Page 17 of Toxic Truth
Dead silence.
No guy like being put on the spot, Hank included. “What else do you need from me?”
“Let me go down the list.”
They brainstormed for several minutes before ending the call. The monitors showed nothing untoward on the property, not even a bobcat or cougar stalking the grounds, despite them being nocturnal. Given his presence here, they generally stayed away, though it wasn’t unknown for hungry animals to cross territories and take risks. If one had happened upon her when she’d been stumbling around…
No. He didn’t want to imagine anything awful. What she already faced was bad enough.
The water still ran in the bath, giving him a chance to deliver the clothes he promised. He dropped several flannel shirts on the mattress, not knowing which colors she’d like best. Another pair of socks followed. His spare jeans would swallow her, but his Ranger sweatpants could work.
Finished, he padded down the hall as quietly as he could. The shower shut off. Rather than using the stove and oven to finish dinner, he nuked everything.
Her sighs then a moan floated down the hall.
If he had to guess, he’d say she struggled to get the sweatpants to fit her much smaller bod. Damn. He should have put out a belt or a rope for her to use around her waist. Later. While she ate. During the remaining evening, he expected her to relax and enjoy her stay as he did the work.
Another consideration he’d never shown another woman. He wasn’t a dictator by any means, his manners spot-on when it came to females. However, serving them as if he were the help rather than an equal had never crossed his mind.
She’s scared. There’s a hit out on her.
Only a prick would expect her to prepare her own meal under those circumstances. He was merely being a gentleman, as his parents had taught him and the military had further pounded into his skull.
Her footfalls sounded and were coming his way.
She rounded the corner and pointed. “Do. Not. Laugh.”
Fuck. That was like asking him to stop breathing. “Sorry.” He covered his mouth, but his shoulders shook. “You look good.”
“Bull.” She’d tied the sweatpants waist into a knot that rested inches beneath her boobs. His red-and-yellow checked shirt fell below her knees in back. She’d rolled the sleeves up numerous times. They still hung over her fingers.
He rubbed his chin. “Looks like the water shrunk you.”
“Or you’re too big.”
“You like your men small?”
She stopped folding over the right cuff, her gaze darting to his fly, her cheeks turning as red as the shirt.
Waiting for her response—hell, encouraging it—wasn’t playing fair, but at this point, he was ready to ditch the games. Heaven couldn’t have smelled better than she did. His throat tightened at her flushed face and silky neck. The color looked damn good next to her hair, those locks finger-combed and mussed, as they would be after she enjoyed an evening in bed.
With me.
Sex wasn’t love. Hungering for her was totally understandable. Nothing to worry about.
Except it wasn’t happening.
She’d already padded past him and sniffed. “Smells great.”
“What happened to your glasses?”
She touched her face. “I left them on your dresser. I only need them to drive in the dark. Sit.” She pointed at his chair. “I’ll have your dinner on the table in a sec.”
“My table. My food. My house. My rules.” Hands on her shoulders, he directed her to the next chair. “Once you’re down, don’t move.”
Seated, she wound a tress around her finger. “Why not?”
He ladled stew into a bowl. “I figure if you’re standing andnot holding onto my sweatpants, they’ll fall around your ankles.” He delivered her dinner and pushed the warmed biscuits closer. “Since I forgot to put out my underwear for you… Want me to finish that thought?”