Page 2 of Hook, Line, and Tentacle
“You don’t like tenants.” It’s an observation, not a question. He’s not exactly subtle.
He pops a massive shoulder in a shrug. “I don’t like broken doors.”
I snort. “Did you just make a joke?”
“No.”
I turn my back to him. “Well, Cal, maybe if you don’t like broken doors, you should have installed one that opens.”
Behind me, there’s a long pause, then a rustle of movement, and the creak of the step as he follows me up onto the stoop. I feel him at my back as he steps in close behind me—heat, damp air, the low sound of water dripping from his sleeves.
Why the fuck is he so wet? It’s not even raining.
“Give me that.” I don’t know why he even says it, because as soon as he does, he plucks the key from between my fingers. A pulse zips through my chest as his skin grazes mine.
Jesus. It’s been too long since I got laid. Next I’ll be asking him to show me a little ankle.
I bet he does have nice ankles though.
I shake my head to dislodge the thought. The lock clicks immediately when he tries it, obviously, and the door swings open. He stays there, right behind me, close enough that I feel the breath I don’t think he means to exhale against my throat. My entire traitorous body prickles with awareness.
He takes up so much space. He’s massive. He could doubtlessly pick me up and carry me inside like luggage, and there’s not a damn thing I could do about it except ask him to do it again, please.
I shake my head again, harder this time.
A soft breath huffs out of the giant behind me. “Are you okay?”
I jerk my head around to look at him, because I swear he just laughed, but his face is impassive when I meet his eyes. He’s standing so close I can see them under the shadow of his hood now. They’re a very fitting stormy gray color, and a bit too nice for someone who clearly never smiles and maybe doesn’t even know how.
“Thanks.” My voice does something weird on the way out of my throat, so I clear it. “Very hospitable.”
“You’ll find the attic loud,” he says. “And drafty. The water runs close.”
“Sounds atmospheric,” I chirp as I swipe up my duffel and step inside.
He doesn’t respond right away. I glance back at him over my shoulder, and he’s still standing there, arms crossed, rain trailing off the edge of his sleeves in slow drops.
Then he tilts his head, the corner of his mouth ticking down. “Are you always this…” He trails off, gesturing to me with a large hand.
“Delightful?” I offer.
His expression doesn’t shift. “Relentlessly chipper,” he corrects flatly.
“Yes,” I deadpan.
This earns me my third lip-twitch that still isn’t a smile, and it makes me want to earn the smile. He’s handsome as hell, there’s no denying it. The urge to tell him he’d be prettier if he smiled is almost overwhelming—but I’m a feminist, so I don’t.
I drop my bag in the entryway. There’s a long, tiled hall with bare white walls. One door at the end, which I assume leads up to the attic, and one door to the left. I guess that one leads to his shop, since it’s on that side of the building. The last one, close to the door at the end, is painted black. Two deadbolts.
Yeah, he gives me a ‘two deadbolts’ vibe, for sure.
“I don’t like noise,” he imparts from behind me. “Or damage.”
“I’m very well behaved,” I say solemnly, turning back to him.
Achievement unlocked: Fourth lip twitch.
He rolls his shoulders, like he’s trying to shrug off the urge to smile. “You’re a bad liar.”
