Ruthless Creatures (Queens & Monsters, #1)(10)

“I thought you were someone else!”

His unblinking gaze rakes over me again, head to toe, as focused and intense as a laser. He moistens his lips.

For some reason, I find that simple gesture both sexy and menacing.

His voice drops to a growl. “You getting married?”

It could be the embarrassment, the surprise, or the fact that this man was so rude to me last night, but all at once, I’m furious. My voice shaking and my face hot, I take a step toward him.

“None of your business. What are you doing here?”

For some reason, my anger amuses him. A hint of a smile crosses his lips, there then quickly vanished. He gestures with the box in his hands. “UPS left this on my porch. It’s addressed to you.”

“Oh.”

Now I’m even more flustered. He’s being a friendly neighbor. Judging by his performance last night, I would’ve expected him to set the box on fire and kick it over the back fence, not hand-deliver it.

My bubble of anger deflates.

“Okay. Thanks. You can just leave it on the dresser.”

When he doesn’t move and only stands there staring at me, I fold my arms over my chest and stare right back.

After a moment of blistering awkwardness, Kage flicks a dismissive hand at my dress. “It doesn’t suit you.”

I feel my eyes bulging but don’t care. “Excuse me?”

“Too fussy.”

He’s lucky I’m not wearing the veil, because I’d wrap it around his neck and strangle him with it.

“For future reference, if you see a woman wearing a wedding gown, the only acceptable thing to tell her is that she looks beautiful.”

“You are beautiful,” comes the hard reply. “But it has nothing to do with that fussy fucking dress.”

After that, he snaps his jaw shut. I get the distinct feeling he’s regretting his words.

Then he stomps over to the dresser, tosses the box on top, and stomps out, leaving me openmouthed in shock, my heart palpitating.

When the front door slams shut, I’m still standing there trying to figure out what the hell just happened.

A few moments later, I hear an odd noise. It’s a repetitive sound, a muffled whump whump whump like someone’s beating out a dirty rug with a broom. I go to the window and look out, trying to identify where the sound is coming from.

That’s when I spot him.

The street I live on is sloped, climbing several feet from one lot to the next. The elevation allows for a view into the neighboring yard, so that from where I’m standing, I can see over the fence of the house next door. I also have a clear view of the living room window.

The drapes are usually drawn, but now they’re open.

In the middle of the room is a punching bag hanging from a heavy metal frame, the kind boxers use to train on. It appears to be the only furniture.

Throwing vicious punches at the bag is a bare-fisted Kage.

He’s taken off his shirt. I stand frozen to the spot, watching him hit the bag over and over, watching him jab and dance, watching all the muscles of his upper body ripple.

Watching his tattoos move and flex with every blow.

He’s covered in them, chest and back and all down both arms. Only his abs are bare of ink, a fact I’m grateful for, because it allows a clear view of his taut, muscled belly.

That he works out religiously is obvious. He’s in incredible physical shape. Also obvious is that he’s in a rage about something and is taking it out on that poor piece of gym equipment.

Unless something happened in the sixty seconds since he walked out my door, whatever he’s enraged about has to do with me.

He throws one final punch at the bag, then steps back and lets out a roar of frustration. He stands there, chest heaving, flexing his hands open and closed, until he happens to turn and glance at the window.

Our eyes lock.

I’ve never seen a look like his. There’s so much darkness in his eyes, it’s frightening.

I suck in a breath and take an involuntary step back. My hand rises to my throat. We stay like that—gazes locked, neither of us moving—until he breaks the spell by stalking over to the window and yanking the draperies shut.

When Sloane arrives twenty minutes later, I’m still rooted to the same spot, staring at Kage’s blank living room window, listening to the whump whump whump of his punishing fists.





5





Nat





“I told you he was a widower. It’s the only logical explanation.”

Sloane and I are at lunch. We’ve already dropped the gown at the consignment shop. Now we’re hunched over our salads, replaying my encounter with Kage to try to get it to make sense.

“So you think he saw me in the dress and…”

“Flipped out,” she finishes, nodding. “It reminded him of his dead wife. Shit, this must be recent.” Munching on a mouthful of lettuce, she mulls it over for a moment. “That’s probably why he moved to town. Wherever he was living before reminded him too much of her. God, I wonder how she died?”

“Probably an accident. He’s young—what do you think? Early thirties?”

“To mid at the most. They might not have been married very long.” She makes a sound of sympathy. “Poor guy. It doesn’t seem like he’s taking it well.”