Page 7 of Entangled
Spinning to face me, he motions to the window. “I’m from New York.Thisis not a blizzard.” He thrusts the tablet in my direction, looking everywhere but at me. “Sign in the box.”
I snatch the package out of his hand. “First, I need to make sure nothing’s broken.”
“If it is, you’re the one at fault.”
I give him a squinty glare. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.” He points to Thor, then gestures to the wet spot on his chest. “You assaulted me with your glittery boyfriendandcontaminated my uniform. Then, you made me fall down the stairs. I may have a head injury.”
“I’ll give you a head injury.”
He takes a step closer. “Are you threatening me, Ms. Punzel?”
Steam comes out of my ears as I poke the center of his chest with a still-vibrating Thor, too infuriated for my embarrassment to fully register. “Maybe I am. You have no idea what I’m capable of.”
He closes the distance between us, and the intensity of his gaze takes my breath away. “I’ve been a prisoner of war, and I’ve got the fucking scars to prove it. You. Don’t. Scare. Me.” He holds up the tablet. “Now, sign your goddamn name.”
Too stunned to argue, I grab the stylus and scrawl my signature. A prisoner of war? When? Where? What happened? Is he a veteran? I have so many questions, but none of them are my business to ask. The shadow clouding his eyes and his rigid stance tell me he’s not lying, dousing what’s left of my fury. I can’t even imagine the horrors he endured.
I hand over the tablet. “Here.”
“Good day, Ms. Punzel.” He pockets the device and turns to leave.
“Wait.”
“What now?” Heaving a sigh, he looks over his shoulder at me. Annoyance creases his brow, and for some reason it makes him even sexier.
None of it makes sense. He’s a dick. I shouldn’t find him so hot or care about his history. But something about the broody asshole revs my engine. I take a moment to really look at him, taking in the rugged planes of his stubbled jaw, his deep brown eyes, and the laugh lines etched into his skin. He’s truly a beautiful male specimen.
And it’s been alongtime since I’ve been this close to an attractive man.
He rakes a hand through his hair and clenches his jaw. “I need to hit the road. What do you want?”
“Grab a muffin on your way out.”
3
HENRY
Mood Music: “From Eden” by Hozier
“Apple cinnamon,”I say, lifting the bottle of beer to my lips. “And it was fucking delicious.”
My friend and neighbor, Austin Pines, dramatically strums the guitar he carries around like an appendage. “She did all that huffin’ and puffin’ while tryin’ to snuff him. Yeah, yeah.” Ever the crooner, his soulful voice fills the cabin. “Then she gave him a muffin. Yeah, yeah. He says he don’t want her…” He meets my gaze with amusement in his baby blue eyes. “But my man, he’s just bluffin’.”
“Shut up.”
“Aw, c’mon, Henry. You love my music.” And so does the rest of the world. Austin is a multi-platinum pop star who sings the panties off millions of women, but he’s the most down-to-earth guy I’ve ever met.
“Yeah. But that doesn’t mean I like being called out on my shit.”
He laughs. “Sounds like ayouproblem, my friend.”
“Pretty sure ninety percent of my issues are.”
“Good thing we love you anyway.”
When I bought my secluded cabin in the woods two years ago, the realtor told me the building about a mile away from mine was abandoned. That was merely a front to protect Austin’s privacy and ward off stalker fans and the paparazzi. The place’s “faux dilapidated” exterior also masks the fact that it’s someone’s part-time residence.
