***
Quinn had been hoping she’d be wrong, and he wouldn’t be sitting in her hallway. However, it hadn’t surprised her to see him there. She felt his eyes burning into her as she walked around him. She resented that he’d inserted himself into her life, but she had to admit he looked more delicious than any peanut butter cup right now.
His hair was tussled; a shadow lined his square jaw. The predatory glint in his eyes made her body quicken in response. She was supposed to be staying as far from this man as possible, not admiring him.
“Is your hair dyed?” she blurted. It was the most inane question, but it had been meant as a way to distract herself from the urge to jump him.
He ran a hand through his platinum blond hair. “Do I look like the kind of guy who would dye his hair?”
“You look like the kind of guy who would rip off someone’s head and use it as a soccer ball, so I imagine you’d be up for anything.”
A smirk curved his luscious mouth. “I can assure you Dewdrop, I’m not much for soccer, but I am one hundred percent natural. I was simply blessed with these abnormally striking looks.” No one could ever accuse him of having no self-confidence or being shy, she realized. “I can always prove I’m a natural blond if you’d like me to,” he added with a suggestive waggle of his eyebrows.
There wasn’t one drop of saliva left in her mouth. As enticing as the proposition was, and she wasn’t above admitting it was extremely enticing, it could never happen. “Thanks, but no,” she responded with more composure than she felt.
“Your mouth says no, but your eyes say yes.”
Her skin felt like it crackled as fury slithered over her. How he’d managed to survive for as long as he had without someone killing him completely mystified her. She may be the one to remedy that by the time she was able to free herself from him. “Believe me that’s not what my eyes are saying,” she bit out.
“Murder and passion are a fine line, no?”
“Ugh!” she shouted.
She threw her hands up, turned on her heel and stormed into the kitchen. Peanut butter cups and Mountain Dew weren’t going to be enough to take the edge off, but she didn’t have to look at the windows to know the sun was still out. What she needed was blood and not animal blood, his blood. She shot him a scathing glance over her shoulder as she grabbed a soda from the fridge.
“I’ll take that as a yes.” He leaned in the doorway of the kitchen to watch as she walked over to sit on the edge of the garden window. It was the one place in the apartment she truly loved. Even if she couldn’t stand in the sun’s rays without suffering excruciating pain, she could feel their warmth through the blinds on the window.
“How has someone not killed you yet?” she asked.
“Many have tried, all have failed.”
“I believe you.”
“You’ll learn that I never lie.” She didn’t have his or Chris’s ability, but she didn’t doubt him for a second. He rubbed at his neck as he studied her. Dropping his hand down, he gestured to the bag at his feet. “Do you mind?”
“Do I mind what?” she inquired.
“If I change my shirt.”
“No, the bathroom’s through…”
Her instructions died on her lips when he grabbed hold of the end of his shirt and pulled it off. Whatever she’d been about to say became lost in the rapid circuit fire of her brain as she strained not to gawk at him. His adorable sleep disheveled appearance became the least of her problems when presented with his broad, muscular chest. Those pecs were enough to make any woman drool, and forget about a quarter, those abs would bounce a brick!
The compulsion to start whistling and stare at the ceiling grabbed her. She would not back down from this man though, no matter how much she yearned to run her fingers over his pale, silken skin. The wings of his angel tattoo touched against his shoulder, the muscles it was etched onto flexed as he bent to tug another shirt free from the bag. He slid the maroon colored shirt over his head and tugged it down over the muscles she was doing everything in her power not to lick. He finally covered the body she’d found so unsettling, but she knew if she closed her eyes she would vividly recall every chiseled detail of that torso.
“Where did you get that couch, the dump?” he asked.
And nothing like his insults to douse the heat he’d stoked within her. “The roadside.”
He gave a small snort. “Dewdrop come on, you’re a vampire.”
“So?” she retorted.
“So you can still get things without having to kill people. Steal if you must, but living in squalor is below any of our kind.”
“I’m not living in squalor!” she snapped. Her gaze slid over her apartment, it wasn’t a mansion, but it was far from an alleyway. She had everything she needed. “I’ve worked for everything I have. I didn’t steal it, hustle anyone for it, or use my abilities to get it. Maybe you should try being a decent person sometime.”
“But we’re not people, Dewdrop.”
Frustration got the best of her. “Why do you keep calling me that?” she demanded.
He gestured toward the can of soda in her hand. “You’re still trying to be human; the rest of us have accepted our fates.”
Her fingers curled around the can as she briefly contemplated heaving it at him. The aluminum crinkled inward with a crunching noise that made him grin. “I accepted my fate years ago.”
“Not completely.”
“That’s awfully freaking funny coming from someone hanging around with a group of Guardians and Hunters. If you’ve accepted your fate what are you doing with them? Shouldn’t you be hanging out with your own kind?”
“Our own kind.” Quinn’s nostrils flared; before she could heave the can at him, he continued speaking. “It’s a long and complicated story, one I’m not much in the mood for telling.”
“And I’m not much in the mood for your outstanding insights, but I’m still forced to hear them.”
He’d stopped smiling as he studied her. “Maybe one day I’ll tell you, but not today. I’m going to take a shower.”
“Oh, sure, make yourself at home,” she muttered when he turned away.
She couldn’t complain too much, at least he remained dressed while he walked through her living room toward her bedroom. The idea of him in her bedroom bothered her. At least she’d remembered to make her bed and toss all her dirty clothes in the hamper before opening the front door.
“I plan to as long as you insist upon staying here,” he called over his shoulder.
Quinn seethed as she heard the water of the shower turn on, but even as her fingers crushed the can further within her grasp, she couldn’t help but picture water running over his sculpted flesh. Ah shit, she thought and tossed the can into the sink. She was so screwed right now, she didn’t know how to begin to dig her way out of it.
She briefly contemplated digging the punching bag out from her closet and taking some of her frustration out on it, but she decided against it. She might forget all about the bag when he got out of the shower and punch him instead. The same with the dummy she used to practice her stake and knife throwing on. It definitely wasn’t a good idea to have stakes and knives in her hands while he was walking around.