Living alone was going to take a lot of getting used to.
Could always invite the neighbor over…
She recalled Logan’s eyes; they were so intensely, impossibly blue. They’d been focused on her so solidly that for an instant she’d almost made the mistake of thinking he couldn’t see anything else. It had been a moment out of one of the many romance books she loved to read.
And it couldn’t have been anything but her imagination.
“Yeah, because I’m sure he’d love the chance to get peed on again,” she muttered, pushing herself to her feet.
She tossed the empty sandwich bag into the trashcan before walking toward the front door. Her muscles were stiff and sore, and her feet ached, crying out in protest of her every little movement. Apparently, her body had simply waited for her to sit for a few minutes to decide it had been utterly wrecked over the last few days.
Tabitha made sure the door was locked and set about turning off the downstairs lights. “I am so ready for that bath.”
Just as she’d flicked off the kitchen light, motion from outside caught her attention. Brows furrowing, Tabitha walked to the window behind the sink and leaned toward it to get a better look.
A tall, dark figure was walking down Logan’s driveway in long strides. Tabitha’s heart fluttered in panic, but she quickly realized that it was Logan himself. The exterior lights of his home were off, leaving his property blanketed in shadow save for the tiny points of reflected light on his windows and truck that only seemed to deepen the surrounding darkness.
She shifted along the window to keep him in view as he reached the end of his driveway. He turned his head from side to side, and half his face was briefly illuminated by light from the lamppost in a neighboring yard. His eyes looked just as dark as the night sky now.
He had something tucked under his arm like he was a linebacker carrying a football, but the object was too large to be a ball, and he held a gun-like item in his other hand.
Tabitha found herself holding her breath as Logan crouched. Between the lighting, the angle, and his back being toward her, she had difficulty telling what he was doing, but he was definitely putting out a weird vibe. If he were behaving this way in his back yard, it totally would have screamed, I’m about to bury a dead body.
He placed the larger of the two objects on the ground, and only then did she realize what it was—his dented, deformed mailbox. He seemed to be examining something around the bent post upon which his mailbox had been seated until Grayson Brothers Movers had introduced themselves to it.
Those movers had really done a number on it. Logan had every right to be furious; based on Tabitha’s experience with the movers, she wouldn’t doubt that they’d been trying to destroy his mailbox just for kicks.
Logan shifted, taking the gun-like object—some sort of power drill, maybe—to the base of the post. She couldn’t tell what he was doing, but there were a few sparks that cast brief, bright flashes and made after images creep across her vision. He stood upright and moved around to the other side of the post, putting his back to the street. The post looked to be bolted into the ground again, but it was still bent out of shape.
His mailbox would’ve looked like it was tilting its head in disbelief if he put it on like that.
Placing one hand on the post below the bend and the other above it on the opposite side, Logan braced his feet around the base of the post. He raised his head and scanned his surroundings as though searching for onlookers.
Tabitha’s heart leapt into her throat, and her cheeks blazed as she shied back from the window—but she kept him in sight.
Logan looked down again. Tabitha heard a faint groan of metal as he bent the post back into shape. He paused once, readjusting the position of his hands, before completing his work. As far as she could tell in the dark, the post was straight now.
Leaning forward, he snatched the mailbox off the ground. His hands and arms moved, and the mailbox seemed to change shape as they did. An image flashed through Tabitha’s mind—Superman, with muscles bulging, bending a steel beam. After a few moments, Logan picked up the drill, set the mailbox atop the post, and apparently reattached it with a few more bright sparks.
Though it was impossible to tell from her viewing angle, especially in such poor lighting, his mailbox looked decidedly less battered than it had before. In fact, the whole thing looked as straight as it must’ve been before its run-in with the moving truck.
That…that was impossible. Wasn’t it? Tabitha could’ve sworn both the mailbox and its post were made of metal. Logan looked strong, but it had to take an awful lot of strength to bend steel…
The sort of strength usually boasted by alien superheroes, right? Are you kidding, Tabby?
