"The only one who’s gonna be hurt here, buster, is you." She swings out with her fist.
As if this tiny thing could do anything to injure me? Oh wait, I’d done that on my own, when someone had run my car off the road a few days ago.
I angle my body, but I’m not fast enough. Her fist grazes my side; a burn of heat trickles down my spine. She didn’t hurt me. Instead, my body is responding to her in a manner that leaves no doubt of the fact that certain parts of me would very much prefer to be in more intimate contact with her.
"Stop," I growl.
She makes a noise deep in her throat, "You uncouth, obnoxious, horrible, man." She swings with her other hand, the shot too wide to do any harm. But it causes her to lose her balance, and she topples over, crashing into me.
Softness, curves, the weight of her breasts, even through the layers she is wearing, is a thing of beauty against my chest. I release her nape, only to wrap my hand about her shoulders and haul her close.
"Let me go," she chokes.
"No." I say all casual-like, hoping she’ll take the bait. Whaddya know? The little thing hits out with her fist again, this time catching me on the wrist of my injured hand. Pain flashes up my arm and sparks of brightness dot my vision. Shit, she hadn’t been kidding about her threat.
I grit out the words through clenched teeth, "Stop it before I do something I regret."
"Ha," she scoffs. "I am not scared of bullies like you."
I draw in a deep breath. "Don’t threaten me."
"Don’t underestimate me." She raises her fists.
Ooh, I am so scared. I stifle the chuckle that crowds my throat. Max whines again, I glare at him from over her shoulder. He wags his tail, mouth open, tongue lolling. Of course, I could get my staff in the hospital to behave with that look, but it has little effect on the little rascal. I frown at Max. He pants back, then turns and runs off in the direction of the kitchen. That buys me, maybe, a minute before he’ll be back. Best make full use of it. I train my glare on the handful of woman who glowers up at me. She barely comes to chest level… And that hair? Is she actually sporting streaks of purple? And there is so much of it… Her hair, I mean. It flows like spun gold around her shoulders, catching the light that filters in from the patio behind her.
"Hey," she snaps her fingers, "what are you staring at?"
"Your hair." I reach out with my bandaged hand to touch the shining strands. I bring it up to my nose and sniff it.
She stiffens. "What are you doing?"
"What’s that smell?"
"What?" She tips up her perky little nose, sniffs the air.
"That." I grasp a handful of her hair, bury my nose in it, and draw in a deep breath. "Vanilla, sugar, apples…butter." The mix of scents go straight to my head. "Why the hell do you smell of dessert?" I frown.
"Ah, maybe because I’m a pastry chef?" She scowls. "What the hell do you think you’re doing anyway?"
"Speaking of." I let the hair slide out from between my fingers-...Why do I miss its softness already? "I’m not letting you stay here. You do realize that?"
"What?" She blinks. "What did you say?"
"I was here first."
"Excuse me?"
The light in her blue eyes intensifies and little creases appear on her forehead. Oh, this is going to be good. "Here, at the cabin." I smirk. "I am staying here until New Year’s."
"I’m staying here until New Year’s," she says through clenched teeth.
"Nope," I emphasize the word with a popping sound, and practically see the smoke pour out of her tiny ears. Beautiful, shell shaped ears, that I’d like to curl my tongue around, suck on those pretty earlobes before easing it into that hole. My groin hardens. Hell… there are other parts of her which I’d like to push into as well… Lick her up, suck on the melting flesh between her thighs, nip on her lower lips, before I thrust my tongue inside her soaking channel and bring her to the edge.
"I am too." She props her hands on her hips, her curvy, deliciously rounded hips, which is one of the first things I’d noticed about her too. She’s so different from the women I normally encounter… Hell, she’s not my type at all. Soft, sassy, perfectly shaped for my hands. My fingers tingle. I will not touch her, will not. I tilt my head. "From where I am, you are…on your way out."
"What?" She blinks. "I am standing right here."
"That can be easily changed."
I take a step forward, and honestly, I’d totally expected her to retreat. To shuffle back, maybe even turn and run out of the house… I should have known better, after how she’d threatened me with that spatula earlier, for she doesn’t move. She stands her ground, so my feet bump hers. I lean into her; she tips her chin up.
I lower my face toward hers, closer, closer. "You can’t win this, Buttercup."
"Buttercup?" She scrunches up her forehead. "Why the hell are you calling me after the Princes Bride?"
"It was after a Powerpuff Girl, actually," I chuckle.
"Powerpuff?" She grimaces.
I nod, "You’re small, annoying, and too headstrong for your own good."
"How do you even know about those cartoons?"
"I may have watched them with my little niece."
"Awww." Her gaze widens; her eyes go all sparkly as fuck. Ah, hell!
My neck heats. "Don’t make it out to be anything more than what it is," I grunt.
"Which is?"
"That I babysit on occasion," I mutter.
"You also babysit?" Her features take on the expression I have seen on the faces of the women who have fallen for some of my friends. Specifically, Jace, Sinner and that mofo Saint. All of them ended up married, and shackled, and buying townhouses, and planning extended honeymoons, and baby showers... Argh! A shiver of trepidation runs up my spine. Shit, no, no, no, I am not going there. These kinds of entanglements, and all the bloody relationship fuck-ups that come with it? Not for me. So not my tumbler of whiskey—you didn’t think I’d say cup of tea, now, would you?
Besides, what the hell am I doing, sharing that piece of information about myself? She’d gotten past my guard, obviously. It’s the only reason I’d let that slip. More to the point, why the hell are we still talking, here in the house I co-own?
The hair on my nape prickles.
"How the hell did you get here?" I frown.
"I drove, of course." She sniffs, "What about you?"
"I was driven here by my chauffeur," I grumble.
"That’s why there’s no car parked outside." She nods. "How do you plan to get around for the time you are here?"
"I don’t."
"Guess you can’t drive with that finger, huh?"
"I can bloody drive, if I want." I scowl, "I choose not to; besides, every time I want to head out, I’ll message my driver."
She opens and shuts her mouth, "Let me get this right. Every time you want to go out, you’ll message your chauffeur who’ll come in from where? London?"