Flock (The Ravenhood)

“I knew you would be off for the holiday, so I drove home last night.”

I frown, clutching my purse in front of me. “I didn’t get an email.”

He tilts his glass in his hand, slashing his brows. “I didn’t think I would have to send one. Then I saw you weren’t home and assumed you had plans.”

“I do have plans.”

He nods as I approach, the exchange putting me on edge. Even in casual clothes, he’s intimidating.

“Is there something that you wanted?”

He sips his drink and clears his throat as I hit the landing.

“I wanted to be the one to tell you that the plant is getting an upgraded AC system today, and I’ve looked into your other concerns, and it’s been handled. Accounting will be handing out additional checks this coming pay period.”

“Thank you,” I say warily. There’s clear hesitation in his posture as he looks down at me. He stands a little over six-foot, but he might as well be a skyscraper.

“It’s clear you’ve adjusted here, and unless you have any objections, I’ll be staying at the condo.” His eyes implore mine, and I swear I see a glimmer of hope for an objection, but it’s way too late.

“No objections. Is that all?”

With a nod, his eyes drop, and he steps away, giving me a lot more space than I need to get past him. I’m grateful for it and make it halfway across the foyer when he speaks up.

“Don’t make her mistakes.”

I turn back and catch a glimpse of him over my shoulder. “Sir?”

“Who better to warn you than her biggest one.” He tips his glass back, draining it, his deep-sea eyes meeting mine once more before he strides into his office and closes the door.

CLAD IN MY NEW FAVORITE sundress, I sit on the counter in the kitchen, my carefully prepared barbecue ice cold as I turn the page of my latest novel. Hours after our planned date, the roar of Sean’s Nova goes silent a minute before he enters the house. Not taking my eyes off the book, I lift a piece of lukewarm watermelon to my mouth as he stands at the entrance of the kitchen, gauging my mood and watching me nibble the sweet fruit. After a long stretch of silence, I finally speak up.

“Explain yourself, Roberts,” I mutter between bites, glancing over the top of the book, my feet swinging beneath me.

He eyes the cover. 1984.

“I love that you’re reading that, instead of your usual.”

I flip the page and try to take one from Dominic’s playbook, my voice considerably cooler when I reply. “Don’t knock romance books. From the last one I read, I learned how to play a solitary card game, snagged the barbecue recipe I cooked today, and discovered how to bring myself to a proper orgasm, which means I can do all three without you. This makes me fully capable of entertaining myself. Coming here, in this dress, and cooking for you was a decision, and like all decisions, it was optional.”

His growing smile is infuriating.

“You look beautiful.”

I bite into another piece of watermelon, setting the book down and raise my hostile gaze to him as he saunters toward me, looking delicious in a white tee and dark denim. Cedar and sunshine encase me where I sit as he leans in for a bite. I jerk the fruit out of reach. “Get your own.”

“I want yours.”

“Tough shit. Mine was ready six hours ago.”

He sighs, clear fatigue in his posture. “All I want right now is a bite of that watermelon and to get inside my woman as soon as possible.”

“Not happening.”

Frowning, he eases back before turning and fishing a beer out of the fridge. “I got tied up. And you know I didn’t have my phone.”

“Which is bullshit.”

He shakes his head. “No, what’s bullshit is that you think Big Brother is just the name of a TV show.”