He stood up and stepped back, tilting his head as though surveying his work. A moment later, he was walking to his front door in those long, smooth strides. He slowed to a stop as he neared his truck. Logan’s head turned to the side—not just toward Tabitha’s house, but directly to the very window through which she was watching him.
Her eyes widened, and with a gasp, she ducked behind the counter, her heart hammering against her ribs.
Nope. No way had that happened. A person couldn’t just bend metal like it was made of clay. It was late, it was dark outside, and Tabitha was tired. Her mind was simply playing tricks on her. She looked at Dexter, who stared at her with his head cocked, likely wondering what she was doing on the floor.
Blowing the loose strands of hair from her face, she grasped the edge of the counter and slowly pulled herself up, peeking cautiously out the window again.
Logan was gone.
What was she doing? She was spying on the hot guy next door like she was some nosey busybody. What if he had seen her? Shame filled her.
Great. Now she was one of those neighbors.
Tomorrow, she would make it right.
Four
Tabitha chugged the rest of her morning coffee—if she could even rightly call this diabetic’s-worst-nightmare concoction of sugar and cream coffee—and set her mug on the counter. There was so much to do today, and she was already running behind after having slept later than she’d intended. But first…
“Come on, Dex!” she called. “Walk time.”
Dexter raced over to her from the living room, his paws pounding the floor, tongue hanging out, and tail wagging in excitement. He circled her impatiently as she tried to grasp his collar and connect the leash.
“Calm down,” she laughed. “You ready?”
Dexter barked. He ran to the front door, tugging her along, looking at it and back to her again and again as though to say, hurry up already.
She snatched her keys, the envelope beneath them, and a doggy poop bag off the stand beside the door, stuffed them all into her hoodie pocket, and opened the door. Dexter practically dragged her outside, forcing her to plant her feet firmly and brace her legs so she could stop long enough to lock the door. Once it was secure, she allowed the dog to lead her down the driveway and toward the sidewalk.
It was a crisp morning, and the cool, damp air teased her face and bit just a touch through her leggings and hoody. Tabitha took in a deep, appreciative breath.
The sky was gray and overcast, with only a hint of sunlight breaking through the clouds in the distance. Her shrubs and grass were thick and green, though her yard lacked the colorful array of flowers that brightened Logan’s yard. She was eager to plant her own in the spring. But right now, her favorite season was preparing to settle in, and there were already a few leaves turning colors.
As they neared Logan’s mailbox, Tabitha pulled Dexter to a stop. At a glance, there was nothing wrong with the mailbox—or the post upon which it was set. The post was straight, the box itself undented, the door was attached, and the little flag was firmly in place, a far cry from the condition the mailbox had been in the day before.
She tapped on the post with her knuckles, producing a dull, metallic clang, and frowned.
&
nbsp; Maybe…maybe he hadn’t fixed it. Maybe he’d replaced it with a new one. Maybe everything she thought she’d seen last night had been a trick of the poor lighting and her own mental and physical exhaustion.
But the black paint on the side of the mailbox was cracked and flaked off in places, revealing dull metal beneath, and when she ran her fingers along the post, they brushed over a few spots where the metal was rougher, as though it had been scratched.
Could she have seen what she thought she’d seen?
A super strong, super sexy man with superpowers. Sure, Tabitha.
She rolled her eyes at herself as she opened the mailbox.
Dexter tugged on his leash.
“Just a sec, Dexter,” she said as she removed the envelope from her pocket, slipped it inside the mailbox, and closed the door.
“Does it meet your standards?” someone asked in a deep voice that was spiced with just a hint of an exotic, unplaceable accent.
Tabitha started, eyes snapping up to Logan, who was standing in his driveway less than ten feet away with his hands tucked in the pockets of his snug blue jeans. She hadn’t heard his door open or close, hadn’t heard him approach.
