Page 67 of Mayhem and Minnie

“It is,” I agree.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to pay you back somehow?”

Ah, the little heathen fell right into my trap.

“You don’t have to pay me. But,” I say as I take out the maid costume from one of the bags. “This is your uniform. From now on, you’ll clean my house wearing this.”

She takes the package out of my hands and studies it with a frown.

“Oh. I can do that.” She nods confidently. “It’s pretty, too.”

“Of course it is. I chose it personally.” I grunt.

That went…better than expected. Suddenly, my head swims in visions of Minnie wearing that maid uniform—unnatural visions that I should put an immediate stop to.

Alas. I’ll only admire the sight from afar.

Perhaps there’s something rather…irresistible about her. Otherwise, I don’t see why I’d change decades-long worth of convictions for her convenience.

As we leave the store, the same thing happens again. Men turn and stare. One by one, they look at Minnie with an inscrutable expression on their faces. Those who get a better look at her get that same glazed look in their eyes and they stop whatever they’re doing to follow us.

“You were not kidding when you said men suddenly want you,” I add in a dry voice.

It takes everything in me not to stop and make a scene, perhaps beat one or two of the men on our trail to a pulp. Agh, my blood is boiling just thinking about my fist making contact with their faces. And for once, I barely remember my revulsion about touching them barehanded and making contact with their blood. In fact, I’m almost craving it.

I look back and note five men currently on our trail. They appear to be in some kind of trance since they bump into people but barely acknowledge it. Their eyes are solely on Minnie, and their sole focus is getting closer to her.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, glancing back. A shiver goes down her back.

“Is it always like this?” My voice is a little rougher than intended, but I still can’t wrap my mind around it.

Is she a goddamn siren? Because I can no longer deny that not only does she have a strange effect on those of the male variety, but she has a strange effect on me too. How else would anyone explain the fact that I let her live in my sanctuary, that I overlooked her egregious breaking of my rules, or that I took her shopping?

Or, the most outrageous thing yet is that I find her cute.

I scowl as my frustration mounts—at myself and at those fucking losers who think to follow her.

She gives me a guilty nod.

“I try to avoid populated areas,” she answers. “But it’s not always possible.”

Of course it’s not fucking possible if she’s homeless. Good grief, what has this slip of a woman had to endure while living on the streets? I can hardly imagine, and to my surprise, a surge of protectiveness appears in my chest.

We pick up our speed. As soon as I get the keys to my car from the valet, we load the bags in the trunk and get inside.

The men are not far behind, so I start the car and steer it out of the parking lot.

“And you’re telling me you’ve never been with a man?” I raise a brow.

That in itself is strange with the amount of attention she attracts. But even stranger is my reaction to the thought of her being with someone else.

She immediately shakes her head.

“Why not? You’re twenty-five. That’s unusual at your age, is it not?”

My focus is on the road, but I still glance at her from the corner of my eyes every now and then.

“Is it?” She shrugs. “That type of intimacy is only reserved for someone special.”

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