Page 24 of Make You Mine

“That’s right. I said no.” Turning around, I face him with a hand on my hip. His lips quirk up into a full grin. “What do you find so amusing, Ford?”

At the mention of his last name, Eli licks his lips, and I unconsciously do the same. “Stubborn little thing, aren’t you?”

“Not at all.” Sassy. A little challenging.Why am I so comfortable around him after knowing him for less than a day?

“I find that hard to believe.” He takes a step forward.

“Quit changing the subject.” Matching his actions, I take one back and then another. Eli advances, and his eyes are predatory, something that should send me running, and yet, it doesn’t. It’s thrilling. He’s taken my fear and replaced it with a feeling of euphoria that’s confusing and, even more worrisome, welcomed.

I can’t. Shouldn’t. Moreover, I want it. His attention.

“You’re not cleaning this, Ava. Go to the living room and wait for me.”

“I’ll get this tidied faster than you,” I say a bit breathlessly. Then, because life needs to remind me of just how wrong this is, I take two steps back, bumping into the counter area beside thefridge. A mistake that puts a halt to our flirtation—this moment—as a coffee cup tips over, rolling onto the floor beside my feet, where it shatters into a million pieces.

My reaction is to scream and jump. To think the worst.

Elijah is across the room and has me in his arms before I can blink. Cuddling me to his chest, his lips press against my forehead. “It’s just a cup. Nothing happened.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t,” he growls low, hugging me closer. Comforting me. “You could break everything in here, and I wouldn’t care. Do you hear me?”

“Yes.”

“Did you get hurt?” Not that he waits for my reply; the man kneels at my feet, looking for any visible cuts.

“No, but I am more embarrassed by my reaction.” Heat blooms across my cheeks and to the tips of my ears. “Can we just drop it and clean up? Please.”

He makes a sound at the back of his throat, a mixture of a grunt and groan that forces my eyes to his. “You hungry?”

My stomach rumbles then, and the blush heats further. “A little.”

Eli raises a brow from his position, head tilted to the side. “When’s the last time you ate?”

“A real meal?”

“Yes.”

Pursing my lips, I recall our stop just outside of Dallas to pick up a late dinner and shrug. “Two days ago.”

Once again, I am lifted onto a countertop, which pulls a squeak from me. This time, though, he doesn’t linger. “Stay,” is all he says before leaving the room for a few minutes. When he’s back, there’s a mop, broom, and a bucket in his hands, along with a few rags.

Placing them near the sink, he opens the cabinet below and pulls out a few spray bottles with different-colored liquids inside.

“Can I help?”

“After I sweep up the glass.” And that’s what he does. Broom in hand, he gathers the larger pieces, picks them up, and tosses them inside the garbage bin. Then, after nothing is left besides the small bits, he begins to sweep the floor clean of spaghetti and glass.

Watching him work like this, doing something so domesticated, is...sexy.

Tempting me with what I shouldn’t want.

A house.

To share my life with someone.

To not run or constantly have to watch my back.

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