Fangs, Fate & Other Bad Decisions novel Chapter 16

Chapter 16

I decide to ignore the elephant in the room by skipping over the fact that he’s looking at me like I’m his last meal before his execution, revert to my snarky self- at least where he’s concerned.

and

“Do you have an actual reason for growling, or were you just doing that for dramatic effect?” I ask him snarkily, hoping it works to divert his attention away from my new unlocked kink of growly men.

Be honest, Harley, your kink is for him being all growly.

He doesn’t answer me; he just stares with that hunger that has not dissipated at all.

After another few seconds of him not answering me, I give up on getting a reply and go to step around him to head inside, but he stops me with a hand on my hip before leaning into the crook of my neck and inhaling deeply.

The soft brush of his nose against the column of my neck has goosebumps pebbling my skin, my breath stuttering in my chest, and my core tightening in need instantly. How does he do that?

When he slightly leans back to lock eyes with me again, I’m flustered at my reaction to such a simple touch. But I don’t fail to notice the strain tightening the corners of his eyes and around his mouth as if he’s in pain.

My mind immediately goes to his injury and the possibility that he opened the wound again when he moved so quickly to get to the front door earlier. “Are you okay? Is your cut bothering you?” I ask

as I try to pull away to look at his side.

Again, he ignores my question, pulls me tighter against his chest, and then makes a statement that brings my heart to a complete stop.

“You smell…different.”

He has to be bluffing. There’s no way he can smell my arousal, right? Right?!

In an attempt to brush off his comment, I sarcastically say, “Wow, thanks,” while rolling my eyes at him.

I again try to slip from his grasp because I urgently need to create space between us. I need to eliminate the chance that he can smell my attraction to and my desire for him.

But being the stubborn brute he is, he foils my plan of escape by cupping the side of my neck with his other hand as his thumb lightly grazes the underside of my jaw, making me feel like I’m being electrocuted by way of his touch only.

Tilting his head to the side, he says reverently, “It’s your natural aroma, but more intense, as if it’s been wrapped in sin.”

Abort mission. Batten down the hatches. Mayday, mayday. He KNOWS.

My suspicion is confirmed when he gives me the sexiest, most devilish smile, then with a tone that suggests he knows something I don’t, he says, “Oh, Little Menace,” before breaking all contact between us and then just walking off towards the kitchen as if he didn’t just drop a Hiroshima- sized bomb on my psyche.

Refusing to go after him, and demanding to know what he meant by his last comment, I close the front door and lean my forehead against it. I need a minute to calm my frazzled nerves and my overstimulated libido before I do something completely inappropriate and out of character, like climbing the stranger in my kitchen like a tree.

The sound of cabinet doors being opened and shut loudly distracts me from my internal existential crises. Who does he think he is, rummaging around in my kitchen cupboards? But the sight that awaits me when I step into the kitchen seconds later surprises me to no end.

He has started removing items from the grocery bags and is systematically putting them away as he opens and closes cupboard doors to see what goes where.

This guy, who wears thousands of dollars of clothes, is a demanding boss to probably many, and most likely never even lifted a finger to wipe his own ass, is packing away my groceries like he belongs here in my kitchen, in my space, in my life.

“Uhm, what are you doing?” I ask dumbly because my flabbergasted brain struggles to compute what my eyes show me in real time.

“What does it look like, Little Menace?” he asks over his shoulder in a bored tone, not even looking at ane while he speaks.

Fed up with his high–handedness and my out–of–character reactions to him, I skip over his obvious rhetorical question and grind out, “Stop calling me that.”

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