Then Came You ; Written with Love

by Kianna Alexander

  Zahra questioned if it was possible to go from absolutely adoring someone to completely loathing them in a matter of days. She hard-stared at Gregor’s back. Yes! Yes, it was.

  Assessing the situation, her lips ticked up into a cunning smile as she recalled how her mother had handled things when she’d caught her father drinking from the milk carton once. They still laughed about it to this day. Maybe Gregor Carter needed a similar lesson.

  * * *

  Gregor didn’t usually partake in midnight snacking, but the chocolate chip cookies and ice-cold milk were calling his name. At the mention of the milk, he laughed at how bent out of shape his house pest had gotten when she’d caught him drinking from the jug. If she’d wanted milk, she should have brought her own. “This is all mine,” he said, pushing aside the bag of jalapeño peppers to remove the milk from the fridge.

  Forgoing the use of a glass, he popped the top and tossed the container back. The instant he lowered it away from his mouth, he knew something was wrong.

  “What the...?”

  His lips were on fire. Two long strides carried him to the sink, where he turned the water on full blast and positioned his mouth underneath the stream of cold water. After several minutes, he experienced relief. But his lips still tingled. She did this. He growled to himself, certain Zahra was responsible for his lava lips.

  After drying his mouth and beard, he placed the jug under his nose and took a whiff. The pungent smell caused him to draw back and cringe. “What is that?”

  Whatever it was, it was hot as hell. Then it hit him. The jalapeño peppers he’d moved to get to the milk. Since his stomach wasn’t burning, she must have only rubbed the pepper along the rim of the jug. Gregor snarled toward the stairs. Who the hell was this devious woman?

  Making haste up the steps, he banged on Zahra’s bedroom door like the law. If it scared her, it would serve her right for such vicious—yet stellar—payback. The prankster in him had to appreciate and commend her efforts, because this was something he would have done to one of his teammates—or something one of them would have done to him.

  But the fun-loving Prankster Gregor was just Irritated Gregor now. She didn’t know him well enough to pull such antics anyway.

  The door flung open, and Zahra stood wild-eyed in front of him. Judging by her disheveled appearance—clothing backward, hair flying in several different directions, bewildered expression—he had startled her. Good.

  “What’s wrong? Is there a tornado?”

  When he saw genuine fear in her eyes, he almost felt sorry for the way he’d hammered on her door. Almost. “What the hell did you do to my milk?”

  Her face scrunched into a tight ball. “Your milk?” She was either attempting to play dumb, or she was still a bit disconcerted by his visit.

  “Does jalapeño peppers ring a bell?” he asked.

  Obviously, recollection set in, because she had the audacity to snicker, then smirk. “Did things get a little hot in here?” Laughter followed her statement.

  Oh, so she thought it was funny? Well, this meant war.

  * * *

  Unable to return to sleep again after Gregor had pounded on her door like a madman, Zahra popped open her laptop and finished typing a new chapter. With her creativity fueled by the grouch downstairs, her words flowed. At least he served one good purpose. He gave her great fodder to work with. At this rate, she’d finish this book ahead of schedule.

  But not tonight. Well, this morning since it was already after one o’clock. Her eyelids felt as if they weighed a thousand pounds apiece. It was time to call it. Plus, she needed all of her energy to deal with her nemesis.

  Clearly, he hadn’t thought the jalapeño thing had been funny. That was okay. It had been meant as more of a lesson than a prank. The look in his eyes as he left her door suggested his payback was imminent. She wasn’t worried. She could handle whatever he tossed at her.

  Undressing, she climbed into bed and hoped to resume the good sleep she’d been getting before the rude awakening. “Yes,” she moaned, snuggling under the layers of warmth. This was exactly what her body needed.

  The second her head hit the pillow, she was out. At first, she thought the sound of Tupac’s voice was in her dreams. As she gradually became more lucid, she realized the blaring music came from downstairs.

