After changing out another load of laundry, I go ahead and start vacuuming the house. All of his floors are hardwood and tile with some scattered rugs, but I find it easier to run the vacuum cleaner rather than use a broom on the hard surfaces. After giving the first floor a once-over, I move onto the second-floor bedrooms.
While I am generally not a fan of house cleaning in general, for some reason I enjoy vacuuming. I think it’s the gentle push and pull of the machine that lets my brain seem to lull and my mind to wander, allowing me to escape into a lovely daydream. Sometimes I’ll fantasize about an epic romance, where a handsome man with an amazing body sweeps me off my feet and tells me he will adore me for all time. Sometimes, I even let my fantasies stray to the bedroom, where said handsome man with a rockin’ body will give me pleasure beyond my wildest imagination.
I’m betting Gavin Cooke knows how to do that for a woman. Sure, he’s brash, arrogant, and a jerk, but deep within those eyes, you can tell that part of his ego is what would make him undoubtedly a fantastic lover. I bet he doesn’t know how to do a poor job at anything.
Shaking my head with an internal smirk, I try to banish those thoughts. While Gavin may be well equipped in the bedroom, that’s about as far as his talents would take him, I’m betting. He absolutely screams “loner,” and you can tell he probably has no concept of what a loving relationship would be about. At least in my limited experience. Yup… need to keep his gorgeous face completely segregated over into the sole category of “pornographic fantasies” and keep waiting for my dream man that will hopefully resemble someone of Hunter or Brody’s caliber.
Suddenly, something grabs ahold of my upper arm and I scream at the top of my lungs, releasing the handle to the vacuum cleaner and thrusting my elbow upward and back in self-defense. It cracks into something hard, and I leap forward a few feet, spinning to face my attacker.
Gavin is standing there, looking pissed and holding his hand to his jaw while he flexes it back and forth. He says something but I can’t hear him, so I hastily pull the ear buds loose and scramble forward to turn the vacuum cleaner off.
“Jesus f**king Christ,” he says as he fingers his jaw. “What the f**k did you hit me for?”
“You scared me,” I say defensively, my heart still pounding like a jackhammer.
“I called out to you,” he throws at me, anger heavy in his voice.
“Well, clearly I didn’t hear you or I would have responded.”
“Clearly,” he sneers. “How could you hear me with all that f**king racket you were making? I’m trying to write for Christ’s sake, and you’re hoovering the house down.”
“Hoovering?” I ask, confused.
“Hoover,” he says as he points to the vacuum cleaner.
“It’s a Dirt Devil,” I say as I look at the bright red model with a devil’s tail on it.
“What?” he asks, confused, his eyebrows drawn inward.
“It’s a Dirt Devil,” I confirm.
“What the f**k ever. We call them hoovers in the UK,” he growls, and I have to resist the urge to laugh. But then he brings me back down to earth by saying, “I can’t have you making all that noise when I’m trying to work.”
“I can’t clean properly without vacuuming,” I tell him. “Hoovering, I mean.”
“Then use a f**king broom so you don’t make any noise,” he snarls as he turns away from me, “or I’ll find someone that can clean my house in a way that caters to my needs, not theirs.”
“I’m sorry,” I say softly as he starts to climb the staircase, because I truly am. He’s my employer and I do need to find a way to work around him and fulfill his needs.
“Whatever,” he gripes. “Daft Yank.”
I’m not sure why his words set me off. Maybe it’s because adrenaline is coursing through my body from having the pants scared off me or maybe it’s because I’m tired of being a doormat that certain douche bags walk all over, but I put my job in jeopardy once again when I say, “Why are you always such an ass**le?”
The words pop out of my lips so suddenly that I have an insane urge to clap my hand over my mouth. But I don’t. I straighten my spine, stand tall, and cringe internally while I wait for him to bring the hammer down on me.
Gavin turns slowly on the staircase until he’s facing me directly. His eyes are narrowed and his teeth are clenched. “What did you just call me?”
“An ass**le,” I confirm. “You’re mean. Really mean, actually.”
He doesn’t say anything, just stares at me a moment. Then my heart really starts pounding when he steps down off the bottom stair and walks toward me. His gait is slow, his eyes holding me in place. He walks right up to me and when I have to crane my neck upward to look at him, I finally take a step backward. It doesn’t stop his momentum though, because he takes another step in my direction, even as I back up. We continue this dance until he backs me right up into a dresser. The halt in my progress doesn’t stop him though, and he takes one more step into me until there’s nothing more than a few inches separating our bodies.
He glares down at me… his eyes probing my gaze deeply. I swallow hard, not knowing if this man is certifiable enough to hurt me, but pretty damn sure he’s getting off on the fact that he’s scaring the daylights out of me.
He surprises me when he brings a hand up and I struggle not to flinch, unsure if he’s going to strangle me or not. Instead, his fingers graze along my jaw before giving it a firm grip to hold me in place. “So, you think I’m an ass**le?”