Page 11 of Nailed

I put the dumbbells down, then spun around only to find none other than Rafe standing in the doorway, leaned up against the frame as though he lived here. My body burned beneath his gaze, all the intensity he always carried in their depths now shamelessly devouring me from head to toe.

I was still revved up from the session, sweaty and panting and certainly not in the mood to verbally spar with this asshole right now. The pounding in my chest didn't ease up.

“You lost?” I challenged, one hand going instinctively to my hip. I was not going to be made to feel embarrassed or awkward in my own home.

I didn't know what to expect from Rafe, but if he was checking me out, I figured he may as well get a good, long look because this was all he was ever going to get from me.

His eyes dipped down slowly, tracing every curve of my body, then retracted back up to my unimpressed face. He didn't look embarrassed either. In fact, he looked completely unfazed.

“No.” The word was short but rough.

“Ah. So, you do know your way around? That's funny, considering you skipped out on the inspection yesterday without so much as a word,” I said airily. “Where were you anyway?”

A wicked smile curved his mouth, a single dimple pressed into his cheek. “Aren't you curious. Why, d'you miss me?”

I heaved a breathy laugh of disbelief. This son of a…

And to think he had the audacity to come and find me here, interrupt my workout and then try to rile me up this way. I glowered at him, watching his shoulders tense in the seconds he realized I wasn't going to entertain him further.

If he wanted attention from me, I was going to leave him starving for it. I shook my head, picked up my water bottle from the floor and stalked past him to go shower.

“Hey,” he started, caught off guard by my sudden departure but I didn't so much as falter half a step, not even when my shoulder accidentally brushed his bicep and the resulting spark of electricity skittered across my skin like a live wire.

I kept my head locked on target in front of me until I'd grabbed a change of clothes and finally made it to the retreat of my now-functional bathroom.

Behind the closed door, I dropped my things and dragged a hand down my face. What was that? Who did this man think he was?

I couldn't stand him.

Every time I thought of Rafe, I was reminded of the way he'd attempted to accost me outside Stella's. I thought of his callous tone and dumb ego and entitlement to demands he had no damn business making. It drove me crazy.

I stepped into the shower before the water even ran hot, letting the stream coax the tension from my sore muscles. It wasn't just the stress of the renovation job, it was having him in my house. I'd been able to ignore him somewhat over the last few days, and with Brock being steady and dependable as a rock and Callum being nothing less than a ray of sunshine, it was easy for me to forget about Rafe.

But he came in like a thundercloud, a storm that just disrupted everything in its path with that stupid, gravelly voice of his. And those stupid, intense eyes that never seemed to take anyone as seriously as he took himself. He had this way of goading me into a sparring match with just that look alone. And then there was that stupid bike, the smell of his leather jacket, the light tinge of diesel that mixed with his cologne…

I dropped my head gently against the shower tile.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Why was my heart still racing like this?

Annoyance, maybe, but I didn't want Rafe to have even that little power over my emotions. Anger? I groaned, squeezing my eyes shut.

I should just stop thinking about him. He was an attention whore, clearly. He got off on knowing he had me twisted in knots so the best thing to do would be to pretend he was a nobody. And yet…

I opened the faucet wider and let the torrential spray drown out my thoughts.

*

Escaping the noise of the house and getting a breath of fresh air was exactly the fix I needed. After the shower, I headed out with hopes to take a very quick walk down the street and cool off.

But I'd no sooner stepped off the driveway when I noticed a strange man walk up to my door and tack a flier to it. I squinted and immediately headed back just as he finished.

“What’s this?” I asked, taking it right off the door and scanning over the sheet of paper.

“Hey!” the man protested, half-heartedly attempting to grab the flier out of my hands.

“I live here so I assume I'm the intended audience,” I said, trying for brevity. But the man's sullen expression extinguished whatever lightness I was hoping to achieve. More so when I read the contents of the page.