Page 5 of Mercenary

“Oh.” Oh.

I move away, not knowing what else to do, and pick up my favorite kind of cupcake, vanilla bean with real vanilla-bean flavoring I’d painstakingly shaved into the white batter. I use a spoon to spread on some icing then eat it with small, measured bites. Moaning on the inside at the taste—and at the way his arms and chest flex as he rubs the towel over his head.

When he finishes, he folds it up and sets it on the countertop.

“Get better locks.”

I pause before responding, my mind still worked up from the lethal combination of cupcakes and a fine display of man candy.

“No need. Our stay here is temporary. See that?” I point to my acceptance letter hanging from the refrigerator. “I’m transferring to San Diego State University. My bags are packed and I’m out of here in a few days.”

“Good. No place for someone like you. Still, change the goddamn locks.”

I bit my lip. Someone like me?

His gaze drops to my lips, tracking my movements. “Or do you know about what’s been going on?”

He’s staring at my lips, and I wonder if he’s referring to this sizzling energy, this awareness that heats up the few feet between us.

Like he’s contemplating kissing me.

Like I’m actually wanting to kiss him.

A noise escapes my lips, something between a gasp and a slight, muted moan, which I struggle to swallow back.

For a man who’s given very little inclination as to why he’s here, a whole lotta expression seems to cross his handsome face at once. Surprise—no missing that. Humor. Sadness. Pain. Until I see the flash of desire in his eyes.

“You should have stayed hidden. You shouldn’t have invited me inside.”

His words come as a shock like a bucket of ice over my head. My private ice-bucket challenge thrusting my thoughts away from kissing and back to the reality of this situation. “It was the right thing to do. The kind thing. I wouldn’t keep my worst enemy outside in a storm like this.”

For a second, he stares at me like I’ve grown two heads. Then, a frown mars his features. I step backward, one step, two.

He thrusts his hand out, grabs my arm, and holds me in place.

“Has your sister’s friend left you alone?”

“What friend?”

“Franco DiCapitano.”

“That greaseball mobster? He’s not Kylie’s friend, not by a long shot.”

“You ever talk to them? You and your sister hang out with them?”

“I avoid them at all costs. My sister’s never confirmed this but Franco’s responsible for my father’s murder. And despite what you think, I’m not naive. I know when trouble’s around. I’ve learned to be careful. “

“You let me in.”

“You’re not some mobster who thinks violence is power.”

“You are naive.” He walks over to the door, opens it, and stands in the threshold, peering outside. The wind is vicious, the storm in a full rage. A force of nature trying to drive another force of nature back inside.

“Naive? Which one of us is thinking about heading out in that?”

He ignores me as he slides his muscled arms into his gray zip-up sweatshirt. He tugs the hood up and is just about to step over the threshold when he pauses.

“Why cupcakes?”