Page 8 of When He Bites

Instead I’m attracted to a man who gives off sizzling serial killer vibes and looks like secrets and decadence. There must be something wrong with me. It’s the only explanation and it’s obvious that the Bryce’s didn’t do a good job when they tried curbing all my impulses.

Then again, they couldn’t foresee that someone like Mr. Rowe was going to come along and stir everything up, stir everything that I’ve suppressed. I bottled it up so that I would be able to walk down the aisle. Now whenever I think about the wedding all I see is Mr. Rowe and his sharp eyes and smart smirk that makes me feel like I’m the only girl he’s ever wanted in his whole life.

Which I know can’t be true because I’m not stupid. I know we’ve only met. I know he can’t feel something real for me but whenever he looks at me, there’s so much emotion in his dark eyes. It’s the kind of emotion that usually isn’t reserved for strangers but for old lovers and if I’m not careful I’m going to find it even more appealing than I already do.

If I allow him to, I know that he will lure me away from everything that I know and the saddest part is that had I not felt the need to respect the Bryce’s, I would have given him my hand and closed my eyes and not opened them until he tells me to.

But I can’t afford that luxury and I make an effort to not run into him. I avoid the living room where I hear him making small talk with Miss. Pattie and he makes her laugh because he’s charming and slick and sometimes even Mr. Bryce joins in despite rarely laughing at anything.

It’s obvious that Mr. Rowe has them wrapped around his finger. He has them fooled and only I know that he can’t be down here for house hunting. Around here he’s too big of a fish in a too small pond and he’d probably grow restless and agitated after a while. He’s the kind of man who enjoys a challenge and here there are very few challenges.

Other than me, I guess...

My stomach rumbles, reminding my brain that I’m hungry and I didn’t have any breakfast this morning. I couldn’t bring myself to go down to the kitchen because Mr. Rowe lingered like dark smoke. He was probably waiting for me to show up and I caught a glimpse of him before running away.

He was so handsome in his simple clothes that it made me all giddy. It made cook giddy too because she blushed like a little kid whenever he spoke to her and looked up at him with dreamy eyes just like Miss. Pattie does. He’s every woman’s dream. Except for mine because to me he is real. And sometimes pleasant daydreams can turn into ruthless bad ones.

Reckoning that the coast is clear, I make my way down to the kitchen, making sure to keep my steps light and I watch the rooms and corners in case Mr. Rowe shows up.

But I don’t do a very good job and I tense when he turns a corner and starts coming down the hallway with an expression on his face that makes him look like the cat that caught the canary. My limbs freeze but I can’t escape. I can’t turn and run away because that would be wretched and I can’t pretend that I don’t see him because I’m looking straight at him.

His lips curl into a smile and it already goes to my head and makes me feel woozy. I would have reached out to steady myself on something but I need to get a grip. I can’t keep acting like this around him.

“Good afternoon, Miss. Zinnia,” he says as rain starts to tap on the window and I want to curse. There goes my plan on spending the whole day outdoors.

“Afternoon, Mr. Rowe,” I breathe, turning my hands in front of me and when he notices I immediately stop and put them behind my back. His eyes roam down my body, blatantly since we’re alone and they get stuck around my throat before going to my face again.

“Pretty,” he says with a lot of emotion and a nod and my body almost goes comatose. What is he referring to? Me? But I put on my most basic, shapeless clothes...

He clears his throat, adding, “The painting. Behind you.”

“Oh...” I say a little relived and a little disappointed and my eyes flutter. “Of course, it was done by a local artist. He specializes in oil..,” I trail off in alarm when his body heat clashes against mine. ”What are you doing?”

I say that because Mr. Rowe has taken a step closer to me, almost cornering me and he’s so close that it makes me wonder whether he can hear my heart beat. It’s pounding so hard that it feels like a threat to my life.

“I’m not doing anything,” he rasps, sounding very debase, “only admiring the art.”

I swallow. “But you’re not looking at the art.” He’s looking at me and he looks at me like he feels the hunger. The hunger that is not easily quenched because it is not physical or emotional or mental. It’s all of those things at once.

His gaze meets mine and my heart travels up to my throat and he raises his brows. “Aren’t I?”

He deliberately adjusts himself in front of me and I put a hand over my mouth in bewilderment. I’ve never seen a male do that. Ever. And every little part of my body goes into turmoil that I have troubles curbing.

With another polite smile as if nothing happened, Mr. Rowe walks away and I breathe out, panting harshly. What just happened? Maybe men do that whenever they feel need but I don’t think that was the case with Mr. Rowe.

I think he did it to show me what he wants. And what he’s going to make sure he gets.

****

Mr. Rowe has been living with us for several days now. I avoid him of course because I don’t like the way he looks at me. He looks at me like he owns me and has a right to me. And as soon as he pierces me with his eyes, I feel disloyal to the Bryce’s because a part of me wants to be his more than it wants to be theirs.

If we happen to bump in to each other, he always makes sure to act like a proper gentleman. He stands up when I walk into a room, holds up the door for me and whenever we’re forced to converse during dinner he never makes any comments about how standoffish I’m being.

But I can sense that his patience is running out. Yesterday, I walked out of dinner even before the main course and while Mr. Rowe only nodded and tensely smiled, I could tell that my behavior is getting on his nerves.

He wants me to fawn over him, as I am sure that many girls in my place would have but I don’t. Instead I always make sure to keep my bedroom door locked, remembering what he told me about that nothing could keep him out if he wants in.

Grabbing my hat, I’m about to go for a stroll on the grounds when rains starts pouring down and I sigh. It’s been like this for days. Ever since Mr. Rowe arrived. Almost like the weather is on his side and wants to keep me in his presence...

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