He was just as devastatingly beautiful in his red and black button-up flannel shirt as he’d been in his faded T-shirt yesterday.
Cheeks warming at being caught, Tabitha glanced back at the mailbox and flashed Logan a wide smile. “Uh…yes! I was just…admiring your new mailbox. You work fast. You must be really good with your hands.”
What the frick, Tabitha? Really?!
Logan’s brows rose slightly as he stepped toward Tabitha. She found herself tipping her head back slowly to hold his gaze; he was so big, so tall, that for once she felt…small. She took a subconscious step backward when he withdrew his hands from his pockets.
Without looking away from her, Logan set one of his large hands atop the mailbox. “It’s the same mailbox. And I am really good with my hands.”
Had she thought it was cold out here? Because right now, she was sweltering.
She stared at his hand, with its long, defined fingers, and clean, trim nails. It was a working man’s hand, and possibly the sexiest hand she’d ever seen.
“I…bet you are.” Her eyes flared, and she turned them back up to his, but he didn’t meet her gaze. He was looking at her chest.
Is he staring at my boobs?
She cleared her throat, face burning as she self-consciously raised her arm to cover herself. “Anyway, um, I just want to say again that I am so sorry about yesterday. Great way to make a first impression, huh?”
“The incident with my mailbox was not my first impression of you, Tabitha,” he said as he finally made eye contact again. “I feel as though I’m missing something. Are you the compulsive liar?”
Tabitha flinched, tightening her grip on the leash as Dexter pulled it taut. “What?”
“Yesterday you could not lie, but today you are a liar.” Logan dipped his chin, and his eyes flicked to her chest again for an instant.
She followed his gaze to her hoodie. “Oh! Ohhh.” It hadn’t clicked until he’d pointed it out. He hadn’t been looking at her breasts, he’d been reading her hoodie.
See? Not his type, Tabby.
She pinched the side of the hoodie near the end of the text, which read, Compulsive Lyer. “It’s just a pun. Lye is an ingredient in soap. I…guess you might call me a little obsessed when it comes to making soap and candles. I had a bunch of shirts and hoodies custom made to wear for my videos, and they seem to be pretty good conversation starters when I’m out and about.”
Releasing her hoodie, she looked back up at him; he was staring at her with the same intensity she’d seen in his eyes yesterday. The kind of intensity that sparked heat in her core.
Logan eased closer to her. The movement was small and subtle, but she couldn’t ignore it, couldn’t slow her quickening heart. He was near enough now that she could smell him—sandalwood and musk with hints of amber and cedar.
Tabitha had the sudden, horrifying, tantalizing urge to bury her face against his chest and breathe him in.
“Are your videos about making soap?” he asked.
“Um, yes. And candles, but mostly soap.”
Why did he have to smell so damn good?
He moved infinitesimally closer. “And you are in them?”
“Well…yeah.”
“Perhaps I should watch them.”
Is he…is he flirting?
No. No way. He…he’s just playing with me.
If her cheeks weren’t already red, they certainly became so in that moment. Tabitha lowered her gaze. “Oh, you don’t have to. It’s just mostly about the process of making them, and how I come to my decisions on scents and colors, and, um… I don’t think you’d find them very entertaining.”
The last thing she wanted was for this too-sexy-to-be-real man to see her at her dorkiest and most awkward. Her videos had become an outlet for her to chat with her audience and tell stories, to make corny jokes, to be…herself.
She felt his gaze upon her, raking over her slowly, and a delightful shiver nearly coursed up her spine. No one had ever looked at her the way he was.
“I may not learn much about soapmaking in the process”—he raised a hand and hooked the pocket of her hoodie with one of his long fingers, pulling it toward him slightly—“but I would be lying if I said I would not enjoy watching you.”
Tabitha’s breath hitched. Her eyes were wide as she again met his gaze.
Was it possible to come from words alone? Because she was pretty sure she just had. Logan’s deep, baritone voice resonated through her, flooding her with heat, making her nipples hard and causing her pussy to ache and clench with desire.
