drained one dry, another deer in the woods
wouldn't be missed, not with the overpopulation so evident near his manor.
“How the
hell did you get in here?” Sienna’s smooth voice asked from the doorway.
He barely
kept himself from smacking into her. Smooth, Jasper. Very smooth.
He looked
her over, trying not to feel uncomfortably trapped on the small landing. She
wore a fluffy pink robe that made her unbound hair gleam like gold. Her feet
were bare. He forced his eyes away from the red nail polish on her toes and
tried to smile past the sudden bolt of lust. Why do I feel so damn
unsettled? He wondered if she
could see his erection in his suddenly too-tight jeans. He hoped not.
“Apparently
you knew I would be coming. Your neighbor let me in.” He held out his hand,
knife balanced across his scar.
She
glanced down. “Ah. You might as well come in.” She backed up, holding the door
open for him.
Inside,
the tiny dining room held a small wood table and two chairs, neither of which
looked strong enough to support him. Or her, actually. Thank goodness she strode directly into the living room and held out a hand
toward the sofa in an impatient gesture he interpreted to mean either make yourself at
home or sit down there now . He
wasn’t sure which, though given the slight frown on his face, it could be both.
The sofa was purple, but at least seemed sturdy enough for someone of his size.
“Do you
actually sit on the chairs in the dining room?” he asked as he walked over,
curious. She wasn't a small woman. In fact, she was one of the few females he'd
met who rivaled his size. It was pleasant not to have to bend down just to hear
her speak. One more reason to take her for your own , the treacherous
voice in his head whispered. Shut it ,
he mentally commanded, squashing the comment with a mental boot.
“What's
wrong with my chairs?”
He tensed,
just now realizing the trap into which he'd put himself. “They just seem a bit
… fragile.” He tentatively lowered himself onto the sofa.
She
frowned and perched on the arm next to him, her fluffy robe falling open
slightly. He forced himself not to stare at her toned thighs. Did she know she
was flashing him? He shifted, trying to make room in his jeans that were now
past uncomfortable and heading for excruciating. His eyes landed on her chest.
She wasn’t wearing a bra.
“If
you're trying to tell me that I'm tall, don't bother. I already know it. If
you're trying to tell me that I'm fat—”
“No,
definitely not,” he choked out, tearing his eyes away from her cleavage.
She
frowned at him then held out a hand.
He
stared, imagining her palm sliding over his hips.
“My knife?” She snapped her fingers.
“Oh, yeah.” He held it up to her, but didn't put it in her hand. “What do you use
it for?”
She let
her arm fall and sighed. “I whittle.”
He
blinked. “Seriously?”
“See for
yourself.” She gestured to the coffee table.
Perched
on the glass top was a drink coaster, a television
remote, and an impish little salamander carved from some kind of dark wood. He
picked it up and turned it upside down. A delicate “S” was etched into the
creature's belly. He traced it with the knife handle, ignoring her shiver. “Your signature?”
She
nodded.
Jesus . As if he didn’t have enough to deal with given her
considerable physical beauty, she had to be talented, too? The little reptile
was beautiful. It wasn't just the detail of it, though that was skillfully
done, it was the way she'd taken advantage of flaws in the wood and turned them
into the salamander's eyes and tail. His cock leaped painfully against the
unforgiving metal of his zipper. She wasn't just beautiful and intelligent, she
was gifted.
“It's
lovely,” he said, putting it back down. He wished he could keep it. He turned
the pearl-handled blade over in his hands, then pushed the safety off and
opened it up. “I sharpened it for you.” He held it out, handle first. The
wouldn't be missed, not with the overpopulation so evident near his manor.
“How the
hell did you get in here?” Sienna’s smooth voice asked from the doorway.
He barely
kept himself from smacking into her. Smooth, Jasper. Very smooth.
He looked
her over, trying not to feel uncomfortably trapped on the small landing. She
wore a fluffy pink robe that made her unbound hair gleam like gold. Her feet
were bare. He forced his eyes away from the red nail polish on her toes and
tried to smile past the sudden bolt of lust. Why do I feel so damn
unsettled? He wondered if she
could see his erection in his suddenly too-tight jeans. He hoped not.
“Apparently
you knew I would be coming. Your neighbor let me in.” He held out his hand,
knife balanced across his scar.
She
glanced down. “Ah. You might as well come in.” She backed up, holding the door
open for him.
Inside,
the tiny dining room held a small wood table and two chairs, neither of which
looked strong enough to support him. Or her, actually. Thank goodness she strode directly into the living room and held out a hand
toward the sofa in an impatient gesture he interpreted to mean either make yourself at
home or sit down there now . He
wasn’t sure which, though given the slight frown on his face, it could be both.
The sofa was purple, but at least seemed sturdy enough for someone of his size.
“Do you
actually sit on the chairs in the dining room?” he asked as he walked over,
curious. She wasn't a small woman. In fact, she was one of the few females he'd
met who rivaled his size. It was pleasant not to have to bend down just to hear
her speak. One more reason to take her for your own , the treacherous
voice in his head whispered. Shut it ,
he mentally commanded, squashing the comment with a mental boot.
“What's
wrong with my chairs?”
He tensed,
just now realizing the trap into which he'd put himself. “They just seem a bit
… fragile.” He tentatively lowered himself onto the sofa.
She
frowned and perched on the arm next to him, her fluffy robe falling open
slightly. He forced himself not to stare at her toned thighs. Did she know she
was flashing him? He shifted, trying to make room in his jeans that were now
past uncomfortable and heading for excruciating. His eyes landed on her chest.
She wasn’t wearing a bra.
“If
you're trying to tell me that I'm tall, don't bother. I already know it. If
you're trying to tell me that I'm fat—”
“No,
definitely not,” he choked out, tearing his eyes away from her cleavage.
She
frowned at him then held out a hand.
He
stared, imagining her palm sliding over his hips.
“My knife?” She snapped her fingers.
“Oh, yeah.” He held it up to her, but didn't put it in her hand. “What do you use
it for?”
She let
her arm fall and sighed. “I whittle.”
He
blinked. “Seriously?”
“See for
yourself.” She gestured to the coffee table.
Perched
on the glass top was a drink coaster, a television
remote, and an impish little salamander carved from some kind of dark wood. He
picked it up and turned it upside down. A delicate “S” was etched into the
creature's belly. He traced it with the knife handle, ignoring her shiver. “Your signature?”
She
nodded.
Jesus . As if he didn’t have enough to deal with given her
considerable physical beauty, she had to be talented, too? The little reptile
was beautiful. It wasn't just the detail of it, though that was skillfully
done, it was the way she'd taken advantage of flaws in the wood and turned them
into the salamander's eyes and tail. His cock leaped painfully against the
unforgiving metal of his zipper. She wasn't just beautiful and intelligent, she
was gifted.
“It's
lovely,” he said, putting it back down. He wished he could keep it. He turned
the pearl-handled blade over in his hands, then pushed the safety off and
opened it up. “I sharpened it for you.” He held it out, handle first. The
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