Zahra was determined day two at the lake house would go far better than the day before had gone. If she encountered Gregor, she would just kill him with kindness. She had this. No way would she let a man, especially this man, get under her skin. Oh, she wasn’t unsympathetic to him. She knew of his recent troubles, the accident, and she had a soft spot for those kicked in the gut by life. But she wouldn’t let pity shift her equilibrium.
A boom of thunder shook the house, causing her to yelp. Staring out of the window, she shivered at the sight of the dark skies. Torrential rain had started to fall yesterday, and hadn’t let up one bit. Now she understood why no boats could operate during this mess. And it was only supposed to get worse, according to the news report she’d watched that morning.
Before heading downstairs, she checked her cell phone to see if she had any bars. Nothing. Releasing a heavy sigh, she tossed the device onto the bed and made a mental note to look into switching carriers. It made no sense that she had to trek around the yard in a hundred different directions just to locate a signal.
She recalled Captain Skip saying reception was spotty, but this was ridiculous. Especially when she desperately needed to call her sister and vent. Wow. How the tables had turned.
Zahra came to a screeching halt when she entered the kitchen. Gregor was there, the entire jug of milk pressed to his lips. While he wore the same creepy hoodie as the day before, it was no longer cloaking his face.
On television she’d only ever seen him with close-cropped hair. Now, he sported a head full of glossy, dark curls. The kind you wanted to run your fingers through. Gathering her common sense—and jaw off the floor from his display of poor etiquette—she said, “Oh, my God. What are you doing?”
Gregor pulled the milk jug from his full lips. Turning his back on her, he snapped the hood over his head. “Tending to my business. You should try it. It works well if you do it right.”
Asshole. “You’re drinking from the entire jug of milk?” Her face scrunched. “That’s disgusting. You do know there are plenty of glasses in the cabinet, right? I can get you one, if you’d like.”
As if for spite, Gregor tipped the jug to his lips again and took a long swig, lowered it, dragged the back of his large hand across his mouth and released a satisfying, “Ahhh.”
“No need,” he said, returning the container to the fridge. “I’m done.”
Kill him with kindness. Kill him with... Just kill him. “What if at some point I’d wanted to drink milk?”
“There’s plenty left.” He brushed past her. “Knock yourself out.”
More like, knock you out. She swung around. “I don’t want any of it now. I have no idea where your mouth’s been.”
Gregor backtracked, moving dangerously too close for comfort, but she didn’t let it rattle her. Dang, he smelled good. Ugh. No, he didn’t. He smelled horrible...in the best way imaginable. This proved it. She was insane.
“I’ll tell you where my mouth’s been if you really want to know.”
All kinds of mischief danced in his eyes, causing her cheeks to heat. “Spare me the raunchy details. I’m pretty sure I couldn’t stomach them.”
Gregor eyed her long and hard. Still, she didn’t waver. His eyes glinted with what she translated as distaste. A moment later, he smirked, rolled his eyes and moved away.
Self-absorbed bastard. With an apparent obsession with hoodies.
Zahra questioned if it was possible to go from absolutely adoring someone to completely loathing them in a matter of days. She hard-stared at Gregor’s back. Yes! Yes, it was.
Assessing the situation, her lips ticked up into a cunning smile as she recalled how her mother had handled things when she’d caught her father drinking from the milk carton once. They still laughed about it to this day. Maybe Gregor Carter needed a similar lesson.
Gregor didn’t usually partake in midnight snacking, but the chocolate chip cookies and ice-cold milk were calling his name. At the mention of the milk, he laughed at how bent out of shape his house pest had gotten when she’d caught him drinking from the jug. If she’d wanted milk, she should have brought her own. “This is all mine,” he said, pushing aside the bag of jalapeño peppers to remove the milk from the fridge.
Forgoing the use of a glass, he popped the top and tossed the container back. The instant he lowered it away from his mouth, he knew something was wrong.
“What the...?”
His lips were on fire. Two long strides carried him to the sink, where he turned the water on full blast and positioned his mouth underneath the stream of cold water. After several minutes, he experienced relief. But his lips still tingled. She did this. He growled to himself, certain Zahra was responsible for his lava lips.
After drying his mouth and beard, he placed the jug under his nose and took a whiff. The pungent smell caused him to draw back and cringe. “What is that?”
Whatever it was, it was hot as hell. Then it hit him. The jalapeño peppers he’d moved to get to the milk. Since his stomach wasn’t burning, she must have only rubbed the pepper along the rim of the jug. Gregor snarled toward the stairs. Who the hell was this devious woman?
Making haste up the steps, he banged on Zahra’s bedroom door like the law. If it scared her, it would serve her right for such vicious—yet stellar—payback. The prankster in him had to appreciate and commend her efforts, because this was something he would have done to one of his teammates—or something one of them would have done to him.
But the fun-loving Prankster Gregor was just Irritated Gregor now. She didn’t know him well enough to pull such antics anyway.
The door flung open, and Zahra stood wild-eyed in front of him. Judging by her disheveled appearance—clothing backward, hair flying in several different directions, bewildered expression—he had startled her. Good.
“What’s wrong? Is there a tornado?”
When he saw genuine fear in her eyes, he almost felt sorry for the way he’d hammered on her door. Almost. “What the hell did you do to my milk?”
