4. DEAL WITH THE STRANGER

What the hell is he doing here? No, wait a minute, how the hell did he even get in here or know where I live or my freaking name or—

A gasp breaks out of me and my first instinct is to run. Before I can think better of it, my legs carry me of their own accord and I'm already turning on my heels and making a beeline to the door.

“I wouldn't do that if I were you.” 

Again, that damn deep seductive voice. I've always been a sucker for those kind of voices— the type that makes you swoon, and wet and all achy. Like an aphrodisiac.

I halt with a mental groan as I try to get my emotions in check and then turn back to him with a death glare. 

“How the heck did you get into my house, Mister?” I shake my head with a scoff. “No, I think the better question is how did you even know where I'm living? Are you stalking me?”

I can't even begin to imagine the possibility that he is stalking me. I wouldn't be surprised though. I seem to have a knack for always collecting insufferable men like infinity stones. Just ask Eric.

The hunk of a guy— I think that's what I'll start referring to him as in my head— has the audacity to roll his eyes at me as he drops my cat on the floor. I watch as my cat Priest saunters away, not minding the tension in the room that could cut metal.

“Don't get your knickers in a twist, or in this case, you skirt,” he flirtatiously adds and his gaze warms as he makes his way slowly to me. “It wasn't hard to figure out where you stay. You should know, money can do a whole lotta things for you.”

My brain is a haywire, but I still catch what he's trying to say. “So, you had me investigated or something?” Could he stop talking already? It's getting worse and worse the more he does.

He lets out a dark chuckle. “That I'll admit I did.”

“Why?” My voice falters. Did I top my previous disappointment and bag myself a stalker and potential serial killer this time?

He shrugs. “Let's just say after that night with you, I just knew I needed to get more of you. You should feel honored by the way. It's not everyday the wealthy Casanova billionaire Jordan Smith becomes obsessed with a woman and goes as far to track her and have this painful conversation in a…” his judgemental eyes sweeps around the living room and I want to smack him down to hell. “Not so habitable space.”

Translation: he just called my childhood home a shit hole. 

I start to see red at his venomous words. Yes, my house is not the best and totally not in his “rich, too worthy to breathe in your space” radar, but this house holds so many happy memories and I never want to let go of that. At least not for now.

“Did you just call my house a shit hole?” I grit in barely contained anger. 

His brows arch in amusement. “Out of everything I said that should be taken out of context, that's the only thing you picked up on?”

“I can't do anything if you're obsessed with me and throwing daddy's money for your unhealthy habits, now can I?” I retort.

He smirks, as we both stare at each other( me with a deadly look, him with an amused look), before he breaks first. “You know for a girl who was ready to run like her ass suddenly caught up in flames, you are quite the spitfire.”

I cross a hand over my chest and shrug noncommittally. “Well, being unpredictable is my thing. Being an Aquarius sure has its perks.”

He nods slowly, this time giving me an intense look. “ It sure does, and something tells me I'm going to enjoy every step of it.”

Knowing this argument will take us nowhere, I heave a sigh in defeat and start to walk past him. “What do you want, Jordan Smith?”

I feel his eyes on me as I head to the fridge and open it. Cringing in disappointment when I see the fridge is empty except for a monster drink, I make a mental note to stock up on groceries the moment I get my paycheck.

“Once again, I'd love it if we talked somewhere else.”

Rolling my eyes as I grab the drink, I shut the fridge with much more force than intended. “Any conversation we're going to be having is going to be in the four corners of my wall and after that, I'd love and appreciate it if you forgot my name, home address and social security number— if you have that, of course.”

“Cute,” he laughs and then winces when I open the drink can with a pop. I raise a brow at him, urging him to continue and then take a sip of my drink as I wait patiently. “ Contrary to what you may think, I'm not here to hurt you or whatever it is you're thinking —”

“No shit.”

“I'm here to offer you a deal. One I know you wouldn't be able to refuse.”

“Sure, Professor Xavier.” This is getting fun and it's the most fun I've had in a few days.

“Marry me.”

I choke on my drink before I can even finish processing that sentence.