Page 11 of Swept Away

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.