CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Layla
“You’re gonna need this now.” Sean drops a shiny silver key into my hand as we walk up the path to my back door fifteen minutes later. I look down at it, then back up to his eyes. From this angle with the sun on him, there’s an almost grayish hue to the green.
“For …?”
“Your back door. What you had before wasn’t a lock. This one will actually keep your house secure. That little click-button lock wasn’t keeping anyone out.”
Holy shit. “You changed my lock?”
“Yeah.” Again, the epitome of cool, as if this all just makes sense. “Like I said, you weren’t keeping anyone out with the old one. I’m surprised you haven’t been robbed yet.”
“Obviously I’m not keeping anyone out.” I look him up and down, then turn to unlock my door. The shiny new deadbolt sounds. I push the door open, ready to ask him if he’s ever heard of boundaries, but the words die on my lips when I step inside.
“What the … how long were you here?” I ask, entering my now very, very clean house.
I set my bag down and look around. Sean picks it up and puts it on a hook by the door, making sure it’s hanging straight.
The whole place smells like cinnamon and orange.
My back door opens into the kitchen, and I can see the living room from where I’m standing.
The blinds are slightly parted, giving me a view straight onto the tree-lined road in front of the house.
The air is cool and everything is organized.
My mail is even in a little basket on my counter, and there’s a bowl full of fresh apples in the middle of the butcher block island.
I turn to face him.
“Did you use my homemade cleaner?” I ask him in disbelief as my voice rises an octave.
Panic mixes with this warm feeling that overcomes me, knowing he was here cleaning.
It doesn’t even bother me that he was here without me.
I realize it’s because he wanted to take care of me, and no one else has done that since my mom.
“I did.” Sean nods and takes off his cut as he follows me in, hanging it over the back of a kitchen chair as I kick off my sandals.
The thick, shag area rug in my living room even has straight, uniform vacuum marks across it.
I’m not a messy person, but I just don’t have the time to deep-clean my house, so this is just … on another level.
“You said the other day you don’t have time to clean, but I do.” And apparently, he doesn’t know when to stop, because this place is absolutely spotless.
“I don’t know what to say,” I reply, stunned.
“Say thank you,” he answers simply.
I close my mouth and blink, still in shock. “Thank you.” I look back at him, realizing he must be getting to me if I feel like I owe him a thank you for this very unhinged, stalker-like, yet somehow sweet gesture.
I turn and run my hand along the shining counter. Everything is folded neat and straight. Perfect.
Sean nods toward the fridge. I follow his gaze because, as astonished as I am, I know I have to eat in order to get to the clinic on time. I narrow my eyes. More shock follows as I open my fridge, finding it’s also been cleaned and restocked.
“You made food?” I ask as I pull out the glass container that’s resting on the top shelf.
That same sense of panic washes over me, but I do my best to push it away as I head to the cupboard for a plate.
I pause, because my plates are no longer there.
The cupboard is filled with drinking glasses and coffee mugs. I turn to face him, a hand on my hip.
He doesn’t look even the slightest bit apologetic for rearranging my kitchen.
“It made no sense to keep your plates there. Plates should be on the other side; glasses should be closest to the sink.”
I pull a glass down and fill it with water from the tap.
“This all goes way beyond boss–employee relations you know,” I comment before I take a sip.
“Every boss–employee relationship is different, Layla.” He leans on the counter, his brow furrowed.
I just shake my head and open the container. It’s so pretty I don’t even want to dump it out onto a plate. It’s deep green leaves of romaine with tiny tomatoes, evenly sliced avocado and bocconcini cheese. The chicken is grilled and sliced perfectly, lying neat and evenly spaced across the top.
I look up at him and wonder if he knows the depths of the compulsive tendencies that I’m beginning to notice in him.
I recognize them in so many ways because my mother had them.
A product of always trying to control her environment.
As if everything being perfect would prevent my father from blowing up or nagging at her.
I imagine that, after serving overseas and the things he’s seen during his life, Sean has these tendencies for very similar reasons.
“I’m supposed to be planning your diet, not the other way around, you know. You have a problem giving up control?”
He stands to his full height. As he comes closer, it seems obvious that it’s impossible for him to be still for long.
