I’m staring at the reflection of Tess Owens in the glass wall, my heart frozen in my chest.
A naked Tess Owens.
Fuck, why is this woman always naked? And why is she here of all places?
We paint an odd picture in the glass. The lighting is just right to show me standing in the middle of the entryway on my crutches and her standing in the kitchen holding a glass of wine. We’re separated by a wall that stops just a few feet ahead of me.
She sees me and I see her and that’s when she screams. The dog is already barking, and its pandemonium as I watch her reflection spin around, no doubt looking for a weapon. I wouldn’t put it past her to come around the corner swinging a frying pan.
“Tess!” I shout, shuffling forward on my crutches.
Meanwhile, the dog keeps barking.
“Get the fuck out!” Tess screams, still lost to her terror as she spins around holding a kitchen knife. “I’m calling the police right now!”
“Jesus—fuck—” I grunt, swinging down the short hallway. “Tess, put down the knife. It’s me. It’s Ryan.”
I turn the corner and fumble with the crutches as I free one hand and jerk my hood back, letting my messy head of blond curls free.
She’s standing there in all her naked glory, brandishing a knife, looking fierce as a red-haired warrior goddess. I have no doubt she’d tear me apart with that thing. Fuck, why is it making me hard? It’s gotta be the pain meds. My dick is drunk on codeine and thinks she’s the most beautiful thing we’ve ever seen.
She is the most beautiful thing. Those wide green eyes are locked on me with all the ferocity of a she-wolf. Her curls are tied up in a big bun on her head and her perfect skin is flushed an angry shade of red. It’s splotchy across her chest, down her arms, her thighs.
What the hell? Was she sunbathing in January? It’s like fifty degrees outside.
No, she’s sweaty like she was just working out. Naked?
And then it hits me.
Oh, fuck.
She’s not alone.
I glance over my shoulder, waiting for whatever hotshot she’s here with to come strolling in from the bedrooms looking full of himself and satisfied. I hate him.
“Oh—Ryan,” she says, her voice cracking with relief. But it quickly turns to anger. “You scared the fucking shit out of me,” she shrieks. “How the hell did you get in here? How do you always get in?”
“Through the front door,” I reply, my voice raised to match hers.
“It was locked!”
“I have a key—”
“How?” she cries, tears in her eyes. Fuck, I really did scare her. She’s shaking with it. I’d try to comfort her, but she’s still holding that damn butcher’s knife.
“Jake,” I say simply. “He gave me a key. It’s in my pocket if you want to check,” I add, nodding down to my right front pocket of my grey sweats.
I try to avoid looking at her peaked nipples, but I can’t help it. They’re so pink and perfect. Was Mr. Hotshot touching them? Surely, he got a taste—
Stop.
The anger fades in her eyes, replaced quickly with concern as her gaze settles on my crutches. Then the knife goes clattering down to the counter. “Oh god, what happened to you?”
I’m oddly stung by her unintended dismissal. She doesn’t know. She wasn’t at the game. She didn’t even watch it on TV. Which means she didn’t see the hit. She didn’t see me lying on that ice—
Actually, now I’m glad. I don’t want her seeing me like that.
“I’m fine,” I say.
“You’re not fine,” she retorts. “You’re on crutches, Ryan. What happened?” She steps closer, her nakedness now within my reach.
I grip tighter to the handles of my crutches. “I got clipped during the game,” I explain. “It’s nothing. Just a knee sprain—”
Her eyes go even wider, her brows arching high. “A knee sprain?” She reaches for me. “Let me help you.”
I stiffen, readying myself for the feeling of electric shock that is her touch. “M’fine,” I mumble, not daring to watch her hand glide up my arm.
“Stop saying you’re fine. You look dead on your feet, and you’re swaying like you’re about to fall over. Come sit down on the couch.”
“I’m just tired,” I admit, letting her lead me over to the living room.
It’s been a hell of a long day, starting with a night of no sleep and an 8:00 a.m. hospital discharge, followed by a two-hour mechanical flight delay in New York and a weather rerouting over Virginia that added an hour to our flight time.
