Page 44 of Love JD

Zev stared, his mouth open like he wanted to find words but none were forthcoming.

I winced, lifting myself onto my tiptoes to keep the bird feeder from pulling my hair. “But the reporter got away.”

“Um,” Zev’s cobalt eyes did a zippy fast once-over of my hair, my face, my arm, the rake on the ground, and the smashed camera at the base of the tree. “That’s… not even why I came home.”

Realization dawned. “Tristan called you.”

“Tristan called me,” he agreed, his features carved with perplexed concern. “He said you fainted on the phone.”

“I did,” I admitted, my voice strained. My scalp was really starting to burn.

He examined the feeder, his height giving him a good angle to see under the spinning piece. He made that thinking sound he’d made on the balcony, a low hum that vibrated my bones like a cat’s purr. Then he unhooked the whole feeder and held it close to my head. It gave me instant relief from the painful tugging. “I’ll have to take it apart, I think,” he said.

“Sorry.” I didn’t dare actually look at him. Not with my mascara running and one eye still leaking tears and redder than a lobster tail.

“Serious question,” he said, leading me back to the house while he hovered the bird feeder over my head as we walked. “How the fuck are you still alive?”

I snorted. “By all accounts, it doesn’t have any logical explanation,” I admitted with a weak half-grin.

“This isn’t even your dysautonomia,” he went on, the incredulity in his voice tugging my smile wider. “This is just you. Being you.”

“I would like to point out,” I said with forced haughtiness, “that I did defend your property successfully.”

“With a rake,” he clarified.

“Correct.”

“I’ll cancel the security system immediately,” he replied gravely. “Now that I have you.”

Now that I have you. The words swirled around my heart like a silk scarf. Stop that, inchworm. Not another centimeter down that path. He led me to the kitchen island and removed the vase of neutral flowers, the cute little wood bowls, and the utensils he stored in the middle, leaning his body with each movement but keeping the feeder steady. “Hold this,” he said. His free hand trailed down my forearm like a caress, and he lifted my wrist to the feeder. The contact pebbled the skin on my arms and made my breasts warm.

Apparently, I wanted my hair untangled, but my body wanted to tangle tongues with Attorney Brady. Fantastic. Blushing, I held the bird feeder above my head.

“Okay, I’m putting you on the counter,” Zev said just before he scooped me up into his arms with alarming ease.

I barely had time to gasp before he laid me on the butcher block surface. “Why?” I squeezed out.

Zev rested the bird feeder on the counter, instantly taking the weight off the tangled mess. “Apparently, I need to fix you,” he said, rotating his head so it mirrored mine. He had a cocky, slightly indulgent smile crinkling his eyes, and it stole my breath.

“Yeah,” I gusted out.

Chuckling, he pushed away from the island. “I’m grabbing my toolbox. I’ll be right back.”

I had my knees bent and feet planted on the counter, and I tapped my bare knees together while I waited. Something about lying there made me feel vulnerable, but in a good way. Like Zev had access to my whole body if he wanted it…

“Yikes,” I groaned out loud.

“Finally hitting you, is it?” Zev asked cheerfully as he entered the kitchen.

“Eh, yeah.”

He set the toolbox down on the island above my head and stood behind me. I craned my neck back to see him, but it pulled on the tangles, so I stopped. He reached over suddenly, his hands hooking under my arms, and slid me down the counter toward him. I smelled pine and woodsy cologne as his arms reached around me so he could fish through the black tool bag that now rested at my shoulder. The top of my head pressed into his stomach as he reached, rifling through it for a tool, and I closed my eyes.

This doesn’t feel nice. Not at all. I should be ashamed. Horrified. Focus on your self-deprecation, Isla. You are a sentient turnip with the sex appeal of a root vegetable.

Zev found what he was looking for, but he didn’t move away from me. He stepped to the side, angling his toned body over my face to work on the bird feeder. I watched his movements, entranced by how his vest rode up his tapered waist. With a pop, he pulled two pieces of the bird feeder apart, and I felt his hands gently thread my hair out of it. “This is a real talent,” he mused. His fingers combed through my tangled hair gently. “I don’t know what it’s good for, but you’re world-class.”

I snuffed out a laugh. “Thank you so much.”

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