Page 38 of Under an Endless Moon

We got to the top, and he reached around me and pushed open the door. When I stepped inside, I was hit with his overpowering aura.

Magnified a thousand times.

That patchouli scent mixed with what smelled like warm, cinnamon apples, as if there might have actually been a pie baking in the oven.

No man should smell that good.

The interior of Otto’s house was just as industrial as the exterior. Everything metal and black and sleek, though his furniture was oversized and comfortable.

The left side of the great room was the kitchen, and the living area was to the right.

A dining table sat on the far opposite side of the door, overlooking the gorgeous view through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

Just left of the kitchen were three wide steps that led to a low loft where framed artwork was displayed on the walls and a few sculptures were positioned around a lounging couch.

Situated in the middle of the loft were double doors leading to the single bedroom beyond.

“Are you hungry?” he asked as he rounded me and tossed his keys to a bowl that sat on the entry table.

Right.

I hadn’t even had dinner yet, and it was just then I realized that I’d run out of my house without any of my things.

Just awesome.

But it was a whole lot better than showing my face when I’d screamed like I’d walked in on a murder scene rather than the very natural thing my brother and his fiancée were doing.

“Starving. And please tell me you have a bottle of wine. Okay, after today, make it two.”

He chuckled as he strode into the kitchen and headed for the liquor cabinet. “Not sure about the wine, but I have vodka.”

He waved a giant bottle at me.

I sighed as I tossed my purse onto the black granite island. “That will just have to do.”

“When did you get so fancy?” he asked with a quirk of his brow. “My vodka’s not good enough for you?”

A soft giggle rolled out as I headed deeper into the kitchen and opened the pantry where I knew he kept his mixers. I grabbed two bottles of ginger beer. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Otto. I’ve always been fancy. Have you even met me?”

Lifting the bottles overhead, I did a little shimmy.

Air huffed out of Otto’s nose as he pulled two crystal low-ball tumblers from a glass cabinet.

Talk about fancy.

“Guess I always did know you were a whole ton better than the rest of us.” He said it over the clinking of ice from the dispenser in the fridge.

I popped the caps off the bottles as he poured the vodka over ice.

“Better than the rest of you? I think not,” I said.

Moving to his side, I peeked up at him as I poured the ginger beer into the glasses.

Something dark passed through his features.

“We aren’t exactly good people,” he said, his thick, tatted throat bobbing as he swallowed. The owl wings that he’d had forever painted there seemed to flutter as he did.

I handed him a glass then took the other, and I whispered as I brought it to my lips, “No, you’re the best people.”

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