“Tell me your name and what you’re doing lurking in my home.”
Slowly, I stand. I don’t want to startle him after all. When I do, he gets a good look at my dirty overalls, my roughed up boots, and my frizzy hair. His eyes widen and his nostrils flare. I get the impression he just got his first whiff of ol’ Billy.
I really should’ve taken a shower.
I would’ve if I’d known this was going to happen.
“My word, she’s a squatter. I’ve got a squatter in my home.” His jaw hardens and he thrusts his hand toward the open door. “Out. Get out.” He motions at me like I’m some mangy stray.
“Hey!” I put my hand on my hips. “I’m not a squatter. I’m Jamie Sutton.”
He stares at me, his expression uncomprehending. “What did you say?”
I blow out a long breath, the hot air stirring the hair sticking out from my braid.
“I said,” I annunciate and talk real slow for him, “I’m not a squatter. I’m Jamie Sutton.”
He shakes his head like he still doesn’t understand and then he takes slow, careful steps toward me, like he expects some loony behavior on my part. When he’s only a few feet away, he wrinkles his nose and looks at me with utter distaste.
“I don’t know what jammy sudden is, but I want you to remove your person from my home.”
Oh lordy. He can’t understand plain English.
“Jamie Sutton,” I say slowly pointing at myself.
He stares at me, uncomprehending. No wonder the fairy princess left him. He’s gorgeous, but his head is full of rocks. And he has a temper. I know it, because he steps forward and grabs my arm, his fingers hot and calloused.
“That’s it. If you won’t get out, I’ll take you out.”
He drags me toward the front door. It’s funny, a second ago, I would’ve loved to go out a door, now I don’t want anywhere near one. I dig in my heels and tug in the opposite direction. But he’s strong. Real strong.
“Hang on!” I shout, starting to put up a fight like ol’ Billy. “What’s wrong with you? You gave me the code to your place. I’m dropping off my work. Hello. I’m Jamie Sutton. The glassblower. Jeez Louise, you’re yanking me like Granny pulling up a radish on a Sunday. Let go!”
He’s having none of it.
“Unbelievable. I can’t understand a word she utters,” Gavin says in a completely dumbfounded voice.
I step on his foot. Hard.
“Let go! Understand that!”
He stops tugging me. We’re a few feet from the door. I’m panting hard, and I bet anything, that my face is redder than molten glass. Worse, even though I’m infuriated, him holding onto me is sending an SOS through my insides. The message travels up my arm, down my chest, and all over my body, telling me that all that heat I’m feeling means it’s time to strip down naked and cool off the old-fashioned way.
For crying out loud.
Gavin leans forward, towering over me, and brings his face close to mine. I can feel the warmth of him and I can smell the cologne he wears. It’s like fresh air, strength and vitality. Or maybe that’s just him.
My breath comes in short, painful pants, and my heart drums in my ears. In all this mess, I’ve nearly forgotten what I’m here for.
My work.
To get paid.
To start a new life where I can stop working three jobs and start giving the kids all the things I’ve always wanted to.
“Why’d you do that?” Gavin asks between clenched teeth. He jerks his head toward his foot. Apparently, it hurt when I slammed my boot down on his toes.
I try to jerk my arm free, but he keeps ahold of me. I glare at him. Now I know exactly how Billy feels when I trap his wings.