Page 5 of The Landlord
My heart hammers against my ribs.
"I'll get him," he says, his voice low. "He might be a little ... territorial with you."
That's putting it mildly. Last month, Doug snarled at me for a solid five minutes because I had the audacity to use the elevator at the same time as him.
Damien steps fully into my apartment, and I follow, suddenly hyperaware of how my space looks through his eyes. The yarn everywhere, organized by color in the cubbies he installed for me. My filming chair positioned by the window. The half-finished blanket draped over my couch and Diana's sweater under it. Does it look messy? Childish? Too much?
"Doug," Damien calls. "Come here."
A growl emerges from somewhere near my bedroom. Great. He's probably peeing on my bed in revenge for some perceived slight.
"I'll check the bedroom," I say, setting the package down on my coffee table and trying to act like I'm not still dying of embarrassment.
I move toward my bedroom, my heart racing for multiple reasons now. Embarrassment about the dildo. Anxiety aboutDoug. And a persistent, throbbing awareness of Damien in my space, taking up room with his broad shoulders and oozing sex appeal.
I flip on my bedroom light and scan the room. No sign of Doug. But my yarn basket has been knocked over, balls of soft merino rolling across the floor.
"Not in here," I say. "But he's been here."
I turn to leave and nearly collide with Damien, who's appeared in the doorway. My hands come up instinctively, pressing against his chest to steady myself. His heart beats strong and steady under my palm.
Oh God, oh God, oh God. He's all muscles, and I need to pull away, but I can't. I want to keep touching him. How is his chest so hard?
"Sorry," I whisper, pulling my hand away reluctantly.
"Don't be," he says, his voice equally soft. Something in his eyes makes my breath stutter. With the way he looks at me, as though he's peeling off every layer of clothing, it makes me feel like the floor under my feet is gone, and I'm just sliding through the space, with nothing to break my fall.
Nothing, except…
Another growl breaks the moment. We both turn to see Doug under my bed, only his beady eyes reflecting visible in the shadows.
"Doug," Damien says sharply. "Out. Now."
The dog doesn't move.
"He doesn't usually disobey," Damien says, sounding genuinely puzzled. "I'll need to get down there."
He drops to his knees beside my bed, and I swallow hard at the sight. His t-shirt rides up slightly as he bends, revealing a strip of tanned skin and the waistband of his boxer briefs. I force myself to look away before he catches me staring.
"Hey buddy," he says to Doug, his voice gentler now. "What are you doing? Come out of there."
The growling intensifies.
"I think he hates me," I say. "He always has."
Damien glances up at me. "He's protective. Takes a while to warm up to people."
"It's been two months."
"He's ... thorough in his assessment."
Despite everything, I laugh. "Is that what we're calling it?"
Damien's lips curve into a real smile—not a smirk, but something genuine that transforms his face. My stomach does a little flip. God, he's way too handsome for my sanity.
"He'll come around," Damien says, turning back to the bed. "Doug, seriously. Out."
The dog remains stubbornly in place.
