[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
angora throw bunched up in the middle of the bed, before her attention snagged on the indentation in
the pillow next to hers.
Twist.
So it hadn t been a dream. Her enemy, Twist Santiago, really had taken care of her last night.
And taken care of her very well, she had to admit, thinking of how gently he d helped her when she
thought she was on the verge of suffering a messy head explosion, then kept her awake after a bout of
nausea to make sure she wasn t sluggish, incoherent or in any way unresponsive. It wasn t fun taking
care of a sick person you liked, so she figured it had to have been pure torture for him to take care of
someone he had no respect for.
But he d taken excellent care of her.
That meant she now owed him more than ever.
Crap.
The question was, why did he bother? Wearily she rubbed at her eyes as the question rattled
around in her oddly empty head. He d delivered her safe and sound to her place, which was the
decent thing to do. Anyone with an ounce of compassion would have done that. But staying overnight?
That was going above and beyond the call of duty in a major way, especially for an enemy.
It just didn t make sense.
When her brain slipped back into fuzziness rather than giving her any clear answers, she
decided to follow her nose and found the object of her thoughts in the kitchen. She almost felt like
she d been hit in the head again when she caught sight of Twist barefoot and shirtless, his longish
black hair beach-wavy and damp as he stood at the stove sprinkling shredded cheese on scrambled
eggs.
Holy&
Wow.
He glanced up at her as she screeched to an abrupt halt. Oh good, you re awake. I was just
about to come in and see if you were up for a little something to put in your stomach. He slapped a
lid on the skillet, turned the heat off under it, then reached for the steaming pot of coffee waiting in the
coffeemaker. Do you think you could handle some coffee, or OJ, or both?
Where s your shirt? Forget the mystery of her missing alarm clock, or how orange juice
wound up in her house, or why he was taking care of her again. No. The mystery of where the hell
his shirt might be was the biggest point of concern. It required her immediate attention and boy, did he
have it. He looked like he belonged on the cover of one of those weight-lifting magazines. Not a
flabby ounce of spare flesh could be found, and she was seriously looking for it. His heavily inked
skin stretched over the graceful sweep of his collarbones and muscle-padded rib cage, tapering down
to a surprisingly long and lean waist. His stomach wasn t tattooed and she found, absurdly, that she
was glad of it, as any markings there might obscure the view of wire-tight abs that appeared to have
been developed by a regimen of approximately five million daily sit-ups. His worn jeans had no belt,
and with the top button left undone for what she assumed was comfort, it looked like just a little
shimmy from his narrow hips would be all it would take for that denim to head south.
She stared at him, not sure whether or not she wanted him to engage in that all-important
shimmy.
My shirt? As if just realizing he was standing half-naked in her kitchen, he ran an idle hand
down his chest, past those sculpted pectorals to that intriguing plain of abdominal hills and valleys
that begged for a female s attention. Then, casually, he looped a thumb in his loose waistband. The
denim inched lower. And lower still.
Oh, sweet baby Jesus, gravity do your stuff&
Hello? Earth to Angel.
She managed to drag her gaze to his. About half a second later she wanted to curl up and die
when the amusement in his eyes told her he knew exactly what was going on in her head. I m not
myself, she blurted, and hoped it didn t sound as feeble as she thought it did. But since she had a
concussion, she was happy to put the blame on it rather than noticing that her most loathed enemy had
a hot-as-hellfire bod. Sorry, what did you say?
I said, after I went to the corner store to get some stuff to make breakfast, I took a shower to
get myself fully awake. Once I did that, I couldn t quite stomach the thought of climbing back into all
of my day-old clothes. So& He shrugged, calling her wandering attention to the sexy hollow that a
collarbone and a well-developed trapezius muscle sloping from shoulder to neck could make. Here I
am without a shirt. Got a problem with that?
Problem? She had no problem, except that she couldn t stop staring.
Wait.
Was staring a problem?
Um. Huh-uh.
Hmm. Apparently she d also gone brain-dead in the snappy comeback department and could
now only grunt in response.
That could be considered a problem.
You sure about that? Abandoning the stove, he stepped toward her, a deliberate move that
for some strange reason reminded her of a big cat stalking its prey. You seem like you ve got a
problem.
You don t say. She wasn t really paying attention to what he was saying. How could she?
There was a magnificent chest coming at her, and it belonged to a man she wasn t supposed to like.
But, wow, did she ever like what he had going on underneath his clothes, so maybe she should revise
her thinking&
[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]