BUFF by Mandy Burns Page A

she intends to. “I don't think you'll have to be here much longer."
    “Good.” She casts her gaze down twisting the ring on her finger as his face settles in on her. It’s like looking directly at the Sun. “I'm not a very good patient."
    He seems genuine but Becky refuses to look back at him. “I kinda got that already."
    She feels him shift slightly. “I don't like people… taking care of me."
    She makes herself turn his way. “You could be dead."
    His eyes remain intense but the corner of his mouth curves up. The smile is crooked but beautiful which makes it all the more devastating to take in without some kind of warning. And that dimple that appears… it’s the Devil’s temptation.
    She frowns, all of sudden conscious of her state of appearance.
    He leans closer. “What?”
    “Nothing.” Her face is a hundred degrees warmer from his stare. She wants him to stop and go back to being the familiar brute. “I… The soup will be ready in about an hour."
    “I’ve offended you.” His eyes widen, almost childish, like he’s looking for some guidance. He continues to look up at her. The dark cloud of emotions vanishes and what replaces them is far more unsettling than any monster he has been. His blue eyes radiate brooding intensity, making the outlining of him hard to look at while at the same time impossible to tear her gaze from. But behind that brews a quiet vulnerability, a curtain of strength that rocks her off her axis.
    It’s an act but she just can’t believe how convincing it is. Becky has spent half her life pretending to be something she isn’t and in a matter of one night she’s being leveled by a couple of drops of charm and a few soft words. How disappointing.
    “No,” she finally responds.
    “Okay."
    “Fine. I'll be back with soup later. Don't move too much."
    With a cocky smile he replies, “I think you already know I can’t.” He rests his head down on the pillow and stares up at the ceiling.
    She shakes her head, replying, “Right,” and leaves before his magic completely takes over her senses.
    SHE DOESN’T KNOW where to look .
    He won’t stop watching her. Unabashedly.
    She’s been fiddling with the end of her dress for the past five minutes, ever since he started eating her soup. She tries to keep occupied by rearranging her junk and paintings, but it still looks a mess. Sitting down is worse because her hands never stop moving, her knee bobs up and down while her eyes latch on to every visible surface.
    Anything but him.
    And he keeps watching.
    Finishing his meal he offers her the empty bowl. She clasps it in her hands but when she pulls away his fingers catch the ridge and he doesn’t let go.
    “Soup okay?”
    He still doesn’t relent on his grip. “It was fine."
    ‘Fine?’ Why did he have to use THAT word? Everyone loves my soup!
    She yanks on the bowl again but it remains rooted in between them. The spoon falls, clattering on the wood floor. She looks at it. Angling her head slightly to the right she asks, “What’re you doing?”
    “Nothing.” His eyes reveal little except pure animal satisfaction as he watches her face blush. He waits, almost like he’s caging her into her nervousness. His eyes trail back to her profile and they lower and darken just as her front teeth catch her bottom lip.
    All of a sudden he drops his hand away as though she burns him.
    He wipes his hand on the comforter turning away from her. “I'm done here."
    She draws the bowl to her tummy as she stands. “Okay. I'll be back to check on you… in a couple of hours—"
    He shakes his head before she can finish. “No. I'm fine,” he replies. He sounds mad and she’s no idea what made him switch.
    She makes a point to sound absolute in her tone, saying, “You're in my care. As long as you are I am responsible for you."
    “Never asked you to."
    She leans her hand on her hip. “Would you rather the police because I can arrange that? But you should know—I hear their soup