Page 13 of Villainous Summer

At this rate, I couldn’t avoid being seen. I willed my server to stop flirting.

The sooner I could finish my food, the sooner I’d be on my threadbare couch watching The West Wing.

Josh Lyman wouldn’t do me wrong.

With a shaking hand, I sipped my wine and trained my eyes to stay on my book. Viscount Rodolphe was easing Beatrice’s chemise off her shoulder. As this was my third time reading this book, I knew biggest gossip in the Ton would soon interrupt them.

“You changed your hair,” the deep voice sounded.

He stood beside my booth, looking at me.

From my vantage point, he was eight feet tall. And big—all over. His crotch was directly at my eyeline. It was difficult to tell whether that bulge was odd-fitting jeans or if he was majorly packing. Judging by his mere size, it was likely the latter. For a moment, I wondered what those strong thighs would feel like between my own.

Don’t be thinking about this stranger’s dick right now.

Blinking away my lusty thoughts, I craned my neck to look at him.

Those startling gray eyes boring into mine, rimmed with long dark lashes. The kind of lashes that women spent hundreds of dollars on. Life wasn’t fair.

“Do I know you?” I feigned innocence.

“Nice try, little thief. I’d recognize you, new hair or not.”

“I didn’t steal anything.” Sending invisible messages for him to go away, I looked back at my phone.

It was embarrassing enough that he showed up here, but did he have to call me out for my terrible behavior in my favorite restaurant?

He slid onto the other bench, set his beer on the table, and folded his hands.

Scratches and white scars riddled his knuckles. Working-man’s hands. He was tinkering with something greasy when he found me in his home. I bet he worked in manual labor and that those hands wanted to wring my neck for showing up in his house.

My father had working-man’s hands, never clean enough, even after scrubbing them with the orange-scented grit.

“What are you doing? I didn’t ask you to join me.”

He shrugged. “I was about to place a to-go order for dinner and have a beer at the bar and then I saw you.”

“And?” I asked, not bothering to hide my annoyance.

Sure, I had barged in on this man in his home, but the time for him to be upset had long passed.

“You looked like you could use a rescue.”

“I don’t nee—” Scowling, I set my phone face down. “I was reading a book. Despite what men may think, a woman sitting alone is not an invitation for company.”

The comment didn’t seem to bother him.

“I was going to stop by your house, since I know your address from your check, but here you are.” Instead, a glint of mischief flashed in his eyes. “And it felt like fate.”

“Fate?” I snorted.

Fate was for my dreamy cousin, Autumn—and for my mother, who flitted around Southern California in her camper van, never knowing where the road would take her and sending me birthday cards a month late.

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. And yesterday, my cheating ex tried to proposition me.”

Sitting across from me, he studied my face. “You owe me a favor. I’m here to collect.”

Brow raised, I took a tentative sip of my wine and waited for him.

---