Wintertime Bad Boy: A Christmas Suspense Romance (Alphas Unboxed Book 3) Read online

  And yet my protests all die on my tongue as I hear the rumble in his stomach and l remember how he was so badly injured when I found him. Even now, I can see the strain in his eyes that he’s hiding behind his smile, his hold on me not all that steady.

  And my heart feels unsteady.

  Without thinking, my hand goes to brush his hair from his eyes and he freezes at the gentle gesture. I immediately withdraw my hand, blushing. “Sorry.”

  He watches me curiously, his head tilted, his eyes move up to my lips and then to my eyes staring intently. It makes my heart beat faster, not out of fear, but a sliver of excitement. I don’t understand this feeling so I tuck it away to analyze it later.

  I clear my throat, hoping I sound dignified. “You’ll have to let me go if you want food.”

  He stares at me and then his lips curve into that particular smile that I’m beginning to consider his most dangerous weapon.

  “As you wish, mon chéri.”

  He releases me and I stumble back a step before straightening up. “I—you need a shirt.”

  My eyes track his ruined jeans that are doing little to hide those muscular legs, and I mumble, “And pants. Definitely pants.”

  I hesitate before turning around and making my way to my bedroom. All of Dad’s clothes are still in the boxes that I brought over from his apartment. I haven’t had the time or the courage to sort through them. Even now, I stand before them, conflict burning in my heart.

  A soft whisper of movement from behind me reveals that my guest has followed me.

  “This is your room?”

  He sounds interested and I frown. “Don’t come in here.”

  But it doesn’t surprise me when he doesn’t listen. I’m still a little drunk from this evening so maybe that’s why my reactions are so slow or that there is no real heat in my voice even as he invades my personal space.

  “It’s very small.”

  I scowl, instantly insulted. “No, it’s not.”

  He smirks. “It’s positively tiny.”

  I bristle at his words. “Feel free to leave then.”

  “Nah.” He grins as if he’s enjoying riling me up. “I think I’ll stay.”

  I mutter something nasty under my breath and feel his eyes settle on my back as I kneel down and open up one of the boxes. I take out a carefully folded shirt and a pair of sweatpants and my hands tighten on them as I press them to my chest, unwilling to part with them. However, my guest needs them more than I do, especially considering that the heating in the apartment isn’t working and he might get sick.

  “Here.” I hand him the clothes, deliberately not looking at them, a suffocating feeling in my chest.

  He takes them from me, his tone light. “Ex-boyfriend?”

  My jaw tenses. “No.”

  I don’t offer any other explanation and maybe he senses my reluctance from my tone so he doesn’t pursue the topic. I straighten up. “You can change in here.”

  I brush past him, feeling a little fragile at the idea that my father’s clothes will be worn by him. I don’t give him a chance to say anything and quietly close the door behind me with a small snick. Letting out a shuddering breath, I lean against the door, trying to steady my erratic heartbeat. My thoughts are scattered and I need to get myself under control. I’m behaving too rashly and I need to get a grip.

  I move toward the small kitchen and open one of the cupboards to take out some coffee beans. If there is one thing I love, it’s coffee. My parents met at a coffee shop where my mother was a barista and before her untimely death when I was sixteen, my sweet natured mother had taught me the art of making coffee from scratch.

  ‘There’s nothing a good cup of freshly brewed coffee can’t fix, love,’ she used to tell me as she would grind the beans while I watched her from my seat at the kitchen counter.

  I start preparing the coffee, the familiar process having a calming effect on me. The water is boiling when I hear the sound of the bedroom door opening and I can’t help but look over my shoulder and I freeze at the sight of the man, whom I’ve dubbed ‘the Frenchman’ in my mind, exit the room. The shirt is a long sleeved pullover which can function as a sweater as well and while it had been loose on my father, it’s a tight fit on him, each movement revealing the ripple of muscles concealed underneath. The sweatpants still look comfortable although his legs are long and muscular and their shape is obvious under the soft cloth.

