Page 3 of Swept Away (Men of War #1)

G EMMA

Of course I can’t keep Gizmo.

The second I enter my place, he struggles to free himself, and I’m forced to let him down.

Someone must’ve put a spell on this cat.

He dashes to the window as if he’s done it many times before, jumps up on the armchair, and then the windowsill, and then straight into the tree.

And we’re back to square one.

“Motherfucker Gizmo,” I say before sighing and finally letting my hair free and removing my bathrobe.

Rivulets of sweat trickle down my chest as I check the thermostat to make sure the AC is working.

Yes, it is.

A smile grows on my lips.

That stranger’s eyes still haunt me, making me hot.

Before checking my phone–because I’m curious to learn his name–and arming myself with patience to lure that little kitty inside, I go to the refrigerator, scoop out a bottle of water, and gulp half of it down, drops trickling down my chin.

Finally, I straighten and run the back of my hand over my mouth when I hear a knock on the door.

Startled, I set the bottle down.

Who the fuck is that?

I’m not expecting guests.

And it can’t be one of my neighbors.

They are very private, and we keep our interactions short and preferably confined to working hours.

The person in the hallway knocks on the door again.

“I’m coming,” I bark from the kitchen before checking the time on the wall clock.

It’s ten past ten.

I move swiftly to the door and crack it open. Not one door has a peephole in this building.

The silhouette of a man fills my view, and a fluffy orange cat is wrapped around his hand like it was outside.

The man turns to me, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

“I think you’ve lost your cat again.”

My mouth falls open as I look at the kitten purring in his grip.

Why is he always behaving when he’s with him and never when he’s with me?

“Yeah… Sure. Well, he jumped out the window the moment I brought him in,” I say, opening the door and stepping on the threshold before taking the cat from him, absolutely convinced he’ll run away as soon as I set him down again.

The man’s eyes go down over me swiftly, glinting with satisfaction.

I wish I could hold something bigger than the kitten and conceal parts of my body, especially those that churn out heat.

He lifts his gaze from the apex of my thighs, and I lock my jaw and swallow hard.

“Thank you for bringing him back. I don’t think he’ll stay, though. He only behaves when you’re around.”

His reply arrives swiftly.

“Do you want me to stay a little longer?”

My eyebrows push up, and my lips turn silent.

“Um…” I mumble, still not having a clear answer.

I’m not used to having men over at my place. In fact, no one has visited my place since I moved here.

My eyes drift over the man.

He has his T-shirt on, yet my hackles rise.

The cat won’t stay with me regardless.

Once the man leaves, he’ll go too. I know Gizmo well.

We’ve been doing this dance for some time.

The only thing that’s different tonight is him… The man in front of me.

“What’s your name?” I ask abruptly, as I haven’t even had a chance to check my phone and retrieve the information from there.

“Mason,” he says with a smile.

I look at him incredulously.

“Really?”

He seems amused by my reaction, and I begin to think his name is as made-up as the story about his sister was.

“Yeah,” he says, slowly nodding and gauging my reaction.

His eyes make me aware of the tension swirling below my waist, which is far from being good news.

I shouldn’t even think about that.

Sex has always been a struggle because it’s never been right. It wasn’t the right man, the right time, or the right setting.Whatever it was, it wasn’t right.

I always thought sex should be raw, addictive, something to get hooked on, in a good way, but that’s not what it was.

Sex shouldn’t be on my mind right now.

Maybe it’s not on his mind either.

“I won’t stay long,” he says in the voice of someone who needs to crash someplace for a little while because they have nowhere to go.

A smile tugs at my lips.

“Sure. Come on in.”

My gesturing toward the room surprises me.

This is so not like me.

My hand shakes a little when he steps in and I quietly close the door behind me.

If my intuition happens to be wrong about this man, I might be in for a lot of trouble.

What if he’s a psycho?

He loves cats, so maybe he isn’t.

Although some psychos love cats.

A blend of mint, aftershave, and smoke drifts through the air as he walks away from the door..

“Are you on foot?” I ask, wondering about all sorts of things.

“Uh-huh,” he says, looking around my place, and I’m almost convinced he is not who he says he is.

“Not many people walk around these days,” I comment, trying to keep my nerves under control.

I put Gizmo on a pillow on the armchair propped against the windowsill, and amazingly, he yawns, curls up, and drifts off to sleep.

It all happens within seconds.

I need to have a word with him when ‘Mason’–or whatever his name is–leaves my place.

I shift to my guest.

His eyes peel off my legs, and I get super conscious about my body as I wish again I could have something different on and maybe not have his eyes on me.

I’ve never met someone who expresses so much with his eyes.

