as I climb the steps, taking in the immaculate grass and the clean, sleek look of his porch. Whoever he is, he obviously takes excellent care of his house and lawn. Clearing my throat, I ring the doorbell and square my shoulders, wanting to make a worthy first impression.
It’s silent, save for the loud barking at the fence.
No sound of footsteps.
My brows dip.
Okay, let’s just knock. If he’s not home, I’ll leave the cake.
I rap my knuckles on the door three times and wait again. Still nothing. I’m just about to turn on my heels, when the door swings open with a frustrated sound that can only be described as a low growl.
Time suddenly stops.
The foundation shifts beneath my feet.
Tension crackles in the air. My eyes grow impossibly round, and my mouth drops open in shock.
Standing there—with droplets of water rolling down a toned chest, trickling over abs that are impossible to look away from—is my neighbor. My very hot neighbor. There’s a script tattoo over his right pec, but I can’t be too sure what it says. And suddenly, the thought of asking seems a bit inappropriate. He hovers in the doorway like a giant, and I gape at his height. He has to be at least six feet four, or five. Usually, everyone towers over me, seeing as I’m only five foot two on a good day, but this guy? That’s not the case at all. Hell, the top of his head is damn near grazing the top part of the doorframe. With a mind of their own, my eyes trail down his impossibly long body.
Suddenly, the thought of this individual naked, with water rolling down his fine body in a shower, makes me flush hot, and I’m uncomfortable with the fact that I’m this attracted to someone I don’t even know.
I swallow thickly.
Well, now I know who rides the motorcycle.
For a long beat, I forget how to speak. I even forget how to breathe. I inhale a sharp breath, when a tight pain travels down the center of my chest, reminding me to breathe. Slowly, I drag my gaze up the tan, toned body to a pair of bored ice blue eyes. The guy is handsome. Painfully handsome. I didn’t think it was possible for his face to get any better than his body, but, obviously, I was wrong. His face is so much better than I could’ve expected.
The color of his eyes are so bright, it’s as if he’s wearing colored contacts, and I’m finding it hard to look away. His strong and bold brows arch over luminous, furious eyes. He’s got cheekbones I’d kill for. And succulent lips pursed into a tight, stern line. His hair is a dark chocolate brown, shaggier on top than it is at the sides. The dark strands look like he’s just ran his hand through it; yet, somehow, it looks incredibly good on him.
“H-Hi, I’m Olivia Hales. The new neighbor. Next door,” I fumble, snapping out of my ogling. “I just wanted to bring over the cake I made. I know it’s usually the other way around, as housewarming gifts for new neighbors, but I thought it would be refreshing to do things differently.”
With his hand gripped around the knot of the towel, just above the light smattering of dark hair that dips below, and droplets of water still dripping on his pristine hardwood floors—it doesn’t escape my notice they’re the exact shade I wanted for my own home—the man continues to stare at me. Scratch that, the man is practically glaring into my soul. I can feel the waves of unrestrained anger percolating in the air around us. No outward expression. No interest. For a second, I didn’t think he even heard what I said.
I open my mouth, but freeze, when I see the tic in his jaw. The sharp slope becomes even more lethal, and it’s almost distracting to stare at. The man is like a goddamn descendant of a Greek god.
At my gawking silence, his mouth twists with frustration, maybe annoyance, I’m not even sure, but it’s enough to make my smile and positive spirit falter. I shift awkwardly on my feet, the weight of the cake suddenly growing heavy in my hands.
“I, um, I would probably set it inside. It’s a little warm out today.”
And, once again, nothing. Not a damn word. He still hasn’t even given me his name, for Christ’s sake. He just continues glaring down at me. The sharp features of his