More Than Anything (Broken Pieces #1)(27)

“Hey.”

Her peace shattered in an instant. The precious morning ritual destroyed by an unmistakable, husky male voice that she absolutely loathed.

Crap!

She shut her eyes for a long moment, hoping he’d take the hint and just leave, but instead she heard the wooden boards on their shared porch creak as he came closer. She had never known Harris to be an early riser. And never in a million years had she expected to see him out here at sunrise on a Saturday morning. Even if it was a fairly late winter sunrise. She bit back a groan and opened her eyes to meet his gaze. He looked uncertain and way too good for an unshaven guy in sweats . . . damn him!

He was also clutching a mug, and he tentatively crossed the distance between his front door and hers. He seemed to be waiting for her to say something. But she kept her mouth shut and merely tracked his movements with her unblinking gaze, hoping he’d turn around and head back into his house. But he seemed to take her silence as approval and sank down on the other end of the rickety swing.

Tina held her breath, waiting for the ancient thing to give beneath their combined weight, but it groaned and held. Sturdier than it looked.

“Sleep well?” he asked softly.

She didn’t reply, merely stared at him. Fighting to keep her expression neutral, not at all sure how to respond to this intrusion.

“I didn’t sleep very well. My mattress has lumps,” he said, keeping his voice conversational as he sprawled with his legs spread and his free arm resting along the back of the swing. His hand was uncomfortably close to her shoulder. He was taking up more than his fair share of her swing. His hard thigh brushing against her toes.

He sighed appreciatively, his eyes on the horizon. “This is an amazing view. It almost makes up for the less-than-ideal living conditions.”

She bit her tongue, and the impulse to tartly inform him that he could leave if it was so awful. She took a sip of her coffee instead, shifting her attention back to the view.

“First thing on my agenda this morning: getting a new mattress,” he said, still sounding way too damned chatty in the face of her silence. “Any idea if I can buy one in town?”

She contemplated the black liquid in her mug glumly, stubbornly refusing to leave until she had finished it. While at the same time just wanting to get up and escape his overwhelming presence.

“You can keep ignoring me; it won’t stop me from talking to you.” The words were said in the same conversational tone of voice he’d been using all along, and for a moment they didn’t sink in. When they did, she turned her head and lifted her eyes to his face. She was startled to find him staring straight at her. His gaze warm and tender. The expression so at odds with those haughty cheekbones, stubbornly jutting jaw, and cruel mouth.

The movement of her head brought her face within touching distance of his fingertips, and she flinched—nearly spilling her coffee—when he opened his hand, breaching the short distance to stroke her cheek with the back of his forefinger.

“Easy,” he said in response to her startled reaction to his gentle touch, his voice soothing.

“Don’t touch me,” she whispered, her voice carrying no conviction at all, and he smiled, the expression inexplicably tinged with sadness.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, his hand retreating and settling on the back of the seat again.

“I prefer to spend this time of the morning alone,” she said, her voice sounding high and defensive. “It’s my . . . my ritual.”

“I understand,” he said, his voice soft, but he made no move to leave, and she watched him in mute frustration. “I’ll bear that in mind. But I’m here now and I’m having my coffee. I’ll just sit here. I won’t bother you anymore.”

Didn’t he understand that his mere presence bothered her? But telling him that would reveal too much, and she clamped her lips shut before fixing her eyes on the ocean again. She felt tense and horribly out of sorts. Her morning in tatters.

He drank from his mug, exhaling softly with every second sip. It should have irritated her but didn’t. And that baffled her.

He smelled good, all warm and musky male, and he was sitting so close she could feel his body heat. It was nice and acted as a comforting buffer against the cold air. Tina hated that she was enjoying his warmth. She didn’t want to appreciate anything about this man.

The silence stretched on, oddly comfortable as she listened to him sip and sigh his way through his coffee. Five minutes passed without another word between them, the sun climbing steadily in the blush-tinged sky, promising a beautiful day ahead.

“Maybe Knysna,” she murmured, breaking the silence, and she felt his gaze turn to her profile. He didn’t prompt her, just waited patiently for her to continue. She took another fortifying sip of her now-cold coffee before adding, “For the mattress. I think Knysna’s your best bet.”

“Yeah? Thanks, I’ll drive out that way later.”

A movement on his left caught her attention, and her gaze shifted to his front door, where Greyson stepped onto the porch.

She leaped to her feet and glared at the man furiously.

“What the hell are you doing here?” she asked angrily before shifting her gaze to Harris. “What’s he doing here?”

“He needed a place to stay,” Harris said levelly.

“Good morning, Martine,” Greyson said coolly—like her family, he always called her by her full name. Pompous ass.