Page 7 of In Death's Hands
It’s as if I’ve stepped inside a magazine showing off billionaires’ houses. Except on those pages the billionaires are usually standing somewhere in their houses, whereas my kidnapper-slash-saviour is nowhere to be found.
I stand in the middle, not knowing what to do with myself.
Maybe he had to work? Would he leave a complete stranger inside his house unguarded?
I’m about to go back into the bedroom to gather my stuff and leave when the front door opens.
I whirl so hard towards it that I nearly lose my balance in the process. A warm chuckle greets me, and I’m flushing before my eyes even land on him.
When they do, they get stuck.
In the morning sun, I realise that the unflattering lights of The Muddied Waters were not working in his favour. Simply put, he’s gorgeous. Short dark hair, eyes like black pools that are currently laughing at me, tall frame and broad shoulders.No number of romance novels could have prepared me for the effects such a man would have on me. My breath catches when I see the white shirt straining against his clearly ripped torso and the grey sweatpants hanging low on his hips.
I can’t pretend I’m not wearing his clothes anymore. We’re literally matching. Who has more than one set of identical clothes? Him, apparently.
He’s kicking his shoes off while closing the door behind him with the one hand that isn’t holding anything. Feeling awkward as shit, I wave at him and feel my heart accelerate as he laughs once more while shaking his head.
Way to make the situation less awkward, Liv.
“Hi,” I croak in my effort to be more polite than I was before.
“Hello again. How are you feeling?” His voice is like velvet. There’s a faint accent that I hadn’t noticed before and can’t quite place. It almost distracts me from his question.
“Fine. Well, better.” Looking down at myself, I tell him, “I hope you don’t mind, I found these in the bathroom and really needed a shower.”
“Of course not, I left them out for you yesterday in case you needed them.”
“Thank you.”
Silence stretches on, and he smiles at me before jerking into motion once more. My gaze zeroes in on the tray of takeout cups he’s holding, hoping there’s caffeine in them and wondering how rude it would be for me to start chugging one down before he offers it to me. He goes to the counter and starts unloading the bag he’s also been carrying.
“The healer said you needed food, but I didn’t have any here, so I went out and got a few things. I hope there’ll besomething you like.” He pauses to scratch the back of his neck, looking self-conscious. “At least I knew to get a mocha.” He flashes me a hopeful smile and I melt.
Literally.
For a second my legs don’t hold me up any longer and I have to catch the back of the couch to prevent myself from crashing in front of this man once more.
I blame the concussion. Again.
When I regain my composure, if not my pride, I see that he’s standing impossibly close to me, arms outstretched.
He was ready to save me again. This dynamic between us needs to change. I’m not in the habit of having people rescue me.
“Coffee!” I blurt. “Coffee would be grand. Thank you.”
He frowns. “That’s not coffee, I got a mocha since you said that was your favourite.”
“Mochaiscoffee. Coffee with a shot of heavenly goodness in it.” I smile at him, and he relaxes. I walk towards the counter, glad to have something to focus on instead of my increasingly embarrassing existence.
“Liv! There you are, I’ve been worried sick!” Isaiah’s voice rings through the coffee shop while I rush behind the counter and into the back room.
When I come back out less than a minute later, fastening my apron on, Joana is serving a client while eyeing me up and down, as if checking for injuries. Ah, if she only knew! “Girl, we were about to call the police!”
I roll my eyes. “I’m only one hour late. That’s happened to you more than once if memory serves.”
“But not toyou,” Isaiah points out before greeting the next customer.
It’s the lunch rush and they already have a backlog of orders that I hurry to help Joana with. Ignoring her pointed looks at what I’m wearing, I focus on preparing the drinks. I didn’t have time to go home to change into my own clothes, and if I were honest with myself, I’d admit to how comfortable I feel in his.
