SWNOVELS When He Desires: Chapter 3
I slide on my Vans, throw on a cardigan, and tumble out the front door, fists clenched and heart pumping.
Rowan’s back is to me. I march toward his hulking frame, ready for a fight. “What on earth do you think you’re doing?”
He pauses mid-step, all six-foot-something of him, and turns around.
I’ve seen him plenty of times. He and his business partner have dinner at Frostbite every few weeks, and even though I’m usually behind the bar, sometimes we’re short on staff, and I help the servers out. I brought his dinner to him once or twice, so I know exactly what I’m about to encounter.
And still, his face catches me off guard.
It’s the face of a seductive villain straight from the pages of one of my books. Tanned skin. Thick brows. Terrific bone structure.
The symmetry of his features is so pronounced that it borders on offensive.
And it doesn’t end with his face. Not even close.
I glance up and see the wind ruffling his soft, chestnut hair, blowing a lock across his forehead. He brushes it away with a careless swipe of his tattooed hand.
I glance down and see his body. It’s well-built and extravagant. The kind of body meant to be lusted after, obsessed over.
If someone’s appearance was the only thing that mattered, I’d say it’s no wonder the women in town fall over themselves to climb into his bed.
But looks aren’t everything, and I’m convinced that no one that good-looking can possibly be a decent person. When people treat you like you’re God’s gift to women, eventually you start to believe them.
Rowan blinks at me a few times, apparently confused. “Taking out the trash,” he deadpans after a moment. A brow arches on his infuriatingly perfect face. “Is that all right?”
“No, it’s not actually. You can’t just show up here and turn the Jacksons’ front lawn into a dump.”
“Who are you? The neighborhood watch?”
I give him a withering look. How nice of him to mock me and remind me exactly who I’m dealing with here.
An arrogant ass.
“You can call me whatever you want, as long as you get rid of that.” I point at the mess. “If you’re renovating the house, you’ll need to get a dumpster. I would have expected a general contractor to know that.”
A smirk. “You know who I am?”
Of course I know who he is, but his tone makes it sound like if I say yes, I’ll be admitting to something illicit. Heat starts to travel over my chest and up my neck.
Then I realize his company name is right on his truck. I jerk my head in its direction. “I can read.”
The smirk doesn’t budge. “I’m not renovating anything. I’m moving in.”
“You sure you got the address right?”
“One Landhorne Lane.”
Whelp. That’s the confirmation I was dreading. So this is really happening, which means I have to set him straight right away.
I place my fists on my hips. “Here’s the deal. I’ve already got one troublesome idiot living across from me who blasts his damn stereo from seven a.m. each morning. I will not put up with any nonsense from you too.”
He looks at the houses behind me. “Number two or number four?”
“I’ll let you discover that for yourself tomorrow morning.”
His eyes ping back to me.
“If you’re really moving in, you have a choice to make,” I tell him. “Are you going to be a good neighbor or a bad one? Choose carefully.”
“What if I choose wrong?”
“I will make life very unpleasant for you.” I sound confident, even though I have no idea what I could do to make things difficult for him. I’ll figure it out.
Amusement skates over his features. “And if I choose right?”
“Then I’ll walk back inside my house and never bother you again.”
He takes a step toward me, as if he wants to get a closer look at me. From here, I see the fine lines on his forehead. They seem to confirm he’s at least a few years older than me. Maybe in his thirties? There’s no boy left in him. He’s all man.
“I don’t know.” His voice drops lower. “I’m kind of enjoying being bothered by you.”
Shock crackles through me. “Are you seriously flirting with me right now?”
The way it takes him just a bit too long to answer tells me he wasn’t expecting to be called out. “No.”
My God. He really thought that would work. Flirt with her, and she’ll shut right up.
He’s used to everyone falling all over themselves in his presence, isn’t he? He thinks that megawatt smile is going to be enough for me to let him off the hook.
No such luck, pal.
“Good. Don’t. Now listen up. I know you don’t know me, but I—”
“I’ve seen you around. You work at Frostbite. Good to know you’re just as hostile off duty as you are at work.”
Excuse me? “I’m not hostile,” I snap.
He makes a light scoff and takes another step forward. “Oh sure, you’re just a ball of sunshine.”
Do we really need to be standing this close? We’re practically chest to chest. From here, the fact that he’s about two heads taller than me is impossible to ignore.
