A Dangerously Sexy Secret. Stefanie London

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      “UH...HI,” HE SAID, his eyes darting down to her hands and widening.

      Crap. This was really not how Wren had imagined their first conversation would go. Especially not after Debbie had gotten the idea of having sex into her head. But he was topless, and boy, oh boy, had her dreams failed to do his body justice. His muscles had muscles of their own, and the gray towel he’d knotted at his waist hid very little. A spark of arousal flared low in her belly.

      “You’re bleeding,” he said, his eyebrows crinkled.

      “Oh yes. I, uh...cut myself.” A nervous laugh bubbled up in her throat but she pushed it down. No need to do anything else to convince him that she had a screw loose. “I don’t have any bandages in my house and I was wondering—”

      “Of course. Come in.” He held the door and let it swing shut behind her. “Let me grab my first-aid kit.”

      “Thank you.” Only then did the throbbing pain start to push through her giddy state. “I’m sorry I interrupted your shower. I should have thought to buy some bandages at the grocery store today.”

      But, as usual, she’d gone without a list. Or without any idea of what she needed or wanted to buy. Wren usually let the ingredients inspire her as she shopped—allowing her to make up her dinner menu on the fly—and that meant that important purchases like bandages and antiseptic lotions were often forgotten.

      He pulled a small white tin down from the top of his refrigerator and opened it up. The inside was neat and tidy, like a perfect Tetris arrangement of adulthood. Band-Aids, antiseptic wipes, burn lotion, cotton balls and gauze bandages all neatly packed in a way that made her feel slightly inadequate.

      “Show me.” He held out his hand and she gingerly removed the wadded-up kitchen towel.

      Blood immediately pooled in the slice along her palm, trailing along the crease in her skin and rushing toward the edge of her hand. She dabbed at it, but the paper was soaked through.

      “Let’s get that hand under some running water.” He led her to the bathroom sink, her skin sparking at the comforting way he touched her arm. “You’ve done a number on yourself. Thankfully, it doesn’t look too deep. You shouldn’t need stitches.”

      He held her hand under the running tap, the blood washing over her fingers and staining the water pink before it swirled down the drain. In the confines of the small room—which mirrored her own except for the simple gray shower curtain that hung in place of her own chaotic rainbow version—he was incredibly close. The scent of soap on his skin filled her nostrils and made her giddy.

      “Are you okay?” he asked as he pulled her hand out from under the water to inspect the cut. “You’re not going to faint, are you?”

      “No.” She shook her head. Thankfully, she could blame the wooziness on the blood—although the truth was it didn’t bother her in the slightest. She’d never been the squeamish sort. “I’m fine.”

      Mr. 401 disappeared for a moment and returned with the necessary first-aid items. Within moments, she was patched up and almost as good as new.

      “Thank you so much, uh...”

      “Rhys.” He stuck out his hand and she shook it as best she could with her injury.

      “Rhys,” she repeated, weighing the name in her mouth. It suited him—strong, masculine. Direct. “I’m Wren.”

      “The pleasure’s all mine, Wren.”

      She inspected the expertly applied bandage. “You’ve done that before, haven’t you?”

      “I do a little downhill mountain biking. Cuts and scrapes come with the territory.” When he smiled Wren felt like she was staring directly into the sun.

      “Well. I’m very grateful you’re so prepared.”

      “You make me sound like a Boy Scout.” His honey-brown eyes twinkled.

      Judging by the way her mouth had run dry and her heart galloped in her chest, Boy Scout was the last thing she would compare him to. Man Scout wasn’t a thing...was it?

      “That doesn’t seem to fit you,” she said, shocking herself with the flirty tone that came out of her mouth. God, if she didn’t watch herself she’d be twirling her hair around her finger and batting her eyelashes like some giddy schoolgirl.

      Get a grip, Livingston. He’s just a man...a hunky, incredibly well-defined, thrilling man.

      He chuckled, the low sound rumbling deep as thunder. It made her skin tingle. “What gives you that impression?”

      “Boy Scouts don’t usually have six-packs, do they?” Her tongue darted out involuntarily to moisten her lips.

      What alien had taken over her body?

      He didn’t seem in the least bit self-conscious of his near-naked state. Wren, on the other hand, might as well have been in her birthday suit for how exposed she felt. Funny, since the naked form appeared often in her artwork...but this didn’t compare with brushstrokes on a canvas. He was far too real, far too alight with sexual energy.

      His eyes swept over her with a languid slowness, smoothing over her hips and breasts and hair. “No, I guess they don’t.”

      “Can I offer you some dinner?” she blurted out. “I was making pizza when I cut myself and I’d like to thank you for coming to the rescue.”

      “There’s no need to thank me. That’s what neighbors are for, right?”

      At that moment she kind of hoped neighbors were for wild, hot, no-strings sex. “Please. I’m new and I’d love to have a friend in the building.”

      “Well, when you put it that way.” He grinned and Wren was quite sure her panties were about to melt into a puddle at her feet. “I’d love to. Give СКАЧАТЬ