  Frazzled, she eyed the clock. Three eighteen. She growled. Gregor. Clearly, this was his payback. No way would she give him the satisfaction of believing he’d defeated her. She slammed back down onto the mattress and covered her head with a pillow. She’d show him.

  After an hour of Tupac’s greatest hits, Zahra couldn’t take another lyric. Dragging herself from the bed, she slid into her pants, pulled her shirt over her head, then padded across the icy floor and out of the room.

  It wasn’t until she was standing in front of Gregor’s door did she realize she’d put her shirt on backward. Her first thought was to ignore it, but if she was to appear stern, she couldn’t confront him looking disheveled.

  As fate would have it, the second the fabric was off her body, the gateway to hell opened. Zahra screeched, then turned. “Close your eyes,” she said, scrambling to get the shirt over her head. Of all times for her to have forgone wearing a bra. Fate really did hate her.

  Finally pulling it together, she took a deep breath and turned. The air in her lungs came out like a puff when her eyes slammed into Gregor’s bare, glistening chest. Forgetting she loathed him, her eyes homed in on his impressive torso.

  An intricately designed tattoo covered his entire right pec, connected to more ink on his shoulder and extended halfway down his arm. His left pec held a roaring lion’s head. The artwork was phenomenal. And so was the canvas. Her eyes locked on to the single bead of sweat that ran down the center of his chest. Had he been dancing or working out?

  As if they had a mind of their own, her eyes trailed to the thin line of fine black hairs that disappeared beyond his designer boxers. She swallowed hard.

  Snapping from her stupor, her gaze shot up to meet his. All she could do was stare stupidly. His hair was pulled back into a man bun. And damn, did it look sexy as hell on him. Though most of it was covered by his beard, the scar he’d been rumored to have acquired in the accident was visible. Had this been the reason for the hoodie? Was he self-conscious? A cunning expression played on his face like he knew she was checking him out. Heck, it wasn’t like she’d done a good job of masking her admiration. Kind of hard to appear unyielding when you were drooling.

  Gregor propped himself against the doorjamb, folded his sculpted arms across his chest and studied her hard. The longer he eyed her with that assessing stare, the more anxious she grew.

  “Are you here to apologize?” he said.

  “Apologize? I’m not the one blaring music at three in the morning when someone is trying to sleep. So, what would I have to apologize about?”

  “Spiking my milk.”

  His milk? Arrogant and selfish. Why wasn’t she surprised that he felt solely entitled to it? “I’m assuming you’ll be apologizing for contaminating our milk.”

  Gregor’s eyes narrowed. A beat later, he backed into the room and slammed the door in her face. A millisecond later, he cranked up the volume. “Hail Mary” rumbled the walls. She typically loved Tupac, but not at this moment.

  “Asshole,” she muttered, retreating back to her room. “Asshole,” she repeated in a yell this time. Stomping up the stairs, she ground her teeth. “I’ve got your ‘Hail Mary.’”

  Inside her bedroom, she paced. God, she couldn’t wait to be rid of him. The man was unbearable. If only she could do something to—a mischievous grin curled one side of her mouth. The way the music vibrated the entire house, it definitely wasn’t coming from a computer or a cell phone.

  Sliding into her shoes and shrugging into her coat, she grabbed her phone and crept back downstairs. Exiting
the back door, Zahra used the light of her cell phone to guide her. She hoped the device truly was waterproof as the manufacturer had claimed. The wind swayed her steps and rain pelted her body. She could have really used an umbrella and lead feet—to anchor her to the ground—but didn’t allow the lack of either to stop her.

  It seemed like forever before she found the breaker box. Popping it open, she dried her hands best she could and prayed she didn’t electrocute herself. Locating the circuit associated with Gregor’s bedroom, she switched it off. The music stopped instantly.

  Score.

  Chapter 4

  Zahra’s fingers moved a mile a minute across her keyboard. She channeled all the frustration Gregor had drawn to the surface into a scene where her heroine was ripping the hero a new one for being the most obnoxious bastard she’d ever met.

