He was sprawled in one of the chalk-painted kitchen chairs with his combat boots crossed on the table in front of him.
He looked up from his phone with a giant smile on his face, which widened as his brown eyes drifted over my body.
I felt my entire face turn red as he leisurely took in every inch of me, and I suddenly regretted not putting on a shirt before coming downstairs.
His tongue skated over his bottom lip, and he nibbled on his lip ring before meeting my gaze head-on, an unmistakable heat permeating from his eyes.
“Morning, ginger snap. How did you sleep?”
My mouth fell open, and I gaped at him as my mother drifted by, making a beeline for the stove.
“Feet off the table, dear; the house doesn’t like that.” She reprimanded the stranger as if she had known him all her life.
With what seemed to be a great deal of effort, he peeled his eyes away from mine to look at my mother. An amused and almost good-natured grin cocked on the side of his full lips, and he slid his feet off the table, spinning around in the chair so he was straddling it. He crossed his arms over the back of the chair, giving my mother his full attention.
“Sorry, Mrs. Fairview,” he said politely, following her lead and acting like they knew each other.
“Don’t apologize tome,dear. It’s the house you have to answer to.” She put a pot of hot water on and turned around, giving him a dreamy smile. “You’re late, by the way. I was expecting you weeks ago.”
That amused smile on the stranger’s face grew wider, and he sent me a look as if to ask:Do you know what she’s talking about?
I didn’t like him looking at me like that. Like we were on the same team. I waited for him to make fun of my mother or say something mean about her strangeness, but instead, he gave her a warm smile and nodded.
“Sorry. Usually, I’m pretty punctual. Not sure what happened there.”
She patted his arm affectionately and returned his smile. “No matter. You’re here now; that’s what counts.” She frowned and glanced around the kitchen as if looking for something. “It seems your entourage hasn’t followed you today.” She reachedinto the pocket of her robe and pulled out a little velvet drawstring pouch.
“Please carry this on you when you’re spending time with my son. He’s a sensitive boy, and the herbs are not very practical, especially outside the house.”
The stranger took the pouch from her curiously and peeked inside, cocking his head to the side before stuffing it diligently into the front pocket of his jeans.
“Sure thing, Mrs. Fairview.” He grinned at her amicably, and she gave him an approving smirk before floating back to attend to her tea.
I was fuckingfurious.
What the fuck was happening right now? This man had broken into my house! Again! The audacity! And he was just sitting here in my kitchen chit-chatting with my mother like he belonged here?
I scanned him over, trying to see if he was carrying a gun again. I couldn’t tell if he was, not that I was an expert, but he seemed to be unarmed.
He was wearing a similar version of the outfit he had on when he had attacked me the night before: black jeans with clunky combat boots laced at the ankles. He was wearing a black hoodie that said ‘Don’t bully me, I might come’in big red letters.
His mop of black hair was thick and healthy. Despite the fact that I wanted to hate him, even I could admit the man was good-looking. It was easy to see he was heavily muscled beneath the large black hoodie. He was tanned too, and his hands and neck were covered in black tattoos.
If I had to guess his age, I would say late twenties. He could have easily been an underwear model or something if he wasn’t spending his evenings attacking innocent people in their own homes.
As if he could sense me staring at him, his chocolate gaze found mine, and the corners of his eyes crinkled when he found me staring.
“You look a lot better this morning, ginger snap,” he commented, and I squeezed my fists at my side.
“Can I speak to you for a moment?” I grit out through clenched teeth. It was taking everything in me not to begin screaming at him to get out of my house. However, I didn’t want to upset my mother, who was still humming that old‘angel’song while preparing what looked like three mugs of tea.
“How do you like your tea, dear?” my mother asked.
The man beamed. “With milk! No sugar. I’m sweet enough already.” He winked.
Oh, hell no.
This fucker wasnotstaying fortea. I cleared my throat, looking at the intruder expectantly.