She would never have imagined that so terrible a pun could be such a damned turn on.
Something bumped against her leg, providing just enough of a distraction for Tabitha to force her gaze away from Logan and look down.
Dexter had positioned himself next to Logan and was sniffing the man’s boot. He raised a hind leg.
Tabitha gasped and jerked away from Logan, giving the leash a tug. “Dexter!”
“No,” Logan said to Dexter, his voice thrumming with authority—but, surprisingly, not bristling with the anger he had every right to express in that moment.
Dexter whimpered, lowered his leg, and backed away, looking up at Logan with those big, sad, puppy dog eyes. Logan held the dog’s gaze.
“Don’t you give us those eyes, Dexter,” Tabitha said, hand on her hip. “I just… Seriously? Again? I can’t believe you.” With a nervous laugh, she looked back at Logan. “I, uh…guess he likes you.”
Logan chuckled. “I would hate to see how he’d behave if he didn’t.”
Why, oh why, did he have to look even better when he laughed? His amusement made his eyes a little brighter, almost like they were glowing, and turned his smile into something that could make her melt right here in the street.
“Yeah, me too.” She took a couple steps away, tugging on the leash again to let Dexter know she was ready to walk. “I, uh, should go. Just so he doesn’t get any more ideas.”
Dexter didn’t need any more coaxing. He was already taking off down the sidewalk.
Logan took a step toward her. “Would you be averse to me accompanying y—”
“No, no. It’s all right. Have a great day!”
Tabitha turned around and fled; she’d never walked faster than she did in that moment.
Why was it every time she was near him, she always ended up running?
Because he makes me feel things way too strongly, and I…I can’t get hurt again.
Logan had been flirting with her. It hadn’t felt contrived or artificial, hadn’t felt malicious, it had felt…real. Well, at least until Dexter had ruined it.
She glared down at Dexter. “Not cool. You’re so not getting any treats today.”
Zevris watched Tabitha walking away with his brow furrowed and a strang
e ache in his chest. Heat thrummed just beneath the surface of his skin. Part of him was eager to give chase, and he knew, despite how fast she was walking, that he could easily catch up to her if he wanted to.
In his mind’s eye, he saw himself stalking after her, saw his strides devouring the distance between them, saw himself grab her by the arm and spin her to face him. In his imagining, her skin was pinkened, her eyes glossy with desire, and he—
He grunted, shattering his own reverie.
Zevris wanted this odd little human, wanted her more than he’d even dreamed possible, but it would do him no good to stand here in the street fantasizing about her. All that would come of that was an erection—or a full-on erection, anyway, considering his shaft was already partway there. And that would be both uncomfortable and quite visible to anyone looking thanks to his snug jeans.
Unbidden, his gaze dipped to Tabitha’s backside. Her hooded sweater had ridden up in her haste, granting him a perfect view of her rounded ass, which her black leggings hugged closely. The tightness and heat in his gut intensified, and his cock, caught between his pants and his thigh, hardened further.
After almost a year of wondering what it meant, he finally understood one of the human phrases he’d heard so often.
That ass, though.
As his eyes trailed down her legs and back up again, a firestorm ignited within him. He very nearly dropped a hand to his groin to squeeze his shaft, desperate to alleviate the pressure, to address his growing discomfort. Only his military discipline stopped him; he was on the street in daylight, and humans frowned upon such public displays.
I’ve many things to do today, regardless.
Zevris willed himself to turn away from her, but found himself staring until Tabitha, his alluring little human, had walked around a corner and vanished from his view.
Though she was gone, her scent lingered in the air, easily discernable from all the rest. Today, its vanilla note was more pronounced. Zevris breathed it in, closing his eyes for a moment as he let her fragrance flow through him and overwhelm his senses. Some part of him might’ve been content merely with his every inhalation being perfumed by her scent.
Taken By The Alien Next Door Page 4
