The wind blows stronger now, each gust bruising my body. For a moment, the fear that he’s changed his mind grabs a hold of me. But as I ascend the last step, I breathe out in relief.
The door to the house is now open, and a trail of light shimmers from inside. I can even smell the heady scent of wood burning in the fireplace. I imagine myself warming my hands on a hot cup of coffee while gazing dreamily at the glowing logs, the warmth slowly seeping into me after a long, tiring day.
“Should we knock?” Mandy peers at me before pushing the door open.
“Why do you bother asking?” I mutter, following her in.
What awaits me inside is Hot Guy’s scowl as he glimpses Mandy’s suitcase.
My eyes drink him in from head to toe, slowly brushing over his jeans and unbuttoned shirt to his rolled-up sleeves showing beautiful bronze skin and dark hair. In the porch light, he didn’t look bad standing there with half of him bathed in darkness. In the dim light falling in from the kitchen, however, he’s stunningly gorgeous. He’s all so intimately familiar—as though I’ve known him all my life instead of only a few minutes.
I squint and think back to the place where we first met without giving the impression that I’m staring.
His face has been a part of my daydreams for so long that I feel as though I’ve known him forever. Maybe not so much the face as the chest and bulging biceps. Everything about him feels way more familiar than it should be. The fact that in my mind I’ve had sex with him more times than I remember is both hot and embarrassing—and now it comes back to bite me in the ass because I can barely look at him without the telltale heat of a major blush rushing to my face.
“Can I have a word in private?” he asks no one in particular.
I assume he’s talking to me, so I drop Mandy’s suitcase and kick off my shoes, then shrug off the soaked jacket, hanging it up on a hook near the door. I turn to Mandy. “Wait here. I’ll be right back.”
My heart pounding in my chest, I follow him into the dimly lit kitchen, unsure what to say.
Will he kick us out?
It’s quite possible, isn’t it?
His expression is stony. His arms are crossed over his chest as he leans against the doorframe. Even though half of his face is obscured by the weak light, he’s so gorgeous for a moment I forget what I’m here for as I peer up at the six-foot-two angry statue of the guy.
“I said no suitcase,” he says quietly.
“It’s not mine.”
He glances over my shoulder to Mandy in the hallway. “If it’s not yours, then that’s fine.”
This is so personal.
My jaw drops. It takes every ounce of my willpower to bite back a snarky remark.
He must really hate me, or more likely, he’s trying to punish me. His arrogance is monumental. You can probably see it from outer space. And it irritates the hell out of me.
“Thank you for letting us stay,” I say loud enough for Mandy to hear. “You’re very generous.”
Not.
He opens his mouth, then closes it, as though he wants to utter something, but then decides otherwise.
Eventually, he nods. “Follow me.”
He gestures for us to follow him from the hallway into the living room.
I try not to gawk.
Compared to his flashy car, the room is rather simple and looks in dire need of renovation. There’s a worn sofa on the east side, a whole library on the west side. A huge, old-fashioned fireplace adorns most of the north wall.
He disappears for a few seconds and returns with two towels, pressing them into our hands. Mandy peels off her soaked jacket and then joins me on the generously sized rug overlooking the ginormous fireplace. The warmth seeps into my skin, relaxing me.
“I’ll get you some drinks,” Mr. Hot Guy mumbles and takes Mandy’s coat.
“Thanks. That’d be great,” Mandy calls after him in what I’ve learned to recognize as her flirty voice—a mixture of low and sultry intermingled with just a hint of a smile.
I nudge her in the ribs and whisper, “Do you think that’s a good idea? We don’t even know him.”
“What?” She shrugs, faking that she has no idea what I’m talking about.
As soon as he’s gone, she turns to me. “What the hell!” she mouths in case he’s eavesdropping. “Why didn’t you say he was hot?”
I shrug my shoulders. “He’s okayish.”
“Okayish?” Mandy asks, aghast. “He’s hot, hot, hot with a capital H!” She glances over her shoulder to the hallway then back to me. “Please don’t tell me you wouldn’t do him.”
The admonishment is palpable in her voice.
I grimace as heat creeps up my face. If only she knew how often I’ve actually done him in my head, she’d be both appalled and proud of me.
“I’ve seen better guys out there,” I mutter.
“Then I’m calling dibs.”