Page 12 of Callan

And did he drive here?

Curious, I peek over the balustrade.

The neighbor’s car is still double-parked, with the hazard lights on and the driver’s door cracked open.

He’s lucky that no other car rolls down the street.

They could squeeze by, but his luck would be short-lived.

My neighbors are sticklers for the law when enforcing the parking rules, and they would definitely call the cops.

However, with my neighbor’s husband's violent temper, they might sit this one out.

Leaning forward, I check the other vehicles, not seeing anything unusual.

I’m not familiar with every car parked on the street, but I can only imagine the hunk over here would drive something flashy like him. And I don’t see anything flashy.

He probably came here on foot. Or he took a cab.

Let’s not forget he and the woman upstairs hooked up before they came here.

Okay.

A sigh escapes my lips, and a shiver sweeps through my frame, making me hastily pull back.

And that’s just my luck as I skid on a patch of snow and barely catch myself so I don’t land on my butt.

“Oh…”

My voice is clipped, and I panic as I risk falling backward.

Shooting my hand to the railing, I miss his boot by an inch before gripping the cold metal and yelping at the bite of the savage cold.

His pants rustle as he moves his boot to the side.

“What the fuck…” he grumps.

His raspy voice travels like a colony of fire ants down my spine, leaving dots of burning pleasure in their wake.

He wrestles with his slippery grip while I push back and freeze in the middle of the balcony, my hand locked around my phone, the incriminating evidence lodged in its memory, about to get me in trouble with this handsome man.

He is handsome––I can attest to that.

Despite my predicament––holding my robe over my chest, my lips dark blue by now, I suspect, and pretty much getting busted––I can tell the man is easy on the eyes.

His muscular neck leads to a chiseled jawline and sculpted cheekbones, and when he looks down, his fiery dark eyes and sultry lips seal the deal.

He’s handsome and pissed.

3

MACKENZIE

“Who the fuck are you?”he pushes under his breath, which is, by the way, great thinking on his part.

I’m sure his voice would sound like a thunderbolt in the land of fluttering snow if he didn’t do that.

“Are you asking me who I am?” I toss back at him in a muffled voice, pointing to my chest in a fit of outrage.

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