stop his momentum though, because he takes another step in my direction, even as I back up. We continue this dance until he backs me right up into a dresser. The halt in my progress doesn’t stop him though, and he takes one more step into me until there’s nothing more than a few inches separating our bodies.
He glares down at me… his eyes probing my gaze deeply. I swallow hard, not knowing if this man is certifiable enough to hurt me, but pretty damn sure he’s getting off on the fact that he’s scaring the daylights out of me.
He surprises me when he brings a hand up and I struggle not to flinch, unsure if he’s going to strangle me or not. Instead, his fingers graze along my jaw before giving it a firm grip to hold me in place. “So, you think I’m an asshole?”
I lick my lips once and swallow again to wet my tongue. “Yes,” I whisper.
The frostiness in his gaze dissipates, and he slides his thumb over my chin. The move is soft, sensual, and his breath fans out over my face in a rush of cinnamon scent. “You’re an interesting woman,” he muses.
“I am?” I ask, my voice still held hostage by fear, but also something else that I can’t quite put my finger on. Curiosity? Excitement?
“Indeed,” he murmurs. “I thought your backbone was made of jelly. I’m thinking I might have misjudged you a bit.”
I don’t know how to respond, and I’m slightly offended he would think that. Sure, I’m quiet and a bit withdrawn, and yeah… I’ve put up with all kinds of shit from Eric, but I’m not without mettle. As evidenced by the fact I just called him an asshole, which admittedly, is a bit of a surprise even to myself that I did it.
“Tell me, sweet Savannah.” His voice pours out of his mouth smooth as melted chocolate. “Did I piss you off the other night… at that bar?”
“No,” I immediately deny.
“Little liar,” he whispers and grazes his thumb across my chin again and, this time, my body shivers in reaction. He sees that and chuckles deep in his chest, clearly delighted to have that power over me. “You’re not just interesting. I find you positively fascinating.”
Gavin releases his hold on my face and turns away from me, heading back to the staircase. “Use a broom,” he orders. “And I’ll be ready to eat dinner around seven.”
“But… you don’t have anything in your refrigerator or cupboards other than ravioli and molded cheese,” I lament.
“Then I suggest a trip to the grocer to buy something. I have money in my wallet beside my bed,” he says, leaping up the staircase two steps at a time. In just a few seconds, I hear his office door open and slam shut, and I’m left behind with my heart still pounding and my hands shaking.
Giving a last toss to the shrimp stir-fry, I turn the gas off and place a cover over the wok. Reaching into the refrigerator, I grab a bottle of water, taking a small measure of pride in the contents. In addition to buying stuff for his dinner, I took the liberty of buying more lunchmeats along with some vegetables I cut up and put in Ziploc bags for him to munch on. I also made a quick tuna casserole that he can pop in the oven tomorrow night and a Mexican casserole for the following night. At least he wouldn’t starve to death before I got back on Friday, and it makes me feel better because he’s overpaying me.
His footsteps on the staircase alert me to his impending presence and suddenly, I’m nervous. What seemed like a nice gesture to prepare a few meals for him seems to now be stepping across a line that maybe I should steer clear of. But it’s too late now to worry about it.
I hastily turn to the cabinets and pull out a plate, then rummage in a drawer for a knife and fork. Pulling a paper towel off the rack, I have it folded and sitting under the cutlery by the time he walks into the kitchen.
“Something smells delicious,” he says, and every bit of anger and animosity, as well as intimate danger he showed me
He glares down at me… his eyes probing my gaze deeply. I swallow hard, not knowing if this man is certifiable enough to hurt me, but pretty damn sure he’s getting off on the fact that he’s scaring the daylights out of me.
He surprises me when he brings a hand up and I struggle not to flinch, unsure if he’s going to strangle me or not. Instead, his fingers graze along my jaw before giving it a firm grip to hold me in place. “So, you think I’m an asshole?”
I lick my lips once and swallow again to wet my tongue. “Yes,” I whisper.
The frostiness in his gaze dissipates, and he slides his thumb over my chin. The move is soft, sensual, and his breath fans out over my face in a rush of cinnamon scent. “You’re an interesting woman,” he muses.
“I am?” I ask, my voice still held hostage by fear, but also something else that I can’t quite put my finger on. Curiosity? Excitement?
“Indeed,” he murmurs. “I thought your backbone was made of jelly. I’m thinking I might have misjudged you a bit.”
I don’t know how to respond, and I’m slightly offended he would think that. Sure, I’m quiet and a bit withdrawn, and yeah… I’ve put up with all kinds of shit from Eric, but I’m not without mettle. As evidenced by the fact I just called him an asshole, which admittedly, is a bit of a surprise even to myself that I did it.
“Tell me, sweet Savannah.” His voice pours out of his mouth smooth as melted chocolate. “Did I piss you off the other night… at that bar?”
“No,” I immediately deny.
“Little liar,” he whispers and grazes his thumb across my chin again and, this time, my body shivers in reaction. He sees that and chuckles deep in his chest, clearly delighted to have that power over me. “You’re not just interesting. I find you positively fascinating.”
Gavin releases his hold on my face and turns away from me, heading back to the staircase. “Use a broom,” he orders. “And I’ll be ready to eat dinner around seven.”
“But… you don’t have anything in your refrigerator or cupboards other than ravioli and molded cheese,” I lament.
“Then I suggest a trip to the grocer to buy something. I have money in my wallet beside my bed,” he says, leaping up the staircase two steps at a time. In just a few seconds, I hear his office door open and slam shut, and I’m left behind with my heart still pounding and my hands shaking.
Giving a last toss to the shrimp stir-fry, I turn the gas off and place a cover over the wok. Reaching into the refrigerator, I grab a bottle of water, taking a small measure of pride in the contents. In addition to buying stuff for his dinner, I took the liberty of buying more lunchmeats along with some vegetables I cut up and put in Ziploc bags for him to munch on. I also made a quick tuna casserole that he can pop in the oven tomorrow night and a Mexican casserole for the following night. At least he wouldn’t starve to death before I got back on Friday, and it makes me feel better because he’s overpaying me.
His footsteps on the staircase alert me to his impending presence and suddenly, I’m nervous. What seemed like a nice gesture to prepare a few meals for him seems to now be stepping across a line that maybe I should steer clear of. But it’s too late now to worry about it.
I hastily turn to the cabinets and pull out a plate, then rummage in a drawer for a knife and fork. Pulling a paper towel off the rack, I have it folded and sitting under the cutlery by the time he walks into the kitchen.
“Something smells delicious,” he says, and every bit of anger and animosity, as well as intimate danger he showed me
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