I’d look foolish to plop my big old robe on top of my tank top and my shorts, although this is not exactly the best way to meet and greet a guest.

Too little clothing, too many problems.

“Someone dropped me off,” he says when he brings his eyes to mine, and his heavy stare feels like a wrecking ball against my stomach.

As mixed as my feelings are, I can’t show him to the door just yet.

His eyes do things to me that no man has ever done.

“I’m cold,” I eventually say. “I need to put something on, if you don’t mind.”

“You don’t need to,” he says casually, and my eyes leap to his.

“Excuse me?”

He closes the space between us, slowly walking, his eyes holding mine, and I freeze in place.

He stops inches away from me and brings his hand to the back of my hair before running his fingers through my locks.

“You don’t need to put anything on. I’ll make sure you won’t catch a cold,” he adds, tipping his eyes down and catching sight of my beaded nipples as they push hard against my tank top.

The more he slides his hand into the back of my hair, the more goosebumps pop along my arms.

My nipples almost hurt, and a delicious feeling grows inside my center.

Swept away in a trance, I wait for him to drag his gaze back up.

“Maybe you should leave,” I say in a quiet voice that might as well belong to someone else.

He removes his hand from the back of my hair and sets it on the root at my neck, raising his eyes to me.

When he looks at me, it feels like the universe has opened a trap under my feet and I’m about to fall.

A remnant of my old logical self tells me that thiscould go well in so many ways, and it could also end terribly.

I’m too confused to make a prediction.

“Do you want me to leave?” he asks mellowly, and I’m right there, teetering on the edge.

Shamelessly dwelling.

Do I want him to leave?

Maybe?

I don’t know?

Not yet?

I suck in a long breath.

“You can have a drink and then leave,” I say, having a hard time pulling away from him but managing somehow to step back and almost fall over myself when I turn my back to him and head to the open kitchen.

“What would you like to drink?” I ask, not looking at him, horrified of how unsettled I am, and what the expression on my face might let out.

It’s like he wraps ropes around my body and pulls me back to him.

“Water is fine,” he says, suddenly sounding bored.

I secretly sigh with relief.

Good.

Bored is good.

Anything but that intensity in his eyes that gives me shivers.

Maybe we can talk a little more.

And maybe we can prolong whatever this is, but his hand should never touch my hair again.

Maybe we don’t need to do anything.

He drinks his water and leaves.

Yes, he leaves.

I look down as I open the refrigerator to fish out two bottles of water, but instead of checking the beverages on the shelf, I check my nipples.

I could cut glass with them. They are that hard.

And I still have that need in my body to have his hands on me.

And maybe more.

His breath over my neck.

His lips on my lips.

And his chest pressed into mine.

His fingers moving down my spine.

“Do you need a glass?”

“No,” he says, his voice echoing behind me.

Startled, I let the door drop.

“I can help myself,” he says. “If you don’t mind.”

“Sure. Yes. I don’t mind.”

I step back, happy to put some distance between us.

He opens the door and scoops out the bottles of water.

“Are you afraid of me?” he asks evenly while smoothly straightening and shifting toward me.

“Do I need to?” I ask, stretching my hand out to grab the bottle he offers me, making sure there’s space between us, and I don’t feel the full effect of the electricity zapping in the air.

He uncaps the bottle and gulps down most of the water while I watch his Adam’s apple moving.

He sets his bottle down.

“It depends.”

A glint of mischief glimmers in his eyes.

“So you say I should be afraid of you?”

He tilts his chin in the direction of my drink.

“I say you should drink your water.”

My eyebrows wiggle up.

“May I ask why?”

With two languishing steps, he inches closer to me again.

I’m propped against the kitchen island when he stops in front of me.

“You’ll find out soon,” he says in a sultry, flirtatious voice.

My eyes dart back and forth as the seconds pass.

“What are you talking about exactly?”

“Drink it,” he says in the same commanding voice, yet somewhat wrapped in velvet.

Compelled, I uncap my bottle and take a few sips.

“Drink all of it. It’s not that much.”

My eyes dive into his eyes, his silent encouragement removing the last of my resolve.

I empty the bottle.

“Good girl,” he says, taking it from me and setting it away from us.

“What are we doing now?” I murmur, my voice barely flowing out.

He looks over his shoulder, spots the light switch, and taps it to kill the ceiling lights.

The only illumination in the room is the under-cabinet lighting.

A soft glow spreads across his face.

“You’ll let me do everything I want to do to you, and you won’t regret it.”

A shudder of awareness sweeps through me, a tide of tension soaring through my body.

“What do you want to do to me?” I murmur, my eyes locked on him.

A soft smile tilts his lips as if he’s gotten what he wanted.