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Soon, a stack of pancakes with a dollop of whipped butter on top finds its way in front of me.

An adoring smile lights up her face as she sets a glass of water and my silverware beside the plate.

Before I can pick up my fork, Titus bulldozes into the kitchen from the back door, bypassing his water bowl and coming straight for me.

All eighty pounds of him disappear under the breakfast table before his head makes it to my lap in record time. Earnest eyes lock on my face and my heart melts at the sight.

“Hey, old man,” I coo. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

The dog’s labored breathing is drowned out by a throat clearing.

A deep, authoritative throat clearing. The sound does wonders in arresting my high spirits.

Heavy footfalls have me focused on the arched doorway of the kitchen before his athletic frame crowds it.

Then the musky, masculine scent of him teases my nostrils.

A shirtless Adonis looks around the kitchen, hands on his waist and wired headphones draped around his corded neck.

Oh, no.

Sweat glides over the contours of his chest and abs, his locs are pulled back from his face and those perceptive, menacing eyes find me like a magnet seeking out its opposite force.

Just like that, my head starts pounding in full force. It might be a placebo effect, but until I’m free he can shoulder the blame for every inconvenience I face.

It’s the weight of Titus’ head on my lap that pulls me back, and I reach up to rub my neck, scared the same splotches that plague my brother under duress are visible on my skin.

My captor’s V-line wasnota discovery I needed to make today.

And it’s a shame too. A body like that is wasted on someone like him.

A face chiseled by God’s hands and a soul shaped by the devil himself. His whole existence is at odds with itself. It explains why he leaves me feeling so unsettled. Overwhelmed. Breathless.

“Why are you still here?” I blurt, trying to find my footing.

It’s not easy when he stops beside the table to peer down at me like I’m a source of amusement.

His lips curl as he pulls off the elastic holding his locs in place. They tumble around his shoulders before he ever parts his lips to respond.

“Morning to you too, Ms. Rose.” His chair drags over the floor. Angling it in my direction, he sits down with too much grace for a man his size.

How tall is he anyway?

Every doorway he occupies seems too small for the sheer size of him.

His gaze lingers on me, not assessing but caressing and bumps raise on my skin.

“You sleep well?” His gravelly voice is softer than I’ve ever heard it.

I don’t like it.

“Stop talking to me.”

“You asked me a question first. Would’ve been rude not to answer.”

“Since when has that stopped you?”

For a second, his dark eyes aren’t cold and calculating, there’s a subtle warmth around the edges, almost like he’s holding back a smile. “Just today.”