  “Thank you.” His words are sincere for the first time since I’ve met him and I duck my head in a silent nod. His sharp eyes shift to what I’m doing and I see the way his eyes widen imperceptibly. “Are you making coffee?”

  I pour in the steamed milk over the freshly brewed espresso and pick up the two mugs. “I had a little too much to drink today.” He covers the distance between us in long strides and accepts the mug, as I continue. “It’s also very cold. The heating doesn’t work that well in here.”

  I watch him look around the living room and I feel heat crawl up my neck as he takes in the broken television, the tattered couch which I’ve held together with the best of my ability and the coffee table which has an ancient phonebook tucked under one leg to keep it steady. My apartment is falling apart and it’s obvious. I have the strong urge to tell him not to look, to justify to him that it’s just temporary till I get back on my feet in a few years. But I have some level of pride left and I raise my chin defiantly and look at him, as if daring him to say something.

  His eyes finally settle on me and he lifts a brow. “Why are you glaring at me, mon petit poussin?”

  “What does that—I’m not glaring at you,” I say, defensively, and he chuckles at that.

  He lifts the mug to sip at the coffee and his expression changes to one of unfiltered shock. “You made this?”

  My cheeks turn slightly red at the hidden compliment. “Yeah.”

  “This is excellent,” he murmurs, watching me with a strange expression etched onto his granite features.

  This whole exchange is so strange that I don’t know what to do and I shrug helplessly. “It’ll help keep you warm, at the very least.”

  There is more color in his face but I can also see the exhaustion in his eyes. “Is there anybody I can call for you?”

  He snorts, “Why? So that they can come and finish the job?”

  “I’m sorry?” I blink at him, not following his response.

  He sighs and I see the laid back mask that he had on even as I had stitched him up, falter just for a second, allowing me to see the weariness underneath. His tone is gentle. “There is no one you can call for me, mon chéri.”

  He sits down on the couch and tests it before sprawling on it, carefully, as if he’s depleted all of his energies. “Do you have something to eat?”

  I glance toward the fridge, feeling a little awkward. “I have some instant ramen.”

  He gives me a look. “No eggs or anything?”

  I don’t know why the censure in his eyes irritates me but it has me snapping. “No. I haven’t had the time to go grocery shopping.” Or the money, but I leave that part unsaid.

  He runs his hand through his hair, looking unsatisfied. “Can you order in then?”

  I purse my lips, before saying tersely, “I can’t.”

  He frowns. “Why not?”

  I can’t lie my way out of this or make up some grand excuse, so I swallow my pride and say, simply, “I don’t have the money.”

  He stills at that and I see guilt form in his eyes. “I apologize. I’ve been taking advantage of your hospitality.”

  He goes from flirty to arrogant to polite in seconds and the change is too staggering for me to keep up. “I can give you some buttered bread. You shouldn’t be eating too heavy after that injury anyway.”

  “Thank you.”

  I have some pieces of bread remaining for breakfast for the next two days and I pick them up with a heavy heart, all the while telling myself that he needs it more than I do. I can have coffee at the hospital tomorrow for breakfast. I glance ruefully at the bag of coffee beans that is dwindling. I don’t think I’ll be able to maintain this luxury for much longer either.

  I toast the bread and layer the slices with butter and bring them over to where the man is sitting and as I put them before him, I suddenly realize that I don’t even know who he is.

  He catches me staring at him and lifts a brow. “What?”

  I echo my thoughts and he suddenly grins. “I was wondering when you’d ask my name.”

  I rub my hands over my face. “I don’t—I can’t believe I brought a random stranger to my apartment.” I glare at him from between my fingers. “I don’t usually do this, you know. It’s only because you saved me. This is me simply returning the favor.”

  He grins at me and I notice how his canines are sharper, and it’s such an adorable flaw that I shouldn’t be noticing but my brain is running on different kinds of electricity today, it seems.

  He laughs at my shaken declaration. “You are the cutest thing I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

  When I glare at him, he raises his hands, “Damien. My name is Damien.”

