen, and another upstairs, in the room that overlooked the gardens. A part of her wilted with relief at the sight. Normally she was intimidated by the house and its mysterious occupant, but when it was lit up with warm light, beckoning her with the promise of warmth, she suddenly felt an acute yearning to go inside.
Gently pressing on her side when she hesitated at the threshold of the small garden attached to the back of the house, Mr. Bounds nudged her toward a narrow door with diamond cut glass panels. It was partially open. Again, he moved to one side to let her step in first.
Zia curled her fingers around the hems of her sleeves and ducked her head as she passed.
The air in the house was almost uncomfortably warm on her chilled skin, but she welcomed it. Shehatedbeing cold. Ruefully, she admitted to herself that there was no way she would have lasted the night in the greenhouse, though she struggled to imagine ever working up the courage to bother him.
As Mr. Bounds quietly shut the door behind her, she moved a little way into the kitchen, her wide eyes taking in the gorgeous furnishings as quickly as possible.
Though the lights were dimmer than she would have typically set them, she had no trouble making out the dark wood cabinets, the sumptuously veined marble countertops, or the polished copper fixtures that gave the entire space a rich, homey atmosphere.
It was gorgeous, but it was also… empty.
There were no gadgets on the counters, no magnets on the refrigerator. The fancy cooker looked like it had never been touched. The only hint of life at all was the single bottle of synthblood on the counter by the sink. The cap was off and resting beside it, as if Mr. Bounds hadn’t even finished his breakfast before he found her trespassing on his property.
Ugh, I probably ruined his entire night, and now he’s going to sit me down for a long talk about why I’m fired.
Zia swayed back against the wall by the door. A heavy, antique clock ticked a steady beat over her head, counting down the seconds until her inevitable firing.
“Really, Mr. Bounds, I amsosorry,” she said, glancing back at the door. If she left quickly, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. The damage was done, but she didn’t have to make itworse.“I should go. You must have just been starting your day—night,and I ruined everything.”
He turned away from the door to give her a piercing look. The frown was back. “Stop apologizing.”
Zia gestured helplessly to him. “But—”
“No.”
“But, Mr. Bounds, I broke—”
He turned from her to stride into the main kitchen area. “I said no,Miss North.I don’t like it when you apologize, so you’ll stop doing it.”
Excuse me?Zia might have puffed up with a little indignation, but she was immediately distracted by the sight of hisback.
Of course, she saw that he was shirtless in the greenhouse, but even with the light from his phone, her view of him had been distorted by harsh light and deep shadow. Now that they were in his house, dimly lit though it was, she could seeeverything.
He was gorgeous.
Wide shoulders slid into a neat waist and a delightfully sculpted backside, which was covered in dark blue running pants. Thickly muscled thighs ran into long legs. Beautifully tapered fingers drew the eye to rough knuckles and strong, rectangular wrists. Every dip of muscle, every strong sinew, every ridge of dense bone spoke of a life of action, movement. When he moved, even just to walk up to the cabinets above the cooker, it looked likeart.
And yet, all of that was secondary to the scars.
Mr. Bounds’s reddish brown skin was covered in them. Slashes crisscrossed with bite marks. Two puckered stars of silver about the size of her thumb decorated his upper shoulder and right side. Clusters of jagged lines were the unmistakable legacy of claws.
Above it all, his inky black ponytail swung in a hypnotic wave — back and forth, back and forth.
Zia clutched his phone to her chest reflexively.Gods, just who is this man?
No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t imagine what kind of life left those scars. Clearly, they’d never been touched by a healer or they wouldn’t be there at all. But why wouldn’t someone see a healer? Even a regular doctor would have had equipment for scar removal easily available.
She tried to avert her eyes, but it was impossible. It was like trying to stop breathing. She could only manage it for so long before her gaze snapped back to that grisly network of old wounds.
Maybe he was a veteran? He was certainly old enough to have fought in the Great War.
Her heart squeezed, sympathy momentarily dulling the sharpest edge of her apprehension.Poor man. No one should be put through so much pain.
Mr. Bounds, ignorant of her study of him, opened a pair of cabinet doors and peered inside. After a moment, he said, “I don’t know what you might like, so you should come see for yourself.”
