Kyle turns away from me and walks back into his house, leaving the front door open. I stay on the porch, continuing to rock from side to side on my feet while shooting cautious glances back at my house, afraid I’ll see a geyser burst through the roof at any moment.
“Let’s go,” Kyle says as he reappears holding a tool bag. For the first time, I notice he doesn’t have a shirt on. Just a pair of jeans—faded and well fit—along with a pair of unlaced work boots. I’m thinking I might have woken him up. While this would be prime opportunity for me to check out his tattoos, I can’t even think about that now.
I don’t wait for Kyle. I turn around, practically fly off his porch, and start running back to my house. I can hear Kyle’s heavy boots hitting the earth right behind me, clearly impressed with the urgency of the matter. The minute my feet hit the dirt and gravel lane, I slow considerably and curse to myself when the rocks dig into my feet as I start to hobble across.
I’m surprised when an arm wraps around my waist and I’m lifted off my feet, which dangle just above the rocky dirt road as Kyle carries me across.
How gallant.
How very sweet.
He practically dumps me to the grass when we reach the other side.
How barbaric.
But still, he’s coming to help, so I can’t take him too much to task.
We jog along my house. Just when we near my back door, Kyle asks, “Did you try to shut off the water anywhere else?”
He clearly recognized that the main valve was broken off when I held it up for him to observe just a few minutes ago.
“Yes,” I huff out at him as I point my finger toward the open back door. “It’s the kitchen sink. The valve underneath doesn’t have a knob on it.”
“Let’s start there,” he mutters and heads into my house. I follow behind, but he doesn’t need my directions. He just follows the sound of Old Faithful blowing steadily in my kitchen.
I cringe as we enter, particularly because there’s a good two inches of water on the floor that’s started running into the living room and partially down the hallway. Kyle doesn’t hesitate. He just walks straight into the waterfall that’s raining down, dropping to his knees in front of the cupboard. He peers in as he sets the bag on the ground. After only a moment’s perusal, he’s pulling out an adjustable wrench.
I know I should probably be doing something constructive. Like gathering towels and blankets to sop up water, or even calling the school to tell them I will most definitely not make it in on time.
Instead, I succumb to a case of the stupids as Kyle turns onto his back and scoots under the sink to manipulate the shut-off valve with his wrench. I get the stupids because his abs contract as he holds his head up and his thigh muscles bulge under his jeans. I get an absolutely unimpeded view of the tattoos on his chest, and now I have a moment to really look.
Well, really it’s just one tattoo that starts in the center and spreads over both of his pecs. Frankly, it’s a little terrifying. It’s a hollow-eyed skull with sharp, pointed teeth that drip blood, and eye sockets with flames pouring out of them. The flames are pulled upward, almost as if by a silent draft of air, and then lick a few inches up his neck. Below the skull, which comes to mid sternum, the words “Fear Me” are written in capital gothic letters. To the left of the skull, running right along his collarbone, is the word “Mayhem’s.” On the other side, running along the right collarbone, is the word “Mission.”
I wonder what that means. While I really know nothing about Kyle at all other than he’s surly and rude in addition to being hot, I get the distinct impression that he’s not a man to be trifled with. In fact, I’d bet he’s not someone you’d want to cross paths with at all.
Kyle starts to scoot out from under the cabinet, and I blink rapidly to dispel the images of washboard abs and scary, freaky tattoos. I also realize that the water has been shut off and is no longer spraying.
When he emerges completely from under the sink, he sits up and rests an arm on his knee. “You need to go get some clothes on.”
“Huh?” I ask dumbly as I stare at him, trying to see if those tattoos perhaps make him a merciless killer that I’ve unwittingly invited into my house.
Kyle’s eyes flick down to my chest, and then back up again.
I slowly lower my eyes and immediately flush hot with embarrassment as I see my very wet white cotton nightgown is absolutely see-through, and there is no room left to the imagination as to whether or not the cold makes my nipples hard.
My arms fly up and I cover my chest. Spinning away from Kyle, I mutter, “I’ll be right back.”
With my face flaming, I slide my way across the floor and scurry to my room. While I’d very much like to crawl into bed and hide away from that man until he leaves, since he just practically saw me naked, I forcefully push my discomfort aside so I can get dressed quickly. I still have a very waterlogged house to deal with.
CHAPTER 5
Kyle
Christ, she’s a mess.