  This story was starting to mimic her current situation. Instead of her hero and heroine being housemates, they were new neighbors. It wasn’t Tupac that had awakened the heroine, it was Otis Redding. And instead of shutting off the power, she’d called the police.

  Speaking of malicious acts, why hadn’t Gregor confronted her about the breaker? No doubt it had probably pissed him off. She seemed good at doing that. Maybe he’d been too angry to confront her. Then again, he was most likely just biding his time. Plotting the ultimate revenge. It was probably wise to keep an eye open.

  Zahra’s stomach growled, reminding her she hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast, when she’d gone downstairs just long enough to grab a piece of fruit. Playing nice, she’d chosen to give Gregor “McCrabby” the run of the house. Plus, she didn’t have the energy to spar with him.

  She turned her head to one side to eye the clock. Eight. Starving, she decided to take a chance that the coast was clear now. Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, she planted her feet onto the floor. Even through her socks, the icy hardwood assaulted her. The thermostat definitely needed to be adjusted.

  On the steps a few seconds later, Zahra almost turned around and retreated back up the stairs when the glow of the television radiating from the family room suggested Gregor was there. Why was she in hiding like some coward, anyway?

  Highlights of the Thoroughbreds’ playoff game showed on the screen. Man, that had been a hard loss. How could Gregor bear to watch it? Because of his accident and missing the important game, everyone had blamed him for squandering their chance at the Super Bowl Championship. To villainize him had been unfair. As was to blame him for his teammates not bringing their A-game. To put it nicely, they’d sucked.

  Zahra recalled the countless fumbles and interceptions. It was like they hadn’t even tried without Gregor. None of that had been his fault. One man shouldn’t be tasked or expected to carry an entire team—despite how good said man was. And Gregor was good. Great, even. Her father’s voice played in her head. That boy was born to carry a football. She agreed.

  Continuing down, she assumed Gregor was stretched out on the sofa because she didn’t see him. Rolling her eyes away from the room, she veered toward the thermostat. Sixty-two! No wonder she was freezing. She glared toward the family room. He was behind this. Obviously, the devil needed a cooldown.

  Bumping it up several degrees, she turned to walk away but slammed into a wall of rock-hard muscle. Zahra was sure Gregor hadn’t meant to touch her, let alone wrap one of his strong arms around her waist and pull her close to his solid frame. His action wasn’t one she felt violated her. It actually seemed more like a protective instinct to keep her from falling. The move had taken her so much by surprise that she froze in place. Admittedly, it wasn’t such a bad position to be in.

  Even without the mask of the hoodie, Zahra wasn’t sure she would have recognized him still. The full beard—also new—made him appear distinguished. And good Lord, why did he have to smell so damn good all the time?

  Even with the scar on his face, he was still one of the most handsome men she’d ever laid eyes on.

  The heat generated from their closeness melted away some of her disdain for him. His light brown gaze held her captive as they stood and stared in silence. His expression was soft, gentle, yielding. It confused her.

  No man’s touch had ever felt so good. Especially a man who, she would gamble to say, hated her. A tingling sensation started in the palm of the hand that rested on his chestnut-brown skin, moved up her arm, over her shoulders, through her chest, down to the junction between her thighs and exploded, sending a surge of pulsating desire racing through her entire body.

  Snapping out of the trance induced by Gregor’s touch, scent and presence, she pulled out of his hold, confused by the reaction she’d had to him. There had definitely been a spark. Then again, what woman wouldn’t have had a response to being in Gregor Carter’s strong arms? He was all physically-fit, hard-bodied man.

  His kind expression hardened slightly. Obviously, the old Gregor had returned.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  It took Zahra a moment to find her words. “Adjusting the thermostat.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it’s cold in here.”

  “It’s comfortable.”

  “It’s cold.”

  Gregor’s eyes scanned over the thin pajama pants and matching spaghetti-strap top she wore. “Maybe you should put on some more clothes.”

