He seems to recall why he’s here and his gaze turns cold and sharp as he looks around. “Like I said, I’m looking for Mark Fletcher. And you are?”
“I’m his daughter,” I reply.
He looks momentarily surprised, then his eyes narrow when I don’t add the obvious. “Your name, princess,” he snaps.
Tell him to go hell. Hell, if you bolt for the living room now, you can grab the phone and hit 9-1-1 before he catches you.
Giants like him tend to be ungainly on their feet, right?
“Don’t even think about it,” he breathes. The warning isn’t the deadly, terror-inducing kind. It’s almost as if he’s making a benign suggestion. Which should probably scare me even more but it’s like I left my self-preservation instincts upstairs in bed when I rushed down to the front door.
“You have my word that I don’t mean you any harm. My business is…” He stops and his eyes flash over my legs, then burn with an emotion that heats my own blood. “Waswith your father. Now answer my question, honey.”
His voice is gruffer, and when he adjusts his stance, I see the huge bulge behind his fly.
I try to maintain my glare, ignoring the snap, crackle and pop my belly does every time my eyes meet his.
He’s a stranger in my home—granted, a seriouslyhotstranger—and he has no right to be barking demands at me. “You first.”
He hesitates for a beat. “I’m Brock,” he says, his gaze suddenly watchful.
Of course he is.
The name suits him down to a T. He’s built like a Brock. From the tips of his hair to the endless muscles, to the sturdy but expensive boots his jeans cuffs rest on.
He clears his throat and I realize my eyes have been blatantly trailing up and down his body. Heat stings my cheeks and I fight not to rub my far-too-hot thighs together. “I’m Goldie.”
He shifts when I say my name, like it affects him the same way his name affected me.
“Now that we’ve got that out of the way, Goldie, tell me where your father is.”
“What do you want with him?”
His lips purse. “It’s private.”
The way he grates the words makes my belly flip over. His tone brooks no argument and I answer, telling myself I’m not divulging anything specific or confidential.
“He left me a note to say he was going out of town for the weekend. He’ll be back on Monday. And don’t ask me where. I was on a plane back home when he left.”
“Plane back from where?” he pushes.
I sigh and drag my fingers through my hair. “Gap year in Europe and South America. I finished my last stint in Costa Rica. I got back late last night. Now if the third degree is over, will you leave my house, please? I can tell Dad that you were here looking for him, if you want.”
He goes silent and even more watchful than before. “No, you’ll do no such thing, little girl,” he says after an age.
For some reason the words change the atmosphere, fills it with shiver-inducing intent.
Maybe it’s thelittle girlhe insists on calling me, just like that porn guy did in the taboo videoclip.
The heat between my legs takes on a different tempo, and my pussy starts to throb. “What do you mean? Why not?”
“It means I don’t want to ruin the surprise.”
“Why don’t I believe that?” I taunt.
A quicksilver smile tugs up one side of his lips before his grave expression returns. “Oh, trust me, he’ll be plenty surprised to see me. But I can’t guarantee it’ll be pleasant.”
“And what’s to stop me from calling to tell him the moment you leave?”
“Because he’ll want our meeting to be kept private. And if you warn him, I might not feel inclined to grant him that courtesy.”
Before I can do or say anything to that, his hand is rising, coming up to my face.
My breath catches all over again when he drags his knuckles down my cheek. I can’t help the shiver that tumbles through me and pools in my lady parts or the gasp that parts my lips.
“Fuck me, but you’re breathtaking.” This voice is like rumbling thunder. Ominous but fascinating. “Hands down, honey. Show me those juicy titties.”
Heat blazes through me at his words and astonishingly my hands start to move, to obey before I come to my senses.
This guy is a stranger!