by Keta Kendric
He ate in silence, checking me out while I caught myself discreetly checking him out. I nibbled on a piece of bacon while losing control of my probing eyes. Although I tried to be discrete about it, I didn’t feel guilty for checking out the brother of the man I was supposed to be marrying.
Khane stood, making his chair grunt and causing me to jump. Was I staring too hard?
He marched from the room, leaving me confused. Had I upset him?
“I wasn’t trying to be offensive,” I muttered under my breath. I just thought he was interesting. How would he know that, Desiree?
Had I interrupted his alone time? Was he gathering his cutting kit to add me to his freezer of dead human meat he was storing up for the winter?
The quick hard thumps of his footsteps grew louder, alerting his return. When he stormed back into the room, at my back this time, I froze. I sensed he had something in his hand but didn’t want to see or know what that something was.
I glanced at the fluffy scrambled eggs and the fat biscuit I had added to my plate, praying I didn’t see my own blood spatter in them before I took my last breath.
Goose bumps peppered my arms as horror gripped me, causing involuntary shivers to race through me. My heart galloped in my chest, making a noise like heavy heels on hardwood. My leg started to jump up and down, joining my heart’s quest to contain my nervousness.
I jumped and released a low squeak of fright when something brushed my arm, sliding across the peppery little bumps that had popped up on the surface of my skin. My eyes trailed up a long-sleeved denim shirt, and kept traveling up, up, and further up his massively tall frame until I found his inexpressive face. He had to have been at least six-foot-five, tall like his brother.
“You looked cold,” he stated, his voice soft and calming. I believed he was attempting not to frighten me any more than I must have looked.
He stood silently in place until I convinced my hand to reach for the shirt he was nice enough to offer.
“Thank you.” A pleasant hint of surprise tilted my lips into a twitchy little smile at his sweet gesture.
“It’s clean,” he added, responding to me staring at the shirt in my hand like the idiot I had already labeled myself. When he turned away to head back to his side of the table, I took a quick sniff at the shirt, finding it fresh, like he had gone outside and taken it from a clothesline. I stood and draped the shirt over my shoulders and shoved my arms into the sleeves as Khane retook his seat.
“I’ll do my best to give you privacy. There are only a few people who know where I live, so you will be safe here. Sam and a few others will always be on guard. You will never see them unless you need them,” he stated before returning to his plate.
“O…kay?” As long as he didn’t have plans to eat me, I was fine with whatever schedule he wanted to keep.
“Where’s Lady….the lady?” I questioned, not caring where she was, but attempting to keep up some type of dialogue.
“She left when I returned last night. She’s security. I sent her in my place when I realized I wasn’t going to make it in time for your arrival.”
Damn. Lady was at least sixty-five, and him calling her security, meant she was a hired gun. Never would have guessed that. She must have been good too, to be associated with this bunch.
A crinkle dented my forehead as I bit into the perfectly crisp bacon. I glanced at the pan of eggs and the biscuits left sitting on the small serving tray.
I pointed at the food and eyed him keenly. “You cooked this?” My brain had just connected after his confirmation that Lady had left when he arrived last night. My chewing slowed as I awaited his answer.
“Yes. Is it bad?” he asked. I didn’t know if it was the short thick beard that covered it, but I was unable to read any discernible expression on his face.
“No. It’s really good,” I complimented. Was that a smile that had touched his lips after my compliment? Him knowing how to cook kind of took some of the sting away from the deranged, people-eating serial killer that he had been labeled.
“I can’t cook. When I try, all I produce is bland or burnt,” I volunteered, hopefully opening the doorway to more conversation.
“It’s only me out here, so I had to learn or starve. And I don’t eat people if that’s what you believe.” His statement was spoken in a manner that he was telling me I could either believe it or not. He didn’t care either way. A whole strip of bacon went into his mouth before he bit off half a biscuit.
“If you don’t mind me asking, why do you stay so far out? You like being a mountain-man or something?”
My nose ended up planted in the fabric of his shirt again, unable to stop myself from sniffing it. I was like a dog that had caught a scent I liked. It wasn’t just what he had washed his shirt with. I was getting a good whiff of him too, the scent a wild stirring of blackcurrant mixed with hints of fruit. Heady and obsessively potent, it was a combination destined to leave an impression, especially when riding the divine and spicy-sweet musk he produced.
Khane’s smell was manly sweet or more like sweet heat. He caught me sniffing his shirt, but didn’t comment on it.
“I like the quiet. It’s too busy out there.” His faced crinkled like the rest of the world bothered him. He did have a point. Sometimes I wanted to get away, but my idea of getting away was on a tropical island, not on the top of a mountain.
Here, there was no help if a mountain lion decided to attack you, or God forbid, the man you were staying with decided he was hungry for more than food.
A dark current of danger floated around Khane, but I wasn’t repelled by it. It tugged, beckoning me closer while stroking at a desire I pretended I didn’t harbor. I needed to concentrate on something else before I entertained thoughts I had no business thinking.
