I waited until morning to hear him come past my bedroom to head downstairs for his coffee. From the few short days I’ve been here, I already know he’s obsessed with his morning coffee. Yesterday, I hunted down every last bag of coffee beans and threw them out. Unfortunately, it wasn’t enough to annoy him, and he simply sent his driver out for more beans and to bring back takeout. He even brought me takeout coffee, too. It was a gesture that annoyed the hell out of me, considering I was the one who caused all the drama, and he was fully aware of it.
And the day before that, I slashed his tires. Not just one car. All of them. I have to admit something here—I thought it would be easier. Slashing tires is actually a lot of hard work. Anyways, that didn’t even summon a frown out of him. He chuckled when he saw it. Chuckled and shook his head, as though I was amusing to him.
That’s why I upped the game today.
Waiting a few moments, I let him get ahead of me before leaving my room and following him through to the kitchen. I stand outside the doorway, listening with a grin on my face.
I hear him flick a switch. On. Off. Then again. Then a groan of sorts. I wait for the outburst, but nothing happens. I wait, standing as still as I can, trying to work out what he’s doing.
After a while, he starts humming! I can’t take it anymore, and I peek around the doorway into the kitchen to see what is going on.
That asshole has a mini gas stove out, like a small camping burner, and he has his macchiato coffee machine on it. It’s like he’s being ridiculous on purpose to make a point.
“Good morning,” he says cheerfully. He turns to face me. Why the hell isn’t he wearing a T-shirt or something? Andgraysweatpants? Are you kidding me! Could he be more cliched if he tried!
The dark shadow of stubble on his jaw makes him look a little rugged. A little more dangerous.
The biggest problem is that he looks fucking divine. His chest is adorned with the dark ink of one massive, swirling tattoo that sculpts over his body, his shoulder, and down his arm. The design does wonders, accentuating each of his…one…two…is that a fucking eight pack? Couldn’t just settle on havinga six-pack. No. Had to be extra about it. My eyes drift across his Adonis muscles, suddenly aching for the pants to slip a tiny bit lower so I can…what the fuck is wrong with you, Izabel?
I narrow my eyes and stare at him in disbelief. I’m angry at the buzz of desire that is building inside me.
“Do you want a coffee?” he asks.
“Um…” I stammer, trying to get my thoughts back in place.
“Seems that a little mouse, or maybe a pixie, tampered with the breakers last night. But not to worry, it’ll be sorted within the hour. The guy is already on his way.”
I glare at him. How does this not even ruffle his feathers?
“So, coffee? I got this from Italy. It’s the real deal. Makes a brilliant espresso,” he says, proudly gesturing at the macchiato. When he moves, his muscles ripple over his arm and torso. His bicep flexes, and I bite my lip.
When I realize I’m biting my lip and staring at him like he’s a piece of meat, I’m furious with myself.
“No, I don’t want a damn coffee,” I huff.
“Is something wrong? Did you get enough sleep?” he asks casually. “You know, my mattress is by far the most comfortable in the house, if—”
“Oh, what, you’re going to tell me you’ve slept on all the other mattresses in this house just to make sure?” I snap.
“Try and prove otherwise,” he winks at me. The fucking manwinks at me.
I can’t handle the sight of him for another second, so I spin on my heel and storm out of the kitchen. “Enjoy your cold shower!” I shout over my shoulder.
“I have a cold shower every morning, little pixie. You should join me. It’ll help you calm down a little,” he laughs. “There’s a sauna in the pool house, too, if you want to try that out.”
I don’t reply, I just keep stomping up the stairs back to my room. NowIwant to shower, and I personally donotlike cold showers. I like the cold. I like the snow. But a shower is a thing ofcomfort.
Angrily, I start muttering under my breath.
“Oh, Mr. Fucking Perfect.So healthy. With his perfect routine, his cold showers in the morning. His perfect abs. His perfect arms. And that perfect stupid smile and the perfect laugh that is far too sexy and…” I flop face-first onto my bed and groan loudly into the pillow. How does he stay so calm?
Dammit, Izabel. Your hormones and your brain cells need to try and align here somehow.
It’s still okay…because he has no idea I’m physically attracted to him. And I am fully aware that it’s meaningless, because he might be pretty to look at, but the man is a grade-A asshole. But if he ever catches on that I think he’s sexy…. No. I would die of embarrassment.
I don’t think I’ve ever hated someone more in my life. So why did he also have to be the most attractive person I’ve ever seen in my life? It’s like the universe is trying to mess with me.
Rolling onto my back, I stare up at the stark white ceiling and the pretty crystal chandelier. It’s a modern design, but very unusual. By night, it sparkles and casts little fragments of lights over the room that look like stars. During the day, it catches the sun and reflects rainbows over the walls like it’s doing now.