  The scowl fades from my face as I stare at him in a different light.

  It can’t be.

  It has to be a coincidence.

  But his injuries spoke of being more than just a few hours old and—

  My words are soft and cautious. “Do you know a Braden Fox?”

  His entire demeanor shifts and the change is terrifying as it goes from lazy and relaxed to dangerous and cold. “How do you know Braden?”

  I swallow, suddenly feeling out of my depth here. I’m not scared. I don’t know why I’m not scared even as he unfolds himself from the couch, slowly, his every movement meant to intimidate. But I stare at him. “He’s
a patient. He was brought into the emergency room earlier today, badly injured. He kept asking for someone named Damien. I didn’t know—”

  It had just been a guess since I vaguely recalled seeing them together that night. They could have just been two strangers for all I knew.

  Damien stops in his tracks. “How bad is it?”

  He’s looming over me, those wild green eyes flashing with worry now, instead of the previous animosity and I feel trapped by that gaze. “He’s in the ICU for now. His surgery was successful. We couldn’t get in touch with his emergency contact.” I bite my lower lip. “Were you with him in the accident?”

  He opens his mouth as if to say something and then decides against it. He’s quiet for a few seconds before glancing down at his covered stomach. The expression on his face is thoughtful and I wait. Finally he says, “I need a place to stay.”

  “No.” I growl, automatically. That was the last thing I had been expecting. “Get a hotel. I’m not that grateful.”

  “Alex, mon petit ange, just for a few days so that I can recover under your professional care.”

  “Go to a hospital.”

  “There are people looking for me.”

  “All the more reason not to stay here.”

  My hands are on my hips as I glare at him and he watches me, that lazy smirk of his unfurling on his mouth that’s made my knees go weak twice now. “I can pay you.”

  “I don’t want your—” I freeze as I recall what Mathilda had told me about the overtime being reduced. Damien clearly smells victory and he nudges me, gently. “I’ll be an admirable roommate. I won’t bother you. I’ll crash on the couch. I’ll pay rent, utilities, groceries for the entire time.”

  “I—” I hesitate at that, knowing that I had been planning to ask Jen for a small loan to pay my rent for this month.

  He lifts a finger. “On top of that, I’ll pay you ten.”

  I blink. “Ten dollars?”

  His lips twitch, and I blink, unable to follow.

  He chuckles now and my mouth turns dry, unable to even think about the amount, and I take a step back. “What—?”

  “Ten thousand dollars for this next week while I recover here. As long as you promise to keep my existence to yourself and not let anybody find out.”

  I’m trembling at the amount he’s so casually naming. It might not be enough to cover the debt I’m in, but it can help me pay off the payments for the next few months which will give me time to figure out how to make ends meet.

  Even as I think that, common sense tells me to pause and think about what I’m doing. I barely know this man. What if he decides to kill me in my sleep or something? What if he robs me of what few possessions I have left? What if this is just a—?

  “Before you overthink yourself to death,” an amused voice breaks in. “How about this? I’ll give you a check today and you can deposit it and see for yourself. I’m not lying to you.”

  I feel like my back is against the wall. He’s offering me a way out of this crisis that I’m stuck in, at least a partial way out, and all I have to do is let him stay here. For a week.

  I stare up at him and he looks down, waiting for me to respond. I chew my lower lip, knowing that the decision is already made in my mind as I discard common sense and choose to grasp the safety net I’ve been offered. The worst thing he can do is kill me. Isn’t my life shitty enough already?

  “F-Fine,” I say, trying to sound decisive. “But I’ll have you know that I sleep with a knife under my pillow and I have a can of mace. So, no funny business.”

  I can see the laughter in his eyes, as he repeats in an obedient tone, his hand on his heart, “No funny business.”

  His eyes land on my mouth as he says, silkily, “Shall we seal the deal with a kiss?”

