superior officer were indeed hate-fucking on the Derbyshire peat desk, and even though Ruth preferred a fade-to-black style—it made securing ad revenue for her website much easier—she allowed herself to sketch out all the gory sexual details, just for the hell of it.
It wasn’t that she liked alien sex. She just liked drawing weird shit.
Everything was flowing beautifully until, for what felt like the thousandth fucking time—but was probably only the second—she heard her next-door neighbour’s front door open.
Yes; the walls were so thin, she could hear Aly Harper’s door open and shut. Amongst other things.
But Ruth could’ve shaken off that distraction—if it weren’t followed by a knock at her own door.
“For God’s sake,” she muttered, setting her tablet aside. “I should ignore her. It would serve her right.”
The empty flat maintained a judgemental silence.
Ruth had a policy, when it came to knocked doors: she didn’t answer them. She didn’t enjoy speaking to people willy-nilly. Anyone who wanted to see her could arrange it well in advance, preferably via text or email.
Plus, the girl next-door was, frankly, a bitch.
But since Aly disliked Ruth as much as Ruth disliked Aly, she supposed this must be some sort of emergency. And if someone was dying—even if that someone was a bitch—Ruth rather thought it her Christian duty to pretend to care.
With a resigned sigh, Ruth slid off her glasses and got up.
She answered the door in her oversized pyjamas and fluffy sleep socks, a blank expression on her face because it was better than a scowl. Hannah would tell her to smile, but Ruth only ever smiled by accident.
When she saw who was standing on her doorstep, she wished she’d worn the scowl after all.
Aly Harper’s annoying, familiar face was nowhere to be found. Instead, a beautiful man stood in her place.
Ruth’s mind said, Holy shit.
And that jogged her memory, helped her recognise the face. If she hadn’t been so shocked, she’d be proud of herself; recognising new faces was hard.
Then again, this one was difficult to forget.
The stranger from the car park seemed even more handsome than before. Maybe it was due to the dying sunlight that spilled into the corridor, burnishing the golden strands in his dark-blonde hair. Perhaps it was the way his shirt stretched over his broad chest, or the fact that his sleeves were rolled up to display thick, tattooed forearms.
Or maybe it was the huge, foil-covered dish in his hands that tipped him over the edge of perfection. The smell emanating from that dish made Ruth’s mouth water almost as much as the stranger’s firm biceps.
“It’s you,” he said. His voice was quiet, as if he’d spoken more to himself than to be heard. A frown furrowed his brow, but he smoothed it away almost instantly, straightening his spine. Since his posture was already excellent, this had the disturbing effect of making him look like a toy soldier.
A very attractive toy soldier whom Ruth, if given half the chance, would climb like a tree.
Oh, dear.
He offered her a genuine smile, the sort usually found on the faces of ordinary and unassuming men of strong moral fibre. She had never seen such a smile on a man gorgeous enough to take over the world. The combination was unnerving.
Sex appeal or sweetness. You can’t have both.
Apparently, this guy could.
“Where’s Aly?” she demanded. Because she had heard 1B’s door open. Perhaps this was Aly’s boyfriend.
I hope he’s not Aly’s boyfriend.
The man’s brows rose. “Who?”
“The girl next door.”
“Oh, well, actually… I live next door. I just moved in. It’s nice to meet you again, by the way.” He hefted the Pyrex dish in his arms, as if she could’ve missed it. “I made you a shepherd’s pie.”
Ruth stared. Mostly at the pie, but also at the way his long, blunt fingers gripped the edges of the dish. She wondered when Aly had left, then decided she didn’t really care.
Her mouth slightly dry, she said, “Shepherd’s pie?”
“Yeah. Just to say hi.” He flashed another of those achingly earnest smiles.
“We already met,” she said flatly, clutching the edge of the door. It was sturdy and solid, its edges hard enough against her palm to keep her wits sharp.
She hoped.
At the mention of their previous meeting, a shadow passed over his face. “I am sorry about that,” he said, and for a second, she wondered if he meant it. If he really felt bad.
The thought disappeared as quickly as it had come. This man had been with Daniel. He was probably just like