Conception (The Wellingtons #4) - Tessa Teevan Page 0,3
hate to admit it, but I’m slightly charmed. And still pretty damn freaked out. I’m not sure if it’s his brawny good looks or the fact that he’s a complete and total stranger breaking into my car that has my heart pounding like a battle drum and my hands clammier than the first time Zach Street held my hand in the fifth grade. Either way, I position my keys in my hand the way Grams showed me if I ever have to attack someone with them.
Sure, it’d be a shame to scar that magnificent face, but it beats him wearing mine.
“Look, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he offers, and I notice a slight Southern drawl. “You just seemed spooked back there. I wouldn’t be the Southern gentleman my momma raised if I didn’t make sure you got home safely.”
I narrow my eyes at him, and he holds his palms up, resting his back against the passenger’s door as if he’s settling in for frickin’ teatime. “You thought to follow me home.”
His jaw twitches. “Now that you mention it, perhaps it wasn’t the brightest idea.”
“Ya think? Was it also your bright idea to get into the passenger’s side of a stranger’s car? You saw I made my destination. What’s with the intrusion?”
“Well, I was about to drive away, but then you just sat here. So I got curious.”
“You got curious.”
“Yeah, babe,” he drawls.
“Don’t call me that.”
He grins. Of course. “Why not? It’s the truth. Not sure what you see when you look in the mirror, but you’re a babe. Long, blond hair that I bet is smooth as silk if I run my fingers through it. Green eyes that are so damn gorgeous I’m still turned on when they’re tossing daggers in my direction.” His own dark eyes flick down to my lips, and the nerves in my belly awaken. “And those pretty, pouty lips? Well…I won’t tell you what I think about those.”
“Is this the part where you tell me your friends call you Leatherface and you’ve been looking for a face like mine?”
The man roars his head back with resounding laughter. I place my hand on the door handle, ready to make my escape by the time he sits forward.
He must see the panic in my eyes, because he quickly retreats. “Sorry. I’m sorry. I really didn’t mean to scare you.” He holds his hand up in some sort of salute. “Promise. Scout’s honor. I just wanted to make sure you were okay. Which, it looks like you are, so I’m gonna get going before you start screaming bloody murder and I get arrested on my first day in this Podunk town.”
I roll my eyes. “Considering there are about two cops in this town and they’re both probably currently sitting at Mae’s, drinking coffee, and eating pie, I doubt you have anything to worry about.”
His lips quirk up into a half smile. I try not to notice how incredibly handsome he is, with features far more masculine than my ex. From a squared jawline that’s growing stubble to sharp cheekbones I’m jealous of. His patrician nose, intense and chiseled, is like something carved during Roman times and meant to be on display in extravagant museums. Since he took in my lips, I don’t hesitate to do the same to him. They remind me of that fairy tale Mom loved telling me. Not too big or full. Not too small or thin. But just right. Plump enough for me to suck the bottom one, not large enough to swallow my face.
Down, girl, I tell myself.
I’ve been practically celibate for nearly a year now, and it’s starting to show. Considering that this is the first man to show me attention in that amount of time, I can’t blame myself.
What gets me the most? What has me wanting to lean in closer? His eyes. They’re the color of creamy milk chocolate, deep pools any woman could get lost in. When another flash of lightning lights up the sky, the illumination changes them to a lighter shade of honey.
My stomach rumbles along with another roll of thunder.
Hell, no wonder I’m likening this man to the most delectable foods.
I clear my throat and focus, realizing that he’s caught my thorough perusal. “I think Leatherface would much prefer yours than mine,” I tell him, immediately regretting the words.
“I think you should stop talking about a mute serial butcher who likes to wear his victims’ skins. You’re kind of giving me the creeps.”