Page 27 of Casita Casanova
Or, muter.
“Your name,” he says on a sly curl of his lips. “I never got it.”
I meet his pale green eyes and try not to gush. “I’m Maryn Connelly. Well, for now anyway.” I tilt my head, looking above his head for the answer to a question I’ve been asking myself for months. “I’ve been a Connelly for so long…” I say on a sigh. “I haven’t decided if I’ll go back to—” I shut my mouth and meet his gaze, stopping myself from divulging more than necessary. He didn’t ask for my backstory. “Sorry.”
He’s watching me with interest as I ramble, but he doesn’t inquire further as he lowers himself to a squatting position and takes Ribbit’s head in his hands, ruffling the dog’s fur and scratching him behind his ears. “And you’re Ribbit.”
“Yeah, sorry about him. He really loves people.” I reach down to ruffle Ribbit’s fur. When I look up, my new tenant’s eyes are locked on my hip. I stand quickly, adjusting my overalls to keep from exposing myself any further. I’m pretty sure he just got an eyeful of my bare hip and some of my underwear. Nicely done, Mar.
His eyes meet mine and a wave of something I certainly don’t want to acknowledge rushes south, settling between my legs.
“And you’re Cas, right?” I hesitate at the flash of tightness that slips over his handsome features, but it’s gone in a blink, replaced with that brain melting smile.
“Yes. Cas West.” He stands and extends his hand, so I slip mine inside of his, ignoring the way his warm hand engulfs mine, or the way he holds onto my hand so firmly.
For longer than necessary.
Alsoignoring the way my body reacts to his touch like I’m a lonely, middle-aged housewife fresh out of a divorce, who hasn’t been touched by a man in God knows how long—
Ohhhh.
Wait.
I snap myself out of my musings and focus on his name, rather than his, well, everything else. “That’s a nice name.”Even if it does sound like a porn star.“Is it short for anything?”
“Just Cas is fine,” he says. He finally releases my hand, so I cross my arms, shoving my hands beneath them because if I don’t, they might reach out and try to find that connection again.
He’s lying. I don’t know how I know, just… let’s call it intuition. A mother’s instinct. The Spidey senses of a jilted spouse. “I googled you.”
Actually, Ari googled him, but that’s neither here nor there.
His eyebrows creep up his forehead; his full lips twitch with amusement. “Oh?”
“You’re going to be living in my casita.” I shrug because that seems like a suitable explanation to me. “I couldn’t find anything.”Cas Westwas a dead end, and all his Realtor—or whoever she was—gave me was some post office box in Oklahoma. Which, now that he’s here, and his accent is so obviously East Coast… maybe I should be concerned about the lack of information I received.
He's charming and handsome, but some serial killers are.
Whatever he’s hiding, he’s hiding it well.
Or, maybe he’s not hiding anything at all. That was Danielle’s guess, but she was just disappointed we didn’t find out that he’s the prince of some far-off country or the heir to a Fortune 500 company who loves older women and ridiculous, boundary-averse dogs.
“I don’t really leave a digital footprint.” With a shrug, he passes me as he steps further into the kitchen, looking around the small space slowly. “I hate social media. Don’t have much of an online presence.”
Okay. Fair enough. “Where are you from?”
“Not California.”
I narrow my eyes. Why won’t he tell me? “What do you do for work?”
“I’m in between jobs at the moment.”
Hmm. I rest my hips against the counter and watch him as he surveys the kitchen. His size dwarfs the small space. The way he moves is commanding, powerful, like a lion might stride through the savannah—unbothered, unafraid. He doesn’t strike me as a slacker, which piques my interest even more. “What did you do at your last job?”
Am Inosy… or just trying to get to know my new tenant?
“Did you just buy this place?”
Nice subject change, Cas West.“No,” I say on a laugh, glancing around at all the unopened boxes. We had to leave the main house untouched to get the casita ready in time for his arrival, so I’m pretty much still at the same place I was on Saturday when Danielle and I left for margaritas. Half of my life remains in boxes scattered throughout the home.
