Fangs, Fate & Other Bad Decisions novel Chapter 10

Chapter 10

“Why did you say shit while you were peering into the fridge?”

Before I can call him out on his bullshit answer, he asks, “Why

A degree of shame makes my cheeks heat before I say, “It seems I’ve run out of certain essential grocery items, particularly an avocado. I put it on my toasted ciabatta every morning for breakfast.”

He doesn’t need to know that I technically have nothing in my fridge and cupboards. Downplaying the degree of my own personal famine seems like a solid plan, for now, at least. I’ll get some of the essentials while he’s still here, and after he leaves, I’ll probably think about getting some other things.

It’s not likely, though. I’m too scatterbrained to remember mundane things like stocking up on groceries like a responsible adult. And I’m anything but a responsible adult.

“Make me a list of what you need, and I’ll get one of my people to pick it up and bring it over,” comes his decree. This guy honestly thinks he can rule and regulate everyone in his Immediate vicinity. Dickwad

“No need; I’ll just get DoorDash to drop some things off for me,” is my retort as I walk from the room, searching for my phone, which is most likely somewhere in the living room. I refuse to let him get all highhanded with me, in my home, about my groceries.

Before I get three steps away, his hand clasps around my wrist and spins me toward him. His grip isn’t painful, but it’s unshakable.

The look of pure dominance that shines from his dark blue eyes could topple empires. This man standing before me right now doesn’t bend for other people. He commands obedience and requires total submission. He wields his control like a finely honed sword, ready to decimate whoever dares defy him. No one second–guesses or argues with him. And most definitely, no one tells him no

Unfortunately for him, though, I don’t have a submissive bone in my body. He has a better chance of finding teeth in a chicken’s mouth than me not standing up to him, not arguing with him, not mouthing off to him, or simply irritating him for my entertainment.

That doesn’t mean he doesn’t affect me. His proximity makes the hairs all over my body stand up like I’m in the heart of an electrical storm and lightning is imminent. His unique and manly scent of sandalwood, vanilla, and a slight tinge of iron soothes my soul just as a warm embrace from your soulmate would. And the inherent power that emanates from him in tidal waves simultaneously scares and makes me feel safe.

My pulse suddenly goes insane, and a look of intrigue descends over his gaze, causing him to tilt his head like a curious puppy would.

“I can hear it,” he says softly, almost like he forgot I’m in the room and he’s talking to himself.

“Hear what?” I ask in bewilderment.

The sinful smirk that tips the corner of his mouth is knee–buckling and breathtaking. “Your heartbeat. It does something…Interesting when I touch you.”

While still holding my wrist and peering into my soul, he says in a voice that brooks no argument, “Make the list, Little Flame.”

For some inexplicable reason which is way above my pay grade and requires too many functioning brain cells to comprehend what’s happening right now my head nods of its own accord, and I reply automatically, “Sure.”

As he releases my wrist slowly but with intent, he says, “Good girl,” and my brain completely short–circuits.

There are no words in my malfunctioning brain that can make sense of the effect those two words, said in his gravely, low voice, just had on me and my nether regions. What the hell?

In the past, some of my boyfriends tried telling me what to do in the bedroom or called me a good girl. I just burst out laughing, much to their chagrin. Because, unfortunately, they didn’t have the masculinity or raw power that this man dons like a second skin.

I need to keep my distance and have a clear head on my shoulders where this man is concerned. He has the potential to ruin me and my resolve not to give him purchase over me.

Finding a notepad and pen on the side table next to my recliner in the living room, I take a seat and start scribbling down a few simple items like bread, avocados, milk, and, just to be petty, a tub of my favorite Ben & Jerry’s ice cream.

Once the list is made, I sit back, getting lost in my little imaginary world of trying to figure out what happened in the kitchen and how to avoid it

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