Page 55 of The Trouble With Bad Boys

Needing to recapture my strength and appear unaffected, I opened the fridge and pulled out a can of soda. I held one up in the man’s direction. “Want one?”

He extended a hand, which I took as a yes. I passed the soda to him, then cracked another for myself and took a long swig. I was acutely aware of the man watching my every move. He might be able to exert his dominance over me, but I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing me cower in fear.

I shut the fridge and pulled need him with a stare. “Since you haven’t introduced yourself, am I just supposed to guess your name?”

The corner of his mouth tilted upward as he leaned back against the counter and tipped his head my way. “Let me guess.” I tapped my lip in thought. “John Doe.”

He sent me a wry look, his lips pressing into a thin line. I tipped my head to the side as I studied him. “No? Hmmm... Joe? Bill? Mike, Jim, Nick, Harry, Jack?”

I ticked off the names as he shook his head in the negative each time. “Mr. Smith.”

He snorted just as the timer went off, and I clapped my hands together. “We’re out of time, so looks like Smith it is. Have a seat, Smith.”

His dark look told me I was playing with fire, but his high-handedness had irked me. The asshole deserved a taste of his own medicine. I served up the casserole, then slid into the seat across from him. He stared at it for a moment, using his fork to prod the noodles.

“It’s food, you eat it,” I said sarcastically, aggravated that even his silence emanated condescension.

He threw another of those irritated looks my way, then speared a large bite and lifted it to his mouth. He chewed and swallowed, his face completely blank. Finally he dipped his chin in a nod of praise, and a warm glow spread through my chest at his compliment.

Almost as soon as the thought flitted across my mind, I mentally scoffed. I’d known the man for less than a day; now I was interpreting his facial expressions? God help me.

With a little shake of my head, I turned my attention to my plate and dug in. “In case you don’t know,” I said between bites, “you’re in Pine Ridge. North of Kalispell, up in the Salish Hills,” I elaborated as he digested the information.

Dropping my gaze, I studied him from beneath my lashes. Where the hell did this man come from? Certainly nowhere local if he’d never eaten casserole and had no idea where he was.

Silence pressed in on us, making me squirm in my seat. Though I spent most of my time alone and didn’t typically mind the quiet, it felt awkward with this man. With nothing else to focus on, I could feel his eyes on me, stripping me bare. I felt the overwhelming need to deflect his attention, and since he obviously wasn’t going to speak, it was up to me.

I prattled on, telling him about Pine Ridge, about my floral shop and how much I loved working with flowers. Surprisingly, he remained attentive the entire time, offering the occasional nod, those dark eyes alert and assessing.

When he finally set his fork down, I nodded to his place. “Finished?”

He dipped his chin, and I gathered our dishes and carried them to the sink. I’d just finished rinsing the first dish when he appeared next to me, towel in hand. I glanced up at him and shook my head. “It’s fine, I?—”

He didn’t allow me to finish, just extracted the plate from my fingers. I watched, bemused, as he dried it before returning it to the cupboard. He turned to me expectantly, waiting for the next plate.

The man was an enigma: domineering one moment, considerate and helpful the next. He was a puzzle I wasn’t certain I wanted to figure out.

Six

RODRIGO

I should have stopped her. I should have spoken up instead of allowing her to believe I was mute. But I didn’t. Honestly, I wasn’t sure my voice had returned yet anyway.

My throat still felt raw, so I kept my mouth shut. And, really, it was better this way. More often than not, I learned things I never would have otherwise by remaining quiet. She filled the silence well enough for both of us, rambling on about the town, sharing anecdotes and telling me about some of the locals. It was good information to know, and I mentally filed away the tidbits she’d shared.

Interestingly enough, she hadn’t offered a single personal detail about herself other than the fact that she owned a floral shop—Lilies. I glanced at a flower print on the wall. It made sense that she would want to surround herself with things she loved. But nothing in the house, nothing in her conversation, told me anything about her.

Though I could tell she was still nervous around me, her reservations waned with every passing moment. She’d shrunk away from me earlier when I’d towered over her. It was a test to see how far I could push her. I had to give her credit; she held out longer than I expected. Most women—and men—would have bolted immediately.

In my line of work, I was generally feared. It was more than a little unsettling that Lily stood up to me. Her sassy attitude told me she could only be pushed so far, but that alone triggered my instincts to pry even more. Where would she draw the line? And what in the hell had possessed her to bring a strange man into her house? I would never hurt her, but she didn’t know that. I could have been a serial killer or worse.

She had no idea the things some people did in order to trick others into lowering their guard. I very well could have inflicted the cuts on myself to garner her sympathy and gain entrance to her home. I was infuriated that she’d so carelessly set aside her safety for a stranger. When my time here was through, I would make sure it never happened again.

After dinner we tended the plants in the greenhouse, then watched TV for a bit, both of us sitting in awkward silence as old reruns filled the time. According to Lily, she only got a few stations clearly, and she didn’t even bother with a satellite dish because the surrounding trees interfered with the reception. I didn’t mind. It gave me more time to study her as she pulled a half-finished blanket from a basket and began to knit. It was fascinating. I’d never seen anyone do it before, but her fingers moved nimbly, twirling the yarn into a perfect pattern.

One shoulder resting on the doorjamb, I eyed Lily as she spread a blanket over the couch, then placed a pillow at one end. She bent over to tuck in the corner and my gaze was drawn inexorably to her bottom. It wasn’t the first time I’d taken the opportunity to stare. Her ass was perfection.

A stirring of lust in my loins caught me off guard. It seemed like forever since I’d felt desire, let alone been turned on. For so long my body had focused on only the necessary for survival. I didn’t want to be attracted to her; it would only complicate things in the long run.

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