You’re attracted to him. It was too late. That damn first teasing thought refused to be silenced.
“I’m in love with your house, by the way. Who did all of this?” I questioned, glaring past him to admire the parts of the view that peeked while continuing to fight off my distracting thoughts of attraction.
“Me,” he stated simply.
No way in hell.
The wide stare I held and the indent wrinkling my forehead told him what I was thinking. This time, I did see a smile creep across his lips at my skepticism.
“I collected most of these items over a six-year period,” was all he offered as an answer for a house that was so well designed, I had fallen madly in love with every detail of it.
“Sooo…” I dragged the word out, giving the house another well-respected once over. “What can I do around here for fun?” There wasn’t a television anywhere in the house as Khane was all about his peace and quiet.
“There is a gym. A den of books. The lookout,” he stated, before pointing to the ceiling.
“Lookout?” It sounded promising.
“I’ll take you after you’ve finished eating,” he offered as another half biscuit followed half a strip of bacon into his mouth. He wasn’t a messy eater, but he could put away portions that would choke and kill me if I attempted them. I had hardly put a dent in my food, and he had cleared out most of the food that I assumed would be leftovers.
His well-appointed house, the proper etiquette he displayed, and although he hadn’t spoken much, I could tell that he was also well-spoken. None of it matched what I expected of Khane. Reality shattered the personality profile I had built based on speculation. He was complex, sophisticated, and insanely attractive.
When he reached across the table in my direction, I flinched and drew back until I realized he was reaching for my plate that I had finally emptied. I already felt bad for prejudging and for gawking at him, so flinching away from him made it appear that I was an even bigger jerk.
He walked away with the dishes and disappeared around a bend that separated the kitchen from the dining room. I started collecting the rest of the dishes. The least I could do was help since I was the guest, and he had been nice enoug
h to cook and let me eat his food.
My nose met my shoulder, sniffing his shirt again, loving the freshness with a tinge of his masculine scent infused in the material. I turned into the kitchen, smiling for no apparent reason.
Smack!
It was a full body collision into a slab of firm hardness that took my breath away. I managed to keep a hold of the pan that held the last of the eggs, but the smaller pan carrying the last biscuit clattered to the floor. The biscuit shot off in one direction as the pan rattled once and stopped.
I went chasing after the biscuit that wheeled itself across the kitchen floor, as Khane picked up the pan. By the time I chased down the biscuit and picked it up, he was reaching for the items in my hands before I clumsily dropped something else.
He tossed the biscuit in the trashcan under the closed area of the sink and placed the dishes in the hot soapy water he had drawn in the basin. I wasn’t even going to ask why he didn’t use his dishwasher. It didn’t appear broken, but this was his house to do as he pleased.
“I can help,” I volunteered. I wasn’t ready to leave. I think I liked being around him. A giddy little spark deepened my smile when he pointed at the area to the right of him without a word. He washed, and I rinsed and stacked the dishes on the drying rack. Surprisingly, the silence between us wasn’t an uncomfortable one. It was more peaceful than the loud silence of being alone—if that made any sense.
Absently, I took the glass from his hand when he handed it over. When my fingertips brushed the back of his fingers, the warmth from the touch produced a spark that fanned out and saturated me. It was a peculiar sensation that stirred my curiosity. How could that one little touch have the ability to warm my whole body?
When he handed me the forks, I had to see if what I’d experienced before was a product of my imagination or something real. I sent my fingers tracing up the back of his hand and found that I hadn’t been imagining the spark our touch produced. He curled his big hand into a tight fist and pulled it away before thrusting it back into the water.
Why was I feeling more connected to Khane than I was Arjen? Why the hell did I want to explore it further, knowing it would cause trouble?
7
Khane
“Get up and fight, you stupid fucking wetback idiot!” Neither my father’s harsh words nor the fists of the three boys he had ordered to jump me, hurt as much as the punishment I knew would follow if I didn’t find a way to win the fight.
I was laid out in the dirt, getting kicked and pounded into the ground. Amid all the violent licks coming down on me, the screams and angry yells pouring from their faces, the only voice I heard was my father’s, promising me pain if I didn’t stand up and fight.
Just as I remembered ripping one of the boy’s ears off, I shook away the image, clearing my head. My father had turned me into the Animal. He had forced me to embrace only my anger and release only my rage. He had even forced me to embrace only my Caucasian side, insisting that my Mexican side, from my Mexican mother, was weak.
The introduction of Desiree into my life, six years ago, had solidified for me that there was more to life than anger and rage. Although she wouldn’t remember the first time we had met, meeting her had become one of the most important moments in my life.
It takes a mind-blowing act to shock me, but when Desiree had walked into my kitchen, I believed I had been seeing a ghost. The idea that she, of all people, would end up in my house was unfathomable.
If I had known she was who my brother had been talking about, there was no way in hell I would have agreed to watch her. She was the most stunning woman I had ever met in person. After being around her for this short time, I realized she was as modest about her beauty as I believed she was unaware of it and her charm.