I wanted to just go home, but the guys wouldn’t hear a word about it. Morrow dropped me off here. Two rookies are at my house packing up some of my shit to hand off to Jake, who will come over with a grocery delivery later. Then Sully’s wife will be here tomorrow to finish stocking the fridge. They’ve all settled it. All I get to do is just let it happen.
Tess helps lead me over to the couch, and I sink down onto it with a groan. Big mistake. Now the world’s most gorgeous woman is standing over me naked, her pussy right in my eye line. My gaze locks on the soft thatch of trimmed curls pointing down like an arrow.
This is cruel and unusual punishment.
Tess seems wholly unbothered. “Why are you here, Ryan?”
“I could ask the same of you,” I counter, putting a hand up as if I can block her pussy from view. Fuck, I’m too tired to deal with this right now. And Mr. Hotshot will probably come swaggering out here any minute. I bet he’s using Mars’s shower like he owns the place. I fucking hate him.
“What are you doing?” she says, looking down at my raised hand.
“Could…umm…can you maybe cover with something?”
“Cover?”
“Yeah, you’re a lot of naked, Tess.”
She smirks down at me. “You didn’t seem to mind it last time. In fact, I got the rather distinct impression you liked seeing me naked.”
“Yeah, well, last time you weren’t slicked with the sweat of some other guy,” I say dropping my hand down.
She goes still, her smile switching to a glare. “Excuse me?” Then she huffs, crossing her arms over her breasts, one hip cocked to the side. “What exactly do you think is happening here? You think I’m hiding a guy back there?”
“Well, you look like you just got fucked six ways to Sunday,” comes my muttered reply. Maybe if I wasn’t on so many painkillers, I could finesse this better. No, fuck finesse. I’m too upset. She’s under my skin. The thought of her with someone else has me seeing red. “You’re wandering around Mars’s place like you live here—”
“I do live here,” she snaps. Then she’s stepping forward, putting herself between my spread legs. She grabs my chin, tipping my gaze up to meet hers. “And let’s get one thing crystal fucking clear. You don’t own me, Ryan Langley. We’ve kissed and we’ve danced, and we’ve flirted, but I am my own fucking person. I’m not beholden to you or anyone. And this shitty jealousy is a huge turn off for me. So, I suggest you pack it away if you ever want a snowball’s chance in hell of seeing me naked again.”
Her speech over, she drops her hand away from me and leans even closer, her breasts swaying in my face. I can smell something aromatic on her skin, like incense or an herbal soap. As quickly as she’s there, she’s gone, jerking something off the back of the sofa from behind my head. It’s a sofa blanket. She takes it and quickly wraps it around herself like a toga, flicking the tasseled end over her shoulder.
“There. Happy?”
“No,” I groan, sinking back against the cushions of the couch. I can still see every inch of her curves. Now they’re just artfully draped. And those damn nipples are still perfect peaks, poking against the soft fabric of the grey blanket.
“And for your information, there’s no one else here,” she declares. “I wasn’t getting fucked, Ryan. I was in the sauna. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I left my phone outside. I’m calling Rachel and figuring out what the hell is going on.”
She steps past me in her blanket toga with all the confidence of a queen. Opening the sliding glass door, she disappears out onto the patio. The dog follows her. The door whispers shut, leaving me alone in Ilmari’s house.
Awesome. This is just fucking perfect. I’ve been here two minutes, and I’ve already upset her. That has to be some kind of record, right?
I glance around the condo, my eyes quickly taking in all the clues I missed during our surprise exchange. It’s easy with Mars’s minimalist decor to note what is out of place. There’s the bottle of wine on the counter, fresh flowers in a vase on the kitchen island, snacks lined up under the microwave. There’s also a laptop set up on the kitchen table. A legal pad rests next to it. All the evidence of someone taking this place and making it their own. Tess is living here.
Wait—why is Tess living here? Doesn’t she have some big, high-powered job up in Cincinnati?
Well, it was a good idea in theory, but it looks like I won’t be staying here after all. After the way I just showed my ass in front of her, I’m not surprised she’s upset. I could blame it all on the painkillers, but that would be a lie. My irrational jealousy was real. It surprised me as much as Tess. She doesn’t owe me anything. And I’ve never been the territorial type before.
What the hell is happening to me?
I know what’s not happening. I’m not moving in with Tess Owens. Life simply isn’t that cruel…or that kind.