Her face scrunched into a tight ball. “Your milk?” She was either attempting to play dumb, or she was still a bit disconcerted by his visit.
“Does jalapeño peppers ring a bell?” he asked.
Obviously, recollection set in, because she had the audacity to snicker, then smirk. “Did things get a little hot in here?” Laughter followed her statement.
Oh, so she thought it was funny? Well, this meant war.
Unable to return to sleep again after Gregor had pounded on her door like a madman, Zahra popped open her laptop and finished typing a new chapter. With her creativity fueled by the grouch downstairs, her words flowed. At least he served one good purpose. He gave her great fodder to work with. At this rate, she’d finish this book ahead of schedule.
But not tonight. Well, this morning since it was already after one o’clock. Her eyelids felt as if they weighed a thousand pounds apiece. It was time to call it. Plus, she needed all of her energy to deal with her nemesis.
Clearly, he hadn’t thought the jalapeño thing had been funny. That was okay. It had been meant as more of a lesson than a prank. The look in his eyes as he left her door suggested his payback was imminent. She wasn’t worried. She could handle whatever he tossed at her.
Undressing, she climbed into bed and hoped to resume the good sleep she’d been getting before the rude awakening. “Yes,” she moaned, snuggling under the layers of warmth. This was exactly what her body needed.
The second her head hit the pillow, she was out. At first, she thought the sound of Tupac’s voice was in her dreams. As she gradually became more lucid, she realized the blaring music came from downstairs.
Frazzled, she eyed the clock. Three eighteen. She growled. Gregor. Clearly, this was his payback. No way would she give him the satisfaction of believing he’d defeated her. She slammed back down onto the mattress and covered her head with a pillow. She’d show him.
After an hour of Tupac’s greatest hits, Zahra couldn’t take another lyric. Dragging herself from the bed, she slid into her pants, pulled her shirt over her head, then padded across the icy floor and out of the room.
It wasn’t until she was standing in front of Gregor’s door did she realize she’d put her shirt on backward. Her first thought was to ignore it, but if she was to appear stern, she couldn’t confront him looking disheveled.
As fate would have it, the second the fabric was off her body, the gateway to hell opened. Zahra screeched, then turned. “Close your eyes,” she said, scrambling to get the shirt over her head. Of all times for her to have forgone wearing a bra. Fate really did hate her.
Finally pulling it together, she took a deep breath and turned. The air in her lungs came out like a puff when her eyes slammed into Gregor’s bare, glistening chest. Forgetting she loathed him, her eyes homed in on his impressive torso.
An intricately designed tattoo covered his entire right pec, connected to more ink on his shoulder and extended halfway down his arm. His left pec held a roaring lion’s head. The artwork was phenomenal. And so was the canvas. Her eyes locked on to the single bead of sweat that ran down the center of his chest. Had he been dancing or working out?
As if they had a mind of their own, her eyes trailed to the thin line of fine black hairs that disappeared beyond his designer boxers. She swallowed hard.
Snapping from her stupor, her gaze shot up to meet his. All she could do was stare stupidly. His hair was pulled back into a man bun. And damn, did it look sexy as hell on him. Though most of it was covered by his beard, the scar he’d been rumored to have acquired in the accident was visible. Had this been the reason for the hoodie? Was he self-conscious? A cunning expression played on his face like he knew she was checking him out. Heck, it wasn’t like she’d done a good job of masking her admiration. Kind of hard to appear unyielding when you were drooling.
Gregor propped himself against the doorjamb, folded his sculpted arms across his chest and studied her hard. The longer he eyed her with that assessing stare, the more anxious she grew.
“Are you here to apologize?” he said.
“Apologize? I’m not the one blaring music at three in the morning when someone is trying to sleep. So, what would I have to apologize about?”
“Spiking my milk.”
His milk? Arrogant and selfish. Why wasn’t she surprised that he felt solely entitled to it? “I’m assuming you’ll be apologizing for contaminating our milk.”
Gregor’s eyes narrowed. A beat later, he backed into the room and slammed the door in her face. A millisecond later, he cranked up the volume. “Hail Mary” rumbled the walls. She typically loved Tupac, but not at this moment.
“Asshole,” she muttered, retreating back to her room. “Asshole,” she repeated in a yell this time. Stomping up the stairs, she ground her teeth. “I’ve got your ‘Hail Mary.’”
Inside her bedroom, she paced. God, she couldn’t wait to be rid of him. The man was unbearable. If only she could do something to—a mischievous grin curled one side of her mouth. The way the music vibrated the entire house, it definitely wasn’t coming from a computer or a cell phone.
Sliding into her shoes and shrugging into her coat, she grabbed her phone and crept back downstairs. Exiting the back door, Zahra used the light of her cell phone to guide her. She hoped the device truly was waterproof as the manufacturer had claimed. The wind swayed her steps and rain pelted her body. She could have really used an umbrella and lead feet—to anchor her to the ground—but didn’t allow the lack of either to stop her.
It seemed like forever before she found the breaker box. Popping it open, she dried her hands best she could and prayed she didn’t electrocute herself. Locating the circuit associated with Gregor’s bedroom, she switched it off. The music stopped instantly.
Score.