Page 5 of Swept Away
Wrecked with panic, I run my eyes over the road.
“Is this yours?” a deep, low voice rings across the street, and washed with disbelief, I drag my gaze to the man across from me.
The stranger I had watched from my window stands at the bottom of the stairs, about six feet and two inches tall, give or take, the small fluffy orange kitten wrapped around his hand like a koala.
The man has a steady piercing gaze that I’ve only seen in movies.
It’s the kind of stare that makes you do stupid things like walk across the street to chase a tiny baby cat wearing your most atrociously looking clothes.
Shorts and a tank top underneath, and a long, worn-out bathrobe clumsily tied around my waist.
My flyaway hair must look amazing now, sticking out and flying in the wind, not to mention my livid face.
Way to meet a sexy stranger.
“Are you going to cross the street and take it, or do you want me to keep it?” he asks with a faint smile on his face.
That’s the other thing about that kind of stare.
Once your eyes are locked with his, it feels like someone has put you under hypnosis, and your feet start moving in the direction that he wants.
I can’t move my eyes away from his.
And despite that, I still notice his soft smile, the way he keeps his head tilted down a little, and slightly to the side, and how he studies me, aware of the power of his gaze.
I wish I had that kind of power over the cat who moves his head and looks up at the stranger as mesmerized with him as I am.
“Sure. I’m coming.”
He moves his eyes up the road, and I do the same as another car heads our way.
A few seconds pass as he lifts his hand, signaling me to let it pass before even thinking about crossing the road and joining him.
His T-shirt now dangles from his belt, tied like a scarf, while his torso is even yummier than I thought.
He shifts his gaze back to me, and I become hostage to his subtle power.
When he looks at me, my life gets severely disrupted.
And it’s not only about my body warming under his eyes. Or my heart racing, and my breaths pacing.
Or the sticky sweat dotting my hairline.
I can’t think of anything else other than him.
His power over me may be benevolent, yet it’s still a little scary.
“You can come now…” he says, his raspy voice becoming armies of invisible ants that travel down my spine.
The play of words brings naughty things to the front of my mind.
It’s impossible not to smile.
It sounds like I can go to him because he has a surprise for me.
It also sounds like I can go to him because he’s no longer naked, which is not the case here.
Or it sounds like he’s simply telling me to come, which I haven’t done in a while, and I don’t even know what that feels like.