  “Yeah? Well, maybe you should take yours off.” It took Zahra only a second to realize the implication of what she’d said. That had definitely not come out as intended. Needing to distract from her blunder, she said, “You know what? Fine, I apologize. I apologize for the milk. I apologize for crashing your pity party. I apologize for inhaling the same air as the almighty Gregor freaking Carter.” She did some crazy zigzag with her arms.

  Instead of responding, he eyed the thermostat. “Seventy-eight. Are you trying to commit murder by heatstroke?”

  Was that a hint of a smile on his face? So, he did have a sense of humor. “Yes,” she said with a fair amount of humor in her tone.

  Gregor folded his arms across his chest, tightening the muscles at his biceps and causing them to swell like melons. “Can we compromise?” he asked.

  Compromise? Wait. What was happening here? Was Gregor, dare she say it, being cordial to her? Apparently, someone had been dipping into the vodka bottle she’d placed in the freezer earlier after it had been left sitting out. However, she hadn’t smelled any alcohol on his breath. And they had been pretty close. Temptingly, tantalizingly, torturously close.

  Never being one to bite her tongue, she mimicked his stance and narrowed her eyes at him. “Why are you being nice to me? Are you trying to knock me off guard, then exact your revenge for the power thing?”

  “It had crossed my mind,” he said. Gregor shrugged one sculpted shoulder. “I’m being nice because I’m a nice guy.”

  To that, Zahra tilted her head to the side and arched her brows before barking a single, humorless laugh. Yeah, he had to be wasted on something to have forgotten the way he’d treated her the past couple of days. “You’re going to have to do better than that. And make it believable this time.” She held up her hand when Gregor’s lips parted. “On second thought, never mind. I’m really not interested in whatever lie you’re about to tell.” She turned to walk away.

  “Chamomile tea,” he said.

  She stopped. What did her favorite tea have to do with anything? Facing him, she said, “What?”

  “Several years ago, you gave me a cup of chamomile tea when I was nervous about taking my shirt off in a room full of people for a photo shoot.”

  Instantly, the memory filtered into her head. The very first time they’d met. How could she have forgotten that? He’d been so quiet, so humble. A far cry from who he was now. Or should she say whom she felt he pretended to be for the public. She wasn’t wholly convinced that meek man she’d photographed several years ago didn’t still exis
t under all the layers of arrogance Gregor now wore. Then again, fame had a way of ruining people. But there was an understated gentleness about him that suggested it hadn’t completely consumed him.

  She flashed a lazy smile. “You remember that, huh?”

  “Actually, Thad helped to jog my memory when we spoke earlier today.”

  The oddest question popped into her head. “Did the tea work?” Because she recalled him working the camera like a pro.

  “No, but your kindness did. I wasn’t used to people...” His words trailed. “It helped a lot.”

  Her gaze slid away briefly, unsure how to handle this far-more-pleasant Gregor. This could all be some kind of ploy. “You weren’t the only nervous one that day. My hands were shaking so bad, I’m surprised we got any usable shots.” Tea hadn’t helped her either. With the combination of her inexperience behind the camera and Gregor’s presence, she’d been a bundle of nerves.

  “Why were you nervous?” he asked.

  The question took her by surprise. She certainly couldn’t reveal that the sight of him shirtless had sent her system spiraling out of control. Back then, all he would have had to do was blow on her and her clothes would have fallen off. Now... Well, now, she wanted to believe she was less impressionable than she had been at twenty-seven.

  “I was fairly new to photography. Leona somehow convinced my publisher to let me do the shoot.” She shrugged. “Probably because it saved them money. It didn’t hurt that you were a swiftly rising star.”

  “You wanted me.”

  Zahra jolted. “Wh-what? Wanted you? I...I didn’t want you.”

  Gregor pushed his brows together. “Thad told me you were responsible for me getting the gig. That you specifically requested me.”

  Understanding set in. “Oh. Ohhh. You meant...” A nervous laugh slid past her lips. “Um, yes. Yes, I did request you. Since it was a football romance, I thought having you on the cover would be a nice touch.”