  I slam my hand on his mouth and see the flash of pain in his eyes when my fingers brush against his injured jaw. I feel guilty for that but I say, severely, “That includes touching and kissing. You can’t do that either. I’m not—” I take in a shuddering breath, setting lines, “I’m not whoring myself out. You need a place to stay and a qualified nurse to look after you. That’s all I’m offering. Nothing more than that.”

  Damien’s eyes darken and he grasps my wrist firmly before lowering it, his thumb on my skittish pulse, his voice a heady purr. “And what of when you’ll beg me for more?”

  His words rub me in all kinds of ways and even as my womb tightens at the way he says those words, I bare my teeth in a reckless smile. “Trust me, I won’t.”

  He smiles in return. “I always keep my word, mon chéri. So, I won’t touch you until you ask me for it.” His green eyes darken in a way that have me close to whimpering in need, his body inches away from me, enough so that I feel the heat emitting from him. “But when you do, I will take you in every way I please.” His free hand comes to cup my cheek, the dark promise of pleasure in his eyes, eroding at my self-control. “And you’ll be so good for me then, won’t you?”

  My chest is heaving, my lips parted as I try to pull myself free from his thrall.

  It’s the smallest scrape of my foot against the floor that brings reality crashing down around me. I tilt my head up and try to ignore the fact that we’re both aware of how turned on I am as I lie through my teeth. “I don’t find you that interesting.”

  His lips curve in a smirk. “Of course you do, mon petit poussin.”

  Chapter 4

  I wake up the next morning, feeling more tired than I had been when I went to bed. I stare at the ceiling, trying to gather my thoughts. My eyes don’t go to the check written out to me for ten thousand dollars which is lying on my dresser, innocent as can be.

  With my mind no longer under the influence of alcohol, I feel trepidation creep in as I realize the pickle I’ve gotten myself into. I agreed to let an unknown man stay in my apartment for a week, a man who has expressed clear interest in me and who looks like sin and talks with such devilish charm that a few moments alone with him are a test of my self control.

  I let out a groan and bury my face in the pillow.

  Oh God, I hope he doesn’t kill me in my sleep or anything.

  It’s still relatively early but I can’t sleep anymore so I get out of bed. I’m about to step out of my room in my Daffy Duck pajamas when I hesitate, my hand on the doorknob. These aren’t the most attractive sleepwear I have.

  The second the thought flashes into my head, I growl at myself. Who cares? This is my apartment. If I want to roam around in pajamas with cartoon characters drawn on them, it’s my own damn business! I’m not going to dress up for him. It’s not like I want him to look at me and—

  I force open the door, annoyed with myself, and I march out in a huff, only to freeze when I’m assaulted by the scent of bacon and the sound of sizzling eggs.

  “There you are, mon chéri.” Damien’s voice reaches my ears and I look toward the kitchen, almost instinctively.

  He’s standing there in the same clothes from last night, his hair wet as he flips over what looks like bacon. I’m pretty sure I had no food in the fridge last night. I don’t know whether to ask him where the food came from, first, or—My eyes widen. “You shouldn’t be moving about!”

  Damien looks over at me and I see his eyes run over my pajamas and instead of seeing disdain or disinterest at what I’m wearing, the corner of his lips quirk up, heat flares in his eyes. “You look adorable, mon chéri.”

  That isn’t the reaction I was expecting and it takes me aback, as my cheeks flush at his words. However, I stubbornly choose to ignore them and repeat, “You have a stab wound, a very deep stab wound, need I remind you. You shouldn’t be walking about or even taking a bath!”

  He stills and eyes me in a blatantly suggestive way. “I wasn’t aware that a sponge bath was on the table. If you’re—”

  “I’m not giving you a sponge bath.”

  The words are meant to come out testily, but they’re spoken in a soft breath and his eyes darken and I pretend not to see it.

  He gives me a look of vague disappointment before turning back to the food on the stove. “Well, breakfast is nearly ready so take a seat.”

  “How am I supposed to look after you when you won’t even listen to me?” I complain as I look around the room. The coffee table has been cleared and I blink at the two glasses, the chipped jug which is filled with orange juice, and the sliced fruit and croissants.