Page 11 of Living Hell

“Why do you sound breathy? Are you running?”

I cleared my throat. “No. Never mind . . . The vet claims he owns the house. And I’ve seen the paperwork; it looks legal. He said he signed the paperwork yesterday, same time as you.”

There was silence, which wasn’t at all like Babette. She always knew what to say and how to say it.

“Give me a minute, I.D. I’ll call you back.”

She ended the call and for a moment, I worried that Tyler was in the right. That I would be the one leaving this house apologizing, not him.

I thought the worst-case scenario coming back here was running into him. When Babette told me yesterday that she bought my old house in my hometown, I wanted to run in the opposite direction. It turned from bad to worse when Cara explained that she’d have to take care of things in Hollywood before she could come out to be with me on the East Coast. Being here alone was a fear but not my worst fear. That was running into Tyler Ferguson—the man that took my virginity, told me he would never let me go, and then ghosted me.

Never had I imagined that it would be worse by him walking in on me naked in the bathroom and kicking me out of my house.

I longed for the innocence of an hour ago.

“If you think you can sic your Hollywood lawyer on me—”

“That was my agent. She’s the one who bought the house. She’s letting me stay here for a while.”

He pushed back from the mantel and smiled. “You mean you don’t even own the house? That’s wonderful. I can deal with her directly and you can leave.”

“Leave? Oh, I’m not leaving.”

I wanted to leave. Go back out West where at least I fit in with the weird bunch of glittery misfits. They all had some painful past that they were trying to appease with fame. As if celebrity status suddenly made them truly loved or something.

I wasn’t looking for love. That was a joke. Love didn’t actually exist. At least, not the kind that was fulfilling. If a person was stupid enough to be entangled by love, whether from one person or several people, then it would only cause pain. They all left in the end.

Tyler stepped forward but this time, instead of being ensnared by his hypnotic scent, I backed away until my shoulders hit something hard—the fireplace mantel.

That had been updated, too. No longer the simple red brick with a black grate in front, but now a light gray slate with a black wooden mantel.

Everything around me was reminders of my past. Since I left, life had moved on and improved, except for Tyler. On the outside, he appeared to be the handsome and fit man I always thought he’d turn into, but inside, his once fun-loving personality had wilted into a jerk.

I shrugged. “I got here first.”

Petty, I knew, but I wasn’t going to let this man take what belonged to my agent. He hurt me. Fine. But he would not go after the people who were like family to me. Babette may not be lovable, but she was fiercely protective and smart. Not a bad person to have on your side.

“It’s not about who got here first. I have the legal documents and you don’t.”

He moved as quick as the beat of my heart and I was pinned. Behind me, the fireplace, the mantel digging into my back. In front of me, a wall of hot man. I lifted a finger and poked his chest. It was hard, and that did something to me. Not the thing I wanted it to do like bring up my woman shield to prepare for attack. If anything, it weakened me. My legs felt rubbery, and I hated them for it.

“You are in my space.” I poked him again.

He didn’t even flinch. Tyler grabbed my finger and held it against the mantel, leaving only my other hand free. I wanted it to run and get help, but it was tied to my body so no chance of that.

His eyes dipped to my mouth. “You are in my house.” It was the way he stared at me that caused my body to fight all logic. I should shove him away. His grip wasn’t tight, it was laughably loose. And he hadn’t really pinned me, more like he was in my space. I could slide to the side and step away from him.

The humiliating part was, I wanted him to pin me. I wanted his stare to turn into his lips and make their way to mine. I wanted dirty, filthy things to fall out of his mouth right before he took me.

Damn it, I wanted that kiss I was promised so long ago.

Perhaps if I had more of a social life, then my mouth wouldn’t crave the lips of a man refusing to leave my home. A man who I desperately wanted to hate, who I had despised for eleven years, but somehow, standing so close didn’t seem that bad.

At least to make out with and maybe rub up against each other in an intense way. And if our clothes caught fire and we had to remove them, that wouldn’t be so bad, either.

Tyler was reading my mind because his lips were within stink range—that’s when you can smell a person’s breath because of your proximity to their mouth.

Most actors and actresses prepare for stink range filming by having a clean mouth, not eating bad breath inducing foods, and sucking on breath mints. Except for Albert Harston, who did the opposite because he had the mentality of a squirrel.

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