Page 8 of Arran's Obsession

Cranking open the sash window, I leaned out. “Hey.”

The man sought out my voice. He tilted his head in recognition then crossed the street.

“Why are you lurking outside my house?” I demanded.

Stupid, stupid girl. Now he knew where I lived. What the hell was wrong with me? One face-off with a pretty guy and I’d lost all sense.

“Hunting you down, little maniac. My best guess was the same place at the same time as yesterday,” he called up.

I perused him. “In case I leapt in front of your car again?”

His lips formed a smile. “Something like that.”

My stomach flipped. Smiles like that ought to be illegal.

At my lack of a reply, he continued. “I was concerned. Your injuries looked bad but you ran away.”

My mind supplied what it was that bothered me. The mistake he’d made when he’d asked if I sold sex for a living. I wanted to correct it. For some reason, it burned as a tight knot inside me.

Now he was here and I had a chance to set the record straight.

“You alone?” I asked.

He spread out his arms. “As you see.”

“Wait there,” I ordered and slammed the window closed.

In my bedroom, I dressed quickly in shorts and a spaghetti strap top, then tugged on ballet flats. Grabbing my keys, I left the flat and jogged downstairs.

Outside, a series of wide steps led to the paved street. The guy waited at the bottom.

In my light summer clothes, my injuries were fully on display, but his gaze stuck on my face. Heat crept through me, that weird attraction blooming low in my belly. I closed the door, still warm in the dusk, and leaned back on it.

For a moment, neither of us spoke.

Then he cleared his throat. “My name’s Arran. I wanted to see you?—”

“Because you hit me with your car and wanted to be sure I didn’t sue or die on you? I got that.”

His mouth curved in amusement. “I don’t give a fuck about being sued. That hit was hard. I smacked the steering wheel with my shoulder and bruised from it. You came off a lot worse. I needed to see you were still walking.”

I eyed his shoulder, picturing him bare-chested. He had a nice shape to him, as well as an edge of danger. A fighter, maybe, like my brother sometimes was, though Arran’s knuckles weren’t busted and his nose was straight. “It was my fault. I deserved whatever I got.”

His gaze slid down to my thigh. “Does it hurt?”

Somehow he made that so distinctly sexual.

“Do you want it to?” I found myself saying.

Where the hell did that come from?

His eyebrows merged. “Probably not, but I’m open to being convinced.”

A dark-green car eased down the street, slowing as it neared. I squinted at it, then my blood ran cold. Don was in the driver’s seat, Moniqua’s violent cousin. He stared at me and at the man I was talking to.

God.Don was the type to pack heat. I’d never seen him with a gun, but he was easy with the knives and that was threat enough. If he was here for me, I needed either to run or put him off.

I tore my gaze back to Arran. “Come inside. I want to take a look at your shoulder.”

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