Or, well, in this case, a ruggedly handsome one.
“What . . . Who . . . who are you?” I stammer, my voice small and laced with fear. I glance around the kitchen, my eyes honing in on the block of kitchen knives across the room. Swallowing hard, I peek back at him, trying to gauge if I can make it to them first or not.
I have eyes and ears everywhere.
Adrian’s words resonate, and my eyes narrow as I size him up. I’ve never seen this man before, but that means nothing. Is he here to watch over me? To make sure I’m a good little girl while the master is gone? I shiver at the thought then look down to realize I’m only in my undershirt, a tiny camisole, with nothing to cover me up thanks to the come-stained rag next to me.
His eyes soften, and his cheek ticks, one side of his lips curving up into a grin. He holds his hands up in front of him. They’re large, rough-looking hands that could easily do what Adrian hadn’t. I quake at the memory of his perfectly manicured fingers wrapped around my throat.
“I assure you knives aren’t necessary. I come in peace,” he quips, his joking tone doing little to appease me. He must notice, as he’s quick to continue. “I apologize, ma’am. I didn’t mean to frighten you. We just finished setting up out back and are all ready to break ground. Mr. Morningstar’s expecting me.”
Mr. Morningstar’s expecting him? Of course he is. The rest of his statement melts away as fury rises in me.
“So, he did send you? Aren’t you a little . . . out of your depth playing babysitter?” I spit out angrily. “I don’t care what or who you report to. What are you supposed to do? Watch my every move? Or are you just here to scare me into submitting? Well, I’m telling you it’s not going to work.”
I have no idea where this defiance is coming from, but I like it. I intend to channel it in order to get me out of this situation. Setting my chin, I glare at him, waiting for his response. For him to tell me that I’m right. It only makes sense, since he waltzed in so quickly after Adrian departed.
“Umm, ma’am?” he questions, his eyes full of confusion as he tilts his head to the side, studying me. “Aside from watching my kid brother, I’ve never been a babysitter, and I don’t ever plan on taking up that particular occupation. Never been much of a fan of kids.” His gaze darkens as he bites his lower lip. I watch as it pops out of his mouth, entranced at the sight. “As far as getting you to submit . . . Well, if that were my goal, I assure you it wouldn’t be for another man.”
My cheeks flush at his innuendo, which only causes his smile to deepen. I’m unsure why, but something about his charming grin and slight Midwestern accent is instantly soothing, almost reminding me of home. His words echo, and either he’s really, really good or Adrian didn’t hire him to be his watchdog. I feel my guard dropping as my eyes sweep over his body then up to his face, where I catch him watching me intently. His gaze isn’t predatory; it’s actually a mixture of worry and humor. Worry that he’s frightened me and humor, well, probably for the same reason.
“You’re not here to spy on me?” I ask, my tone accusing.
As I examine this gorgeous male specimen, I realize the answer before he shakes his head. Adrian would never hire a man who looks like him to keep a watchful eye over me. He’s too attractive. Too alluring. Too . . . masculine and rugged. Not to mention, his attire would be entirely off-putting to Adrian.
Dressed in loose-fitting jeans that sit low on his hips, a tight undershirt, and an open flannel shirt that’s rolled up to show off muscular forearms, he’s the epitome of every woman’s hot construction fantasy. I’m not ashamed to admit I’ve had those same fantasies. He’s a walking, talking should-be Home Depot advertisement that would have women flocking to the store. My cheeks flush pink as I ponder how he’d look in nothing but a tool belt. Then I mentally chastise myself. The last thing I need right now is to be ogling another man in Adrian’s home. Especially after what just happened.
Not that anyone could blame me. Perhaps Adrian was right. Maybe I was looking for someone to scratch my itch since he never seemed to be around to do so. Hell, at this point, I should just on principle. The panties next to me are a reminder that I’m not his one and only. Why should he be mine? Wouldn’t it serve him right if I sought out another, if for nothing more than to just feel desired for once?
And like an answer to my subconscious prayers, this man walked in as soon as Adrian walked out. Maybe this is exactly what I need. To prove to myself, and to him, that I’m my own person. He doesn’t own me. He may have tried, and it may be buried, but somewhere deep down, I’ve retained my independence. I just need to be strong enough to find it again.
This * is mine.
A shudder rolls through me as Adrian’s proclamation replays in my head. On second thought, I’m ready to write men off for the foreseeable future. I need to focus on reclaiming my life. Not worry about revenge or jumping into bed with the first hot man who shows me interest. Hell, I’m getting way ahead of myself. A few smiles and crooked grins don’t mean he wants me. Knowing Adrian, he probably warned anyone about touching me anyways.
The stranger clears his throat, and I look up to catch his amused grin.
“I’m sorry you came, but he’s gone. He must’ve forgotten your appointment, and he won’t be back for weeks,” I inform him from my perch on the counter.
“I’m the Matthews of Matthews Construction,” he offers, tossing a thumb behind him.
I peer past him and see a construction trailer far off in the distance.
“I’m aware that he’ll be out of town.”