Recalled (43 page)

BOOK: Recalled

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Spencer rolled his tongue over his teeth in a manner that suggested he was laughing at her on the inside. His thick, dark lashes lowered so he was peering very dangerously at her through them, as he tapped a finger thoughtfully over his bottom lip—a very firm, sexy lip, too. Then, in a tone that probably should have been illegal, he purred, “Down kitty.”

“What were you looking for, Spence?” Jackie quickly interjected before Sophie could open her mouth again.

Spencer, with a flick of his lashes, turned his gaze to his mother. “The black duffle with my clothes.”

Jackie’s hands fluttered up into the air. “Oh! Yes! Yes!” She turned towards the dining room, hands still fluttering, beckoning. “Over here. The movers left it on the table. I was going to ask you to come get it, but…” she trailed off and did that tittering thing again. “You beat me to it.”

Spencer stole another glance at Sophie. The left corner of his lips twisted upwards again in that arrogant smirk of his, as he pushed into the cramped kitchen. It took Sophie all of two seconds to realize she was trapped in a narrow path with no way to dodge his approach, short of throwing herself over the mountain of boxes or crawling up on the table—both of which were looking extremely tempting just then. She scrambled back three steps and nearly tumbled backwards over a box. She might have made an embarrassing sound like a mouse being trodden on as her arms pin wheeled, her body fighting against gravity. She would have gone down had it not been for the blunt fingers that clamped down on her hips, making her wobble and latch on to the only solid object available, which turned out to be his shoulders. Sharp slivers of electricity spiked up through each fingertip upon contact, shooting up her arm and imploding somewhere deep inside her, showering her skin with goose bumps. It was a struggle not to succumb to the shiver working its way up her spine. She bit her lip to repress the gasp bouncing on the tip of her tongue, preparing to do a swan dive off her lips.

The heat beneath her fingers flexed, pale, taut and smooth and oh so distracting. Her near tumble was momentarily forgotten as she battled with the urge to follow the hard slope of his shoulders down to the ridged muscles of his arms. She bit back a dreamy sigh as her body was pulled forward, closer into his and steadied. It was so not fair that a body like that belonged to such a jerk. There should have been laws preventing such tragedy.

“Careful, Blondie.” There was no amusement in his words this time, no arrogance or mockery. It vibrated with something deep and primal. Sophie shivered before she could stop herself.

The ten fingers gripping her sides tightened, driving pressure into her already muddled thoughts as all her attention melted down to where he was touching her. His fingers. His thighs. His heat. His eyes.

Damn it! Damn it! Damn it!

“I can show you more if you like what you see,” he said in a whisper just for her ears.

Sophie blinked, walloped upside the head by reality. She bristled, smacking his hands away. “Hands off, pal.”

Straight, white teeth flashed in a knee-dissolving smirk. He dropped his head an inch so she was forced to hold her breath or suffer breathing in his delicious scent of spices, smoke and shampoo. “You only say that because you’ve never had my hands on you.”

Heat swept into her cheeks, propelling her to speak. “Which is perfectly fine! I’d rather swim in shark infested waters with a bloody leg.”

He snickered. “You already are.”

Amused by her stunned expression, he nimbly squeezed past her, somehow brushing every inch of her in the process. He sidestepped her mother and ducked into the dining room.

Sophie hissed through her teeth, her gaze swinging wildly around for that blunt instrument. But all that was lying around were boxes and crumpled pieces of newspaper and magazines. Nothing remotely violent enough. She caught her mother’s gaze and growled low in her throat when she was given a subtle shake of the head and a very clear,
Be nice!
warning. She glared at her mother before turning her attention back to the object of her distaste. She watched as he hooked his hand through the straps of a hockey bag, hoisted it over his shoulder and stalked back in her direction. It took all of her resolve not to crawl on top of the boxes in escape.

He paused midway between her and her mother and glanced back. “It was nice to meet you,” he told her mother with all the innocence and manners of a choirboy. Then he turned to Sophie and his face instantly morphed into one she wanted to either smack or… no, no
or
, she definitely wanted to smack. His dark eyes took her in from head to toe, somehow sending off all the warning bells throughout her body, before giving her that arrogant grin of his. “Later, Blondie.”

“It’s Sophie!” But he was gone and Sophie was left glowering at the empty air in the doorway, wishing she’d thought to trip him in passing.

“I am so sorry!” Jackie said in a rush, dainty hands wringing together in front of her. “I promise he’s not normally like that. This move and the divorce have been so hard on him.”

Her mother went into instant sympathy mode. She slung her arm around the other woman’s tiny shoulders and led her into the dining room. Sophie watched, slightly annoyed, slightly amused, as Jackie was guided into a chair. Her mother made quiet cooing sounds, like a mother trying to soothe a small, hurt child.

“Sophie, why don’t you bring us over some coffee?”

Jackie leapt to her feet. “Oh my, where are my manners? I am so sorry. Please, let me just get the pot together. I’m afraid I don’t have anything to go with it, but…”

“Oh it’s perfectly fine! I made some double chocolate cake this morning. Sophie can run and grab it while we have a nice chat!” Her mother turned her green eyes on Sophie and smiled.

Having been given her orders, Sophie left the kitchen. In passing, she darted a quick glance up the stairs and started to find Mr. Gorgeous-Jerkface looming at the top, propped up against the wall with his shoulder. He had his arms folded, still bare chested, his duffle at his feet. He caught Sophie’s gaze.

She scowled. “Shouldn’t you be torturing kittens or kicking puppies?” she asked. “And why aren’t you dressed yet?” The last question really shouldn’t have been said out loud and she mentally kicked herself the moment the question spilled free.

The smile was slow, creeping across his face with such intensity that she had an unexpected understanding of how natural disasters took people by surprise.

“Am I distracting you?”

Concealing her flush by folding her arms, Sophie raised her chin defiantly. “I just don’t want to see that.”

“Is that why you’ve been undressing me with your eyes since we met?”

The heat was sweltering, practically coming off her in waves. “I was not! In fact, you’re not even my type. I don’t go for egotistical jerks.”
Even if they are super hot.

He snickered. “Careful, witch, I might mistakenly think you like me.”

“Ha!” The barking laugh escaped before she could control it. “I’d rather pet a cobra!”

He looked like he was about to laugh. “I have something you’re more than welcome to come pet.” With a smirk that dared her to follow, he hoisted up his bag and sauntered out of sight.

“I will not commit murder! I will not commit murder!” she muttered, stalking out the door into the steady downpour.

Protected by distance, shielded by stealth, a camera shutter snapped in rapid succession, immortalizing every motion of Sophie’s body, every flicker of her eyes as they swept over the neighborhood. It caught her in the act of pushing a curl behind her ear, of her lips moving in cuss words. Every moment, trapped, plucked up with greedy hunger. The hand wielding the camera remained firm, while inside he quivered with glee. His entire body ached, a thrum of anticipation for the day she would finally be where she belonged. Lips bowed into a satisfied smile.

She was so absolutely perfect.