She wants to escape it all. She runs from it. She gets a chance to leave it all behind. And she does, without thinking twice.
Gabrielle leaves France, her home country, when she finds an offer to babysit in London. She doesn't have a lot of ex...
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I'm preparing a second cup of coffee for myself in the morning, even though the first one didn't help me one bit.
I feel like hell. It was another sleepless night for me – which is understandable. I've had troubles sleeping this past week, but tonight was the worst of them all in a while. Not in a bad way, really, I didn't have a nightmare.
In fact, what I dreamed of tonight still makes my cheeks blush. I don't even want to think about it. Especially when my dream involved the guy who was the reason I was having trouble sleeping in the first place.
I'm glaring at the coffee maker to make my coffee faster. It's safe to say I'm grumpy this morning.
And then I almost get a heart attack when someone presses directly against my back. I don't have to turn around to know who it is. My body senses it's him. And his smell is unmistakable – the smell of cigarettes, mixed with the manly scent and his cologne.
I've always hated the smell of cigarettes, but I'm starting to love it, especially on him. He wears it like it was meant only for him.
"Morning, Little one. You're a bit early today. Had trouble sleeping?"
I can just hear the smirk in his tone. It sparks my anger even more. What game did he suddenly decide to play? Screw Gabrielle's mind up? Yeah. Good luck doing that, buddy. It's been screwed up for a long time now.
"I could ask you the same thing," I say back with a tight voice. "Do you need anything?" I grit out, hoping he'll remove himself and give me some space to breathe because I suddenly feel like there's not enough air for the both of us in this room.
Alexander places his hand on my hip and my eyes instantly fall down to where he's touching me. "Yeah. You." He squeezes my hip as he says the words.
I have to grip the counter in front of me because my legs suddenly feel like jelly. I hate him. And I hate whatever he's trying to do. Because he's succeeding. And it's making me hate him even more.
When I flip my head around to tell him off, I come face to face with his glorious, naked chest and my mouth just stays open and I stay mute, staring at the skin he marked with the ink. I've never had a chance to look at his tattoos this close before so I have to take my time to look at everything he decided to put on his skin.
My eyes take in his broad shoulders, his hard muscles on his stomach where at least an inch of fat should be. It clearly isn't presentable on him. Damn him.
And my eyes go lower, only now noticing that he's standing here in only his boxers. Pressing against my body.
"Jesus. Couldn't you put some clothes on?" This is the first thing that comes to my mind. And the second I say the words, I want to slap my forehead.
Jesus Christ!
"Thought you'd appreciate this view a little better," Alexander responds cockily. I can hear the smile in his words again. And when my eyes snap up (not any higher than his lips, though, because I'm a moron this morning, apparently), I realise I was right – he has an arrogant smirk sporting on his lips.
