Obsessed (The Protectors #13) - Sloane Kennedy Page 0,24

at Home Depot one day while I was looking for some hanging flowerpots for my front porch and I just had to have it. I mean, in what world is a garden shed an impulse buy at the checkout aisle? My world, apparently."

I found myself inwardly smiling at Sam's rambling. I had no clue why it brought me such a strange sense of comfort, but it did. Maybe I was just glad he wasn't asking me the dreaded question of what I was doing there. I was sure that question would eventually come, but in the meantime, I’d enjoy every second of the momentary reprieve.

"I think it's because it matches the house. I mean, not exactly, but the trim is close, and I liked how the windows were circular. Maybe it reminded me of a dollhouse or something. I don't know. I always wanted a dollhouse as a kid, one with circular windows, but that was a big no-no because boys weren’t supposed to want dollhouses…" Sam let out a laugh that sounded more nervous than anything else. Then he went quiet.

Which was unacceptable to me, though I didn't really know why.

I cleared my throat and said, "The windows are nice, but they’re a bitch to replace."

Jesus, Matias, was that really the best you could come up with?

"Oh, um, I didn't realize that. I told you, I could hire someone to do this… I mean, I'll pay you, of course, but I'm just saying that if you don't have the time or the desire to—"

I glanced over my shoulder at him, which effectively silenced him. I was surprised to see that he was holding two bottles of beer in his hands. Was that the reason he'd come out here? To bring me a beer?

"I broke it, I fix it," I reminded him. I inwardly cursed when Sam's expression fell even further. God, why couldn't I just say the right thing? And why was it so important to me that I wanted to? I’d never once given a shit what people thought of me. Hell, my dad had spent years trying to beat certain words out of me. He’d never succeeded, of course. But definitely not from a lack of trying.

"Is that for me?" I finally asked, because I couldn't come up with anything better to break the tension that had arisen between us. Not that there wasn't always tension between us, but when Sam went silent, it was never a good thing.

"What? Oh, yeah, I brought you this. I don't even know if you drink. I mean, I don't very often, but I figured if I've ever earned the few extra calories, it would be this week." He let out a nervous laugh. I couldn't help but let my eyes trail up and down his body. He might not have been a gym rat, but I couldn't imagine him as anything other than perfect. The hunger that was an always present thing around Sam intensified and I found myself lowering the hammer in my hand as I stepped closer to him. I loved hearing him suck in a breath as I did so. He was so damn easy to read. And so fucking responsive. I thought about the way he'd come apart for me a few days earlier.

God, had it only been a handful of days since I'd had him?

"This is good," I managed to say as I took the longnecked bottle from him, making sure that my fingers touched his in the process. I'd told myself the night before that I needed to keep my distance from the man, but I might as well have tried to stop the tide from coming in. He was like a drug to me and I was more than eager to become addicted to him. But I also remembered the way he'd tried to crawl into the wall after our encounter, sobbing and begging me not to touch him. In the past few days, I'd tried to convince myself that I just had no interest in pursuing a man who was still hung up on his dead husband, but that stupid little niggle in my brain was proof otherwise. So was the fact that I was still here. I could've had Sam the night before. I'd known that from the way he’d looked at me as we’d stood by his kitchen window. He'd been mine for the taking. I’d been practically shaking with the need to touch him, to consume him, to make