Page 29 of Casita Casanova
“I think I caught that.”
“I came here to clear my head, maybe get some perspective.” He steps back and leans against the counter again. “All I do is party and hook up. And now it’s about to cost me the one thing my father loved almost as much as he loved me.”
I wait for him to continue, not sure if I should try to dig for more information.
He shakes his head, avoiding my gaze again. “So… if you kick me out, I’ll just end up back there, and I’ll screw up again—it’s inevitable.”
Ignoring the empathy tugging at my heart strings in response to the sadness in his voice, and the fact that I’m dying to know whereback thereis and what this man’s story is, I cross my arms over my chest and try to be tough instead. “I don’t see how this is my problem, and I don’t see how you can stay here. You just asked me if my nineteen-year-old daughter washotand then proceeded to eye-fuck me.”
He flinches at my words, then finally looks up at me with heat in his eyes. “To be fair, we’ve been eye-fucking each other since we met.”
I gasp. He’s notwrong, but I’ve never been spoken to so forwardly. It takes everything in me not to tighten my legs together in response to the look in his eyes.
Welp. It’s worse than I thought.
He’s not a serial killer; he’s something much more dangerous.
A fuckboy who looks like he’d be damn good at his job.
His eyes close on a long blink. “Shit,” he whispers. “I did it again, didn’t I?”
“You think?”And I hate the way my body has reacted to you.
“I’m sorry. I don’t…” He grimaces, then rubs his hands down his face. “I don’t know how to talk to women.”
“Clearly.” I snort.
“Please don’t make me leave. I won’t be a problem. I’ll stay out of your way. I won’t even talk to your daughter.”
“You won’t even talkaboutmy daughter.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Oof.Ma’am.I’ll never get used to that. But he is quite younger than me, and if calling me ma’am helps us both to remember that, so be it. “And you won’t flirt with me.”
He lifts his head, those green eyes locking on mine.
The breath catches in my throat.
“If that’s what you want,” he finally says, his voice low.
Is it? Is it really?
“I won’t flirt with you.”
The look in his eyes tells me flirting is the least of my worries. The man looks like he could devour me on the spot and leave me in a puddle on the floor. Want tightens my groin. Heat pools low in my belly.
I’m so very much in trouble.
Hauling in a deep breath through my nose, I give a curt nod. “Consider it a trial run.” I move to the back door and open it widely, stepping back as far as I can so he won’t accidentally bump me on his way back out. “I can revoke the rental agreement at any time.”
With a curt nod, he steps past me, and I fight to ignore the masculine scent of him that sneaks past my defenses and curls its way down into my belly. He’s awakened this long-forgotten, wanton part of me that even now, even after he’s shown that he’s an offensive playboy, wants to jump into his arms and see if the real thing can live up to the promise in his eyes.
When he’s on the bottom step, I close the door, resting my forehead against the cool wood.
I can’t believe I just allowed him to talk me into letting him stay.
What the hell have I done?
