Resist (Sphere of Irony 3)

“You heard me,” Mitch growls, moving even closer. I can feel the heat radiating off of his body, searing my skin. A large palm slams down on the door next to my head, rattling the door on its hinges. “While you were being a drunken, spoiled brat, I was busy protecting you!” His breath caresses my face. It’s sweet, intoxicating.

My eyes flutter shut. I can’t look anymore. It’s too heady, too erotic. Instinctually, I lean forward.

A gust of cold air brushes across my naked torso. When I open my eyes, Mitch is across the room, gathering up his coat and tie.

“I’m staying the night. Tomorrow we’ll discuss this and where we go from here.”

I swallow loudly, still pressed against the door. “Where we go from here?”

Mitch gives me an incredulous look. “We need a plan. The guy knows where you live. This is a game changer, Gavin.” He shakes his head. Then he limps over to stand in front of me again, his face twisted with rage and pain. “Do you even want me here? To protect you? To investigate this?”

“Yes,” I respond without hesitation, wondering what happened to his leg but deciding it’s not the time to ask.

Mitch moves towards the stairs, climbing slowly as he speaks. “Then act like it and help me out.” The click of a bedroom door closing signals the end of the conversation.

I sag against the door. My heart is still pounding a hundred miles an hour—from Mitch being so damn sexy and from knowing the stalker was right outside my house while I was busy getting my rocks off.

I trudge up the stairs, mentally berating myself for being so irresponsible. Mitch is right, Rob or Ron or whoever that trick was, could have been the psycho. He could have been the one we’ve been looking for. I could have invited him right into my bedroom.

A full-body shiver gives me goose bumps at the thought.

Light from one of the guest rooms seeps out under the closed door. The faint sounds of the shower running in the en suite bath can be heard from the hall.

I close my eyes and picture Mitch naked, running soapy hands all over his body. I shiver again, and this time not from fear.

Damn. I’ve got it bad. Shaking my head, I return to my room. The messy state of the bed and the scent of sex remind me of my foolishness. Getting laid is not worth getting killed.

In that case, I guess I’d better get used to celibacy.

This is going to be torture.

***

The next morning Mitch’s mood hasn’t improved at all. In fact, he’s even grouchier than the night before. Wearing his rumpled dress shirt and suit pants, a cup of coffee in hand, he keeps glaring like he wants to punch me.

Hell, he probably does after last night. I want to punch me.

“What now?” I question, sitting down at the table with my own coffee and a bowl of fruit.

Mitch raises an eyebrow from where he’s leaning against the granite countertop. He puts down his mug and glances out the windows at the beach.

“Now I have to figure out what to do with you,” he replies.

I freeze, a spoonful of fruit halfway to my mouth. “Do with me? What do you mean?”

Mitch sighs and rubs his bloodshot eyes with the heels of his hands. He speaks slowly and enunciates each word as if I’m a toddler and he’s the exhausted parent who’s tired of having to explain.

“He knows where you live, Gavin. You can’t stay here. And since he was able to get into your hotel room I’d say checking into a hotel isn’t a great idea either.”

“Oh.” That does seem obvious now that he’s said it.

“Yeah, oh,” he mocks.

I bristle at his attitude. “You don’t have to be an asshole about it.”

Mitch scowls right back at me. “Obviously, I do, because you have absolutely no common sense when it comes to your own safety!”

I stand up, shoving the chair back. It tips back and clatters to the floor. “One mistake! One! I’m not fucking perfect, okay?”