Someone to Love(7)
“Thank you.” I think. “But I don’t have any money for rent,” I confess. And I’m pretty sure my scholarship doesn’t cover shacking up with abnormally good-looking boys. But, I guess one night won’t hurt. He seems mostly sane. Although, I’m not sure I could take him if he decides to attack. I’ll have to sleep with a stiletto at the ready should the need arise to put out an eye.
“That’s all right. I’ll let you cook me breakfast in exchange for room and board.” He gravels it out as if he’s the meal in question. “We’ll call it even.”
I follow him to the tiny porch as he lugs my suitcase. The air is icy as an Arctic breeze, causing a cloud to form around our heads from the simple act of breathing.
Cruise glows with the powder-white halo surrounding him, and I give an impish grin at what might happen tonight.
He opens the door and flicks on the lights before taking a step back onto the porch.
“Ladies first.” He waves me in.
It’s clean inside. A large living room opens up to a kitchen filled with stainless appliances and dark hardwood floors. Truthfully, I expected to find a colossal bong centered on the table like a vase, or possibly a meth lab sprouting from the sink. But to my surprise there’s no evidence of criminal activity.
“Nice,” I say, making my way toward the U-shaped sofa. “Thanks for letting me crash on your couch.”
“You won’t have to. I have a bed with your name on it.” His brows arch with an air of seduction as he leads me to a small room with an oversized bed. A maple dresser is set in the corner. It looks harmless enough. Nothing to imply deviant behavior—no sign of rope or duct tape, so already I feel better.
“I’m in this one.” He turns on the lights next door, revealing an unmade bed with a river of socks migrating onto the floor. There’s an abandoned pizza box on the nightstand with a bevy of candy wrappers strewn over it.
I see his nightly conquests leave him famished, and his need for handy snacks outweigh any concerns he might have for nutrition.
A pair of chains dangle from his bedpost, and my stomach lurches with an unnatural level of excitement—or fear—maybe both.
“Bathroom.” He nods behind me. “I’ll get a fire going and warm the place up. Heater’s out of commission, but I’ll fix it.” Cruise leans into the doorframe and examines me with a proficient thoroughness. His eyes lock over mine, and the hint of a corrupt smile plays on his lips.
God, he’s gorgeous. I’m pretty sure a face like that and a bed less than ten feet away is a dangerous combination.
“So what do you think?” He smolders.
“Um…” I’m concerned I’ve missed a boatload of clues that would have afforded a more experienced one-night stand aficionado the right to be testing out those mattress springs by now. “I think it’s nice of you to let me spend the night.” Really? Nice of you to let me spend the night? I’m pretty sure those words have never been uttered under this roof before. In fact, I’m betting niceties such as please and thank you have only been screamed under sexual duress in his deviant den, laden with chains and stale pizza.
He leads us back to the living room, and I take a seat on the sheepskin rug just shy of the hearth. I’m no detective, but I can deduce that the furry carcass I’ve planted myself on has seen some serious mileage in the soiled-with-sin department. Although, right about now, I’m so freezing I don’t really care about the questionably-defiled status of said dead creature. I’m so cold I might actually jump in the fire just to thaw out.
A bouquet of flames ignites in the small opening, and the room picks up a rosy glow.
“Thank you,” I whisper as the heat curls around me.
“Anything for you.” He growls it out with a perverse smile hedging on his lips. Cruise lands himself by my side. We watch the fire lick the air with its lusty forked tongues while I try to surmise the definition of “anything” and the physical agility it might entail.
“So what happened last summer?” In the event he thinks my girl parts might be a good repository for the hard-on blooming in his jeans, I thought I’d throw in the vague mention of his ex. “Rumor has it, that it was pretty harsh.” I brace myself for the unromantic tragedy that’s about to unfold. I’m thinking bare-breasted coeds are involved.
“Just your run-of-the-mill breakup. But everyone’s got one of those, right?” He taps my shoe with his and scoots in. The thick veins in his arms protrude like cables, and his muscles bulge for no good reason. It makes me want to touch them and see what they feel like.