My stomach turns queasy with the feeling of someone taking care of me.
I’m just not used to it, and it scares me more than anything else.
If I ever got used to it and then it was gone …
“No, little dove, I have no problem letting you take control, but you have a problem letting people help you.” His slow, easy tone strikes a chord deep within me. It settles me, calms me.
“Are my forks still in the same place?” I ask with an eyebrow raised, moving toward the usual drawer.
“Yes,” he says evenly. “Because where they were made sense.”
“I’m glad you approve.” I can’t help it. I smile at him, pull a fork out and take a bite of the salad. It’s really fucking good. Of course.
“Did you make this dressing?” It’s honey mustard and it’s delicious.
“Yes,” he answers quickly. “The shit you buy from the store is garbage.”
I lean back against the counter and watch him as he retreats to take a seat at my kitchen table.
He’s relaxed here, one arm leaning on the table and his legs spread, the other arm resting on his thigh.
His black t-shirt clings to all the right places on his upper body, yet it’s obvious he never tries to be hot; he just is.
Every look he gives me with those intense green eyes exudes raw temptation and certainty.
He looks entirely too large for this space, and after doing these unexpected, crazy things for me—things I’d never have expected him to be capable of when I first laid eyes on him—he looks way too enticing.
“You’re staring,” he notes, watching me take a bite and chew carefully. His eyes show an authentic interest. “What’re you thinking?”
“I’m wondering who you are,” I say truthfully. “You don’t behave the way I’d expect.”
Sean ponders my question for a moment. “Then the problem is with your expectations, not how I behave.”
“So this is how it’ll be now? Like it’s normal for you to come into my house when I’m not home? For you to pick me up every day?”
Sean grins and strokes his chin. “What is normal?”
“It’s normal for me to at least know more about you. You seem to know everything about me.”
Sean stands and takes my now-empty dish from me. He sets it down and fills the sink with hot soapy water.
“You can ask me anything you want.” His face doesn’t show any hint of emotion and I can tell he doesn’t share information about himself easily as he starts to scrub the dish.
I ask the simplest thing I can think of: “What’s your last name?”
“Hunter,” he answers instantly.
“Fitting.” I smirk. “And … why do they call you Ax?”
“My middle name is Axel. There were three men named Sean in our unit. Ax was more identifiable. It stuck.”
“And you still have ties to that life? Marine friends?” I lean against the counter and fold my arms over my chest, watching as he works carefully to dry the dish, making sure to rid every drop of water from it, as if it’s his sole task.
“My club prez was a Corporal in my unit, and I’ve known him all my life. He’s as close to a brother as I can get.” Sean’s thoughts are somewhere else as he looks out my kitchen window and wrings out the dishcloth, folding it neatly before he brings his eyes to mine.
“How did you end up with the Hounds of Hell?”
I watch the muscles in Sean’s jaw tic. I’ve already noticed this happens when he’s in thinking mode.
I wait as he moves back to the kitchen table and picks up his cut, putting it on before coming back toward me.
I set my glass of water down, not sure what he’ll do next.
I’m quickly realizing that the moment he comes too close or takes over my space in any way—hell, even the moment he looks at me a little too hard—my pulse goes into overdrive and my brain stops working properly.
Sean stands in front of me, only inches away, and he studies my face for a moment before answering.
Meanwhile I’m frozen, watching his features in return, trying to understand him.
Straightforward and tough on the outside, but I can already tell he’s a deep well of things the outside world doesn’t get to see.
My eyes involuntarily drift to his neck, where there’s an inked phoenix, wings spread wide over the column of his tanned throat. I breathe him in, imagining the way his skin tastes—
“Another time.” He smirks, and his voice makes me flinch. “Now go get ready. You don’t want to be late for your appointment.” Those knowing green eyes drink in my momentary desire and fill with satisfaction.
I clear my throat and push him back. His warm, hard chest tempts me to keep my hands on it rather than drop them to my sides.
“That …” I remark, pointing up at him. “You knowing my schedule better than I do—that is not normal.” I move past him, listening to his chuckle as I head down the hall, trying to catch my breath.
I’m already in way over my head with Sean Hunter on day two of this arrangement—and even I know that that is not normal.