Page 39 of Six
I grunt at the delicious smell of toasted bread, eggs, and bacon, and demolish the sandwiches quickly under Ollie’s pleased smile. He even gives me half of his, and I’m only happy not to waste food.
“How do you feel?” I ask him when my stomach is full.
“So much better. Thank you by the way. For all you’ve done.” He averts his eyes. The blush on his cheeks gives away his embarrassment. Further confirmation of the fact that he isn’t used to people doing things for him.
“No need.”
“Yes, need; don’t know where I would be if you hadn’t find me.” His gaze gets lost for a few seconds, but then a mischievous smirk paints his lips. “Probably would have ended up doing something stupid.”
The thought fucking angers me. But he chuckles softly while shaking his head, and the sudden happy sounds soothe my mercurial temper.
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to upset you. Although I really enjoy your growly attitude.”
I sigh, puzzled by my response to him. From the fucking beginning he unsettled me. His fearless behavior, the boldness in his words, and the vulnerability he carries around in his eyes, which he tries so hard to hide behind his cockiness. He’s unpredictable, broken into so many parts that he somehow put back together again, creating a disarming, unique, fucking beautiful human being.
“You’re wearing my shirt.”
His hand smooths down the fabric. “Yes. I hope you don’t mind me rifling around your closet. It’s cold as balls, beastie. And I can’t find the clothes I came here in.”
He means the few old Cinderella-rags he owns. And fuck no, I don’t mind if the result is this hot.
“They’re in the laundry room. But I threw away the vest.”
“What? Why?” he hisses.
“It was falling apart. I’ll buy you a new one.” I shrug.
“I don’t need you to buy me stuff!” He huffs indignantly.
“Good ’coz you look cute like this, kitty.” I cover my smile, sipping from my mug.
“Cute?” He scrunches up his nose like I offended him. “And stop calling me kitty, beast!”
Never.“I like you in my clothes,” I confess. Actually, I fucking love it. Our scents are mixed when he wears them. And the combination is like a damn drug. More, the thought of other people smelling me on him makes me so damn smug and fucking horny.
His face has turned red, making him look young and almost angelic.Almost.His snarky attitude belongs more to a feisty demon than an angel.
I take pity on him and change the subject. “You should make four more sandwiches.”
“Wow, I know you’re big, but how much energy does your body need?”
“Two are for you.” When he frowns, I keep going,“ I found you a job if you’re interested.”
He springs up on his chair, eyes filled with interest. “You did?”
“There’s a building in need of being torn down, and I need an extra hand. Interested?”
He opens and closes his mouth.
“I own a construction and demolition company,” I explain, but he still just stares at me, almost in shock. Then he jumps off his chair and wraps his arms around my shoulders. I stiffen at the feel of his hands near my neck, dangerously close to my scars.
But before I can react, he pulls back with a beaming smile plastered on his face—the one with the brackets at the corners of his mouth. And all the uneasiness is washed away.
“Does offering you a job make your brain faulty?” I tease him, using a serious tone.
He puffs his cheeks and then mumbles something about a stupid beast with a huge zucchini, and I, Raguel Carver, have to stifle another laugh. The last time I fully chuckled was months ago when Rami dropped one of his hot beverages on Gabe’s crouch. The sight of my stick-in-the-ass brother walking out of the café looking like he pissed his pants was too hilarious to resist. That was a once in a blue moon occurrence.
But Ollie pulls smiles and laughs out of me like confetti. And my obsession with him is growing exponentially.