It hadn’t been a full day and my house already smelled like her. She was a part of every crevice and corner. Every space she had lurked in, touched, and peeked into, permeated her fascinating scent like she had released her pheromones into the ventilation system.
Desiree had the kind of possessive beauty that had awakened my senses long before we had met face-to-face in my house. I fought the battle to remain standoffish but found myself responding to her anyway. Only she had seen this side of me, smiling, playful even. Hell, I didn’t even know I had it in me.
The notion that I could be this way with someone was as foreign as a language I was attempting to speak for the first time. She seemed to understand me better than anyone. She didn’t let my long stretches of silence deter her away from me. She appeared to want to be around me, following me from the dining room into the kitchen and into the living room when I exited the kitchen.
Unable to grasp what guided me, my interactions with her weren’t unnatural. If anything, I was forcing myself to hold back.
We had finished the dishes, and she had asked about a few of the pieces of art in the living room. A few pieces turned into me giving her a tour and telling her about how I had come across not only my art but some of my furniture. The way her face lit up as she admired the things in my house was a pleasant sight to see.
She surveyed my things with careful touches, and adoring gazes and I failed to stop myself from admiring her. Her eyes were the purest brown, big and gorgeous, moving under long waving lashes capable of teasing my intrigue and enticing my awareness.
The sight of her sultry lips gave me pause. They presented a doorway to a face that lived and breathed the definition of the word beautiful. Her rounded features were delicate, dark porcelain. She possessed an unblemished light maple complexion that beckoned to be stroked and dared you to turn away.
Since the moment she had shown up in my kitchen in her nightclothes, I had been pushing images of her body from my head. I understood that her attire had been unintentional, but I had almost passed out from blood loss as it had all traveled south. I’d had to remain seated to calm myself before I could retrieve one of my shirts for her. The shirt was as much for my benefit as hers.
Her long shapely legs were fit and strong. Her round tits with their small tight nipples were perfect in their fullness without a bra. Seeing her with a bra from now on would be a disappointment. Her slim waist introduced her sexy hips and plump ass, displaying a portrait of what a woman was supposed to look like. I was dead wrong for looking, but with her, I was helpless to stop myself.
She was among the few people who had seen my damaged eye, let alone stared into my face without the color contact I usually wore, and not shy away. I had not expected her to stumble sleepily into my kitchen, so I hadn’t bothered with putting my contact in.
People stared when they saw my discolored eye, their expressions offering me pity. Some flinched in fear. Desiree had stared, but she hadn’t run off. Instead, she had taken me in with ease. I had waited for her disgust or even pity, but only intrigue had rested in her gaze.
Unbeknownst to her, I had admired her designs from afar, proud that some had been featured in magazines. Her art, especially her gothic art, was among the best I had seen and had inspired the majority of the features and interior of my house. A few of her digital creations had been turned into framed art and sold at a local gallery a year ago. The pieces hung on the wall in my bedroom.
What would she think of me if she knew I followed her career? That I had purchased several pieces of her art and stalked her website to get a glimpse of the newest pictures she would post.
Overdone stories of my dealings had served me well. I often got my jobs done with speed and finesse when people realized who they were dealing with. However, she was more relaxed with me now that she understood that I wasn’t the savage beast my reputation made me out to be.
Desiree’s help with the dishes earlier was the best gift I had ever received, telling of how minute my positive human interactions were. When her hand brushed mine the first time, a jolt of impulses rose to the surface of my skin. Thankfully, I’d been able to ignore them by reminding myself that she was my brother’s intended bride. When she did it a se
cond time, on purpose, I had unintentionally allowed her to see my reaction. It couldn’t be helped. She had that much of an effect on me.
How was it that my brother was marrying the woman I had been secretly obsessed with for the past six years?
Desiree followed me up the steep steps to the only area on the second level to the observation deck. The deck was a circular glass room that presented a stunning view of the mountains I lived on and all of the beauty nestled in their surroundings.
In the distance, small waterfalls waved, tall trees undulated to nature’s flow, and distant animal calls beckoned for attention.
The view, the fresh air, and the way nature freely soothed me in wind-wrapped embraces were all gifts I never grew tired of. When I wanted a livelier scene, I would slide the glass doors apart and step onto the large balcony area that housed a patio lounge-sofa and a custom-made fire pit.
I had built the pit out of lava rock and fire glass and constructed it to resemble a dragon’s head aimed at the sky. When fire burned inside the pit, it appeared the dragon was spitting flames.
No one, other than my brother on rare occasions, had the ability to make me smile, so when Desiree made me smile earlier, it felt foreign, like my face had trouble remembering which way to position my lips. I’d not smiled so much in anyone’s presence as hers. She had dragged the reaction from me several times in only a few hours. She had unknowingly given me purpose. It didn’t matter that that purpose was to be her temporary protection.
She was so caught up in the view, it appeared she floated towards the closed balcony doors. She breezed past the indoor seat; the only piece of furniture sitting in the space and reached blindly for the door in front of her. Her slippers tapped lightly against the floor; the sound echoed off the glass making her steps sound louder than they were.