The oxygen inside my lungs thins.
I know what he’s doing. He’s changing his strategy, moving from flirting to intimidation tactics.
Even with the wind swirling around us, his focused stare right into my eyes makes my cheeks prickle with heat. It would be great if I could back away a few feet, but that would be admitting defeat. And no way am I doing that.
I wave at the pile of trash. “The Jacksons don’t care about their place, but I care about mine. I won’t let you get away with this.”
He drags a palm over his chin, his expression turning thoughtful. “What’s the big deal? I’m not planning on leaving it there forever.”
“No. You can’t leave it there at all, okay?” Nicole is going to be here first thing in the morning.
He raises his palms. “Fine. I’ll clean it up.”
“When?”
“Tonight.”
“Good.” I flick my hand between his property and mine. “There’s history here, and it’s not pretty. The last time someone lived in that house, they brought a band of degenerates with them.”
“A band of degenerates?” His lips twitch. “Where can I find this band? They sound like a great time.”
My eyes narrow. “That’s not funny. They broke the fence at the back, and no one’s fixed it. They—“
“Why don’t you write it all down?”
“Huh?”
“Write down your…list of grievances. Sounds like it might be a long one.”
“To what end?”
“So that I don’t have to listen to you complain about each little thing. Write ’em down, and I’ll take care of them all.”
I scowl. “Is this your way of trying to get me off your lawn? An empty promise to solve all my problems?”
He shrugs. “Write the list and see how empty my promises are.”
He can’t be serious. When something sounds too good to be true, it usually is. But it would be stupid not to take him up on that offer, even if the likelihood of him doing what he says is low. “Fine. I’ll go do that. Right now. Stay right here.”
“I wouldn’t dream of leaving.” His gaze bores into me to the point of discomfort. His hazel eyes are dark and thoughtful, and they flicker with the slightest hint of mischief.
I step away from him, and it feels like breaking through a force field. It’s easier to breathe, easier to think with some distance between us.
Don’t trust him, my gut says. No matter what promises he makes.
He huffs a low breath, like he’s amused with me. I spin on my heel and march back inside my house, but the whole time, I feel his gaze warming my back.
Inside, I don’t bother taking off my shoes. I barrel straight to the kitchen where I keep my notepad and pen, and I write down everything that’s bothering me about that damn house, from the broken fence to the banging shutters.
Rowan was right about one thing.
It’s a long list.
I’m half expecting him to not be there when I come back out, but he’s in the exact spot I left him, arms crossed over his chest and face turned up to the sky.
I pause just on the edge of my porch. What is he doing? Looking at the stars?
The moon has been out since late afternoon, a pale orb in the sky. Now that it’s dark out, its full silver glory casts a shadow behind Rowan’s imposing form.
The image of him in the moonlight with that old house looming behind him and the dead grass at his feet imprints on my mind. He looks like a dark god coming to rule over his shadowy kingdom.
I shake my head. This is what I get for reading dark fantasy books late into the night.
I walk over to him, and his gaze slowly drops down to me. His expression is unreadable. He plucks the piece of paper out of my hand, unfolds it, and begins to read.
“The most immediate problem is the broken fence between our backyards,” I advise while his eyes move back and forth over the paper.
“I gathered as much. You underlined it twice.” He squints. “Three times.”
I sniff. “I also put a star beside it. Just in case the underlining is unclear.”
His eyes snap to mine. “Next time, I suggest you highlight it. It helps orient stupid little men like me.”
Little? There’s nothing remotely little about him. In fact, if certain rumors are to be believed—
Oh God. Don’t go there.
He gives the list a shake. “I’ll get everything fixed.”
“I’ll believe it when I see it.”
His chuckle coasts over my skin like a gust of warm wind. “I don’t think we’ve ever been officially introduced. I’m Rowan Miller.” He offers me his tanned hand. My gaze momentarily latches onto the tattoos darkening his flesh, letters and designs I can’t quite make out in the dark.
I swallow. What’s one handshake? It doesn’t mean we’ve made peace. “I’m Blake Wolfe.”
One side of his mouth lifts. “Nice to meet you, Blake.”
I try to ignore the heat of his touch.
I try to ignore the way his palm completely engulfs mine.
And I definitely try to ignore the way my heart stutters inside my ribcage.
But that night, as I lie in bed, I can’t seem to get the memory of it out of my head.