Page 12 of Sunshine
“Hey.” The man speaks, pulling my gaze back to him.
My eyes widen as I assess his tattoos, thick chest—complete with nipple ring, six-pack abs and the happy trail leading right into the band of his grey jogging pants. My fists, however tiny and untrained, fly up at the ready, knitting needle still clasped in one.
Bend your knees, legs shoulder width…I coach myself, then last minute, grab Gran’s antique rolling pin from the display shelf on the wall. One knitting needle, one rolling pin, one scared witless me, and an effing rooster is all I’ve got.
“Sorry, uh… I was jogging by.” The man stops talking as he sees me grab my weapon, raising his hands as if I’m wielding a gun. “I’m your neighbor.”
The biker man… hm, the huge, sexy, rugged beast of a man? Ack. No, no, no. The… My shoulders slump. Dagnabbit. I can’t even think of a better description for the man standing in Gran’s entrance than sexy biker and that’s likely because of his similarities to Tank Long. Thanks, asshole muse. I can no longer think for myself.
“This is not a damn novel!” I growl at myself. “And he is not Tank Long.”
The man clears his throat. “Excuse me?” His brows scrunch in confusion before he looks from my face to my hand and the rolling pin, to the chair tipped over on the floor and then back to my face. “Did you hit your head?”
My arm lowers slightly. This huge man is looking at me like I’m the scary one. That’s when time and thought seem to click back into regular speed and I remember I’m on an island in Eastern Canada with very friendly people and a well-below-average crime rate. And he did say he was…
My neighbor.
Oh.
“I didn’t hit my head!” I bark sharply, offended.
“Did Tank Long hit you in the head?” He asks this warily, with his head cocked slightly to one side.
“For heaven’s sake. No! My head is fine!”
“Okaaaay.” He clears his throat again. “Who’s Tank Long and did he hurt you anywhere else? Is he here? Do you need me to get him out of here?” The sexy stranger looks around, hisexpression firm, his body tight, as if he’s ready to rip anyone who harmed me into shreds with his bare hands. And dammit if that’s not kind of hot.
“No, no, it’s fine. Tank’s not here. Although, I probably wouldn’t mind if he was. He’s every woman’s fantasy.” I motion with the end of my knitting needle to the floor where Tank Long, all bare-chested and swoony, adorns the cover of the erotic romance novel.
Sexy Neighbor looks to the book and blinks.
“I heard a scream. The door was open and when I got up onto the porch I saw the chair flipped over,” the man says while pointing at the piece of furniture in question. He’s eyeing my rolling pin again but now there’s a hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth. His smile takes away some of the scary and adds to the sexy.
“I was reading and something startled me.” I deadpan him. “I did not scream like some damsel, I only… yelped.” Narrowing my eyes, I continue, “Of course then you busted through my door scaring the hell out of me.”
“Uh.” He holds his finger up. “The door was open, so I didn’t bust through anything and I’m not a badguy…” He hesitates, a weird look flashing across his face. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
He’s not a badguy? He says it as invillain, not likebad guy, as in, bad man. I blink. Now why would he say that? I examine his face closer. Whatever look had flashed across his face is long gone, but I’m stuck on it. Did he mean heisa bad guy but he’s not a villain? Intrigued and no longer feeling as scared, I lower the rolling pin but don’t put it back on the shelf.
“I didn’t think I had neighbors. At least not close enough to hear me scre…” My eyes fly to his. “Yelp.”
“I was jogging by.” He jabs a thumb over his shoulder at the door and thus to the road.
My gaze sweeps over his sweat-glistened skin and I shiver. “You said that, but now you’reinmy house.” I point at him with the knitting needle. “But it’s okay cause you’re not abadguy, right?”
His face, I assess, seems an honest one. Handsome, lived-in, but not too weathered. I’d guess he’s in his late thirties. His eyes though, they sort of twinkle with humor right now which is annoying. I lean forward for a better look. Are they blue? Cornflower? Grey? Like the sea after a storm? And those lashes, thick andpretty,darker than the red hair that’s just a shadow on his shaved head.The prettiness of them, a stark contrast to the tattoos and hardened edge his eyes hold beneath the humor.
“So you’re saying I can abort the rescue mission?” His lips curve a little higher.
The ink from his shoulder and chest runs up the side of his neck into a coppery beard which is a little mussed at current. Upon further inspection I note he has the broadest shoulders I’ve ever seen in real life. And his arms are spectacular, large, well-shaped, and decorated, no…. I smile because I suddenly feel that click of satisfaction as the wordadornedpops into my head. His arms are adorned with sleeve tattoos. Normally I find tattoos hideous, but on this man... I blow out in appreciation. Not one nasty snake or naked woman with a demon face mars his skin.
“You could be a cover model,” I blurt, totally caught up in my own thoughts.
“Excuse me?”
“Uh, nothing. Never mind.”
He gives a quick flash of a smile. “Can I lower my hands, killer? I promise I’ll stay right here.” That smile makes itself a little more obvious. “I won’t give you any cause to spear me with your knitting needle or bludgeon me with your…” His brows knit. “Is that an antique rolling pin?” He shoves both hands into his pockets and grins at me.
