Page 9 of Keeping Guard
“Do you have any green tea?” She could really use a cup of calming hot tea.
He looked at her as if she’d asked for a serving of bird brains. “Do I strike you as someone who drinks green tea?”
“No, you strike me as someone who drinks the blood of wombats.” When he snorted, she put her hands on her hips. “How am I supposed to know what you drink? You could just say, ‘No, Peyton, I don’t have any green tea.’”
“No, Peyton, I don’t have any green tea. That better?”
“Much.” It was obvious he didn’t want her here. It wasn’t like she’d asked him to take her home with him, but she was sorry she’d involved him in her mess all the same.
He leaned back against the counter. “Yes or no on the water?”
Finally, she was getting a good look at his chest and abs, the question of whether they were a six-or an eight-pack answered. Lordy! Eight it was. Even with those abs—the likes of which she’d never before had the pleasure of viewing—he wasn’t overbuilt. Yes, he had muscles, but they fit his body perfectly. Yummy was the word that came to mind, and she had a strong urge to lick her lips.
“Peyton?”
“Hmm?”
“Eyes up here.”
She jerked her gaze up to see him pointing at his face, and heat traveled up her neck and into her cheeks. “Sorry, what?”
“Two things. Do you want a glass of water? And secondly, don’t look at me like that. It puts ideas in my head.”
She so wanted to know what those ideas were. For a girl who’d never had a man haveideaswhen he looked at her, she suddenly felt cheated. Good gosh, she was twenty-six years old. At some point, shouldn’t at least one man have had ideas about her?
It wasn’t fair. She’d had a boyfriend in college, but he’d been a gamer, more interested in his games than her, and sex with him had been about as exciting as shelling beans. Okay, she was being her silly self, but it was almost true. At least Dalton had been an improvement, but he had never blown her mind. She wanted her mind blown. She wanted a man to have ideas about her.
Now, Noah? She’d bet her favorite beer recipe that he could curl her toes, and she really, really wanted her toes curled.Seriously, Peyton?She slapped her forehead. What kind of woman fantasized about another man on her wedding day? Okay, a wedding that didn’t happen, wasn’t going to, but still...
“I can’t decide if I want to know what all is going through your head or not.”
She focused back on Noah. His arms were crossed over his very, very fine chest. “You really don’t. Why do you have a hummingbird tattoo?” It was on his chest, right over his heart. It didn’t seem like a guy kind of tattoo, but if there was ever a man who could wear a silvery blue hummingbird on his skin and still be manly, it was this one.
“Just do.”
Okay, hummingbird tattoos were off limits, which only made her all the more curious what the story was. It wasn’t easy, but she forced herself to keep her gaze on his face. She’d been so busy admiring his abs that she hadn’t noticed how pretty his eyes were. They made her think of the copper color of a rich amber beer.
The dog sitting at his feet whined. “Go away, dog,” he said.
She frowned. “That’s not a nice way to treat your dog. What’s his name? Or is it a her?”
“Not my dog.” He glanced down at it. “It’s a boy. What would you name it?”
Wow! The man rescued runaway brides and stray dogs? “I don’t know. Lucky because he’s lucky you rescued him?”
“Didn’t have anything to do with that.”
She waited for him to explain, but when he didn’t, and the dog whined again, she said, “Maybe he needs to go out.”
“Guess I better do that before he pees on the floor.” He picked up a leash from the counter, clipped it on the dog’s collar, and then walked out the door.
Okay then. While he was gone, she went in search of the bathroom. The first door she came to was a bedroom, and she peeked inside. A duffel bag was on the unmade bed, and...nothing else of a personal nature. Did he even live here?
The man was a mystery, and that made her uncomfortable. But even though she didn’t know why, she sort of trusted him anyway. He’d helped her when he didn’t have to. He hadn’t done anything to make her apprehensive of him, but it would be best to get her act together so she could go back home.
Who was he? He could be anyone...a drug dealer, a man hiding for some nefarious reason, an undercover cop, or maybe he was in the witness protection program. She shook her head. Her imagination was running away with her.
She found the bathroom and shrieked when she glanced in the mirror. “Good gravy, Peyton. You look like...” She wasn’t even sure what. Black stripes of mascara ran down her cheeks from when she’d cried. Her eyes were bloodshot, the skin around them puffy, and for goodness’ sake, she still had on her veil. How had she not realized that?
