CH.4

"Looks like you need some help there."

The painting obscured my view, so I didn't realize it was a man until his rich, husky voice flowed into my ears from behind me.

I tilted my head to the right and my gaze landed on the sculpted, exquisite features of a very handsome stranger.

He was easily over 6 feet tall, with sharp, masculine features - eyes that crinkled becomingly at the corners and a head of perfectly tousled black hair.

An air of quiet confidence and self-assuredness radiated from him in waves that were utterly breathtaking.

For a moment, I forgot how to breathe.

"Leave it, I'll carry it for you," he stated firmly in a way that was authoritative and wouldn't take no for an answer.

There was something about his demeanor that both irritated and intrigued me.

And because I've always detested being ordered around or having my capabilities underestimated, I immediately objected with a shake of my head.

The sweaty strands of hair that had escaped my bun tickled my cheek. "It's okay, I can carry it alone, thanks. It's not that far between the sidewalk and the house."

Even as I said it, I knew I was being stubborn and foolish.

He didn't remove his hands from the frame, making it clear he was ignoring my refusal.

"It wasn't a request, little one," he said with a hint of danger that made my heart skip a beat despite my annoyance.

His sharp gaze roamed over me in an admittedly flattering way that made the back of my neck grow warm.

I huffed out an annoyed breath and dropped my end of the portrait, allowing him to take the full brunt of its weight.

"I'm not little, thanks. I'm a grown woman, not a child!" My voice came out more grumpy than I intended, making me wince internally.

He allowed his dark eyes to slowly scan over my petite yet womanly figure from head to toe with an unmistakably appraising look.

I saw the corner of his mouth quirk upwards in a way that was both infuriating and oddly charming when his stare finally met mine again.

"Where are your parents to let you carry a large painting this size all on your own? That's a job for the hired help, not a tiny thing like you."

Did this arrogant prick just call me ‘a child’?

For the first time in what felt like ages, I raised my chin proudly, refusing to be cowed or shamed by his condescending remarks.

A fire I thought had been extinguished long ago flickered to life inside me. "I am the lady of this house, not some helpless child who needs supervision!" The words came out with more force and conviction than I'd managed to muster in months.

He turned to face me fully then. His sapphire eyes locked with mine as he peered down at me deeply, seeming to see straight into my soul.

His gaze was as piercing and fathomless as the night sky, making me feel exposed and vulnerable under its intensity.

I found myself holding my breath… feeling caught in the magnetic pull of his presence.

"I really did think you were just some adolescent kid at first glance," his deep voice rumbled through the spacious foyer. "Your petite stature and youthful features are quite... deceiving."

He set the large portrait down next to the beige sofa, and the elaborate gold frame stood out sharply against the living room's subdued hues.

I watched him with annoyance and reluctant admiration, still unable to decide if I was more irritated or intrigued by his candid, unfiltered manner of speaking.

There was something refreshing about his bluntness, even if it did seem rude at times.

"I'm not the type who enjoys superficial compliments," I muttered, mostly to myself but loud enough for him to hear.

My fingers toyed nervously with the hem of my blouse as I added, "I don't like people thinking I have the body of a pre-pubescent child."

His eyebrows rose slightly at my words and a flicker of something – amusement? interest? – passed through his eyes.

"Is that so?" he mused, his gaze sweeping over me in a way that made my skin tingle. "Well, I can assure you that on closer inspection, you most certainly do not have the body of a child."

I felt my cheeks flush hot at his bold statement, unsure how to respond.

To cover my embarrassment, I grabbed the edge of the heavy frame to steady it, worried it might topple over now that he had let go.

My hand brushed against his larger one in the process, and I felt a jolt of electricity zinging through my body at the contact.

But I didn't pull away, finding myself oddly reluctant to break the connection.

"Well, thank you for helping me with this," I said sincerely, meeting his intense gaze once more. "I would've had a hell of a time moving it all by myself. Richard – my husband – he's always too busy at the hospital to help with things like this."

We stared at each other for what felt like an eternity. The air became thick with some indescribable tension.

His expression remained unreadable. It gave no hint as to what he was thinking or feeling in that moment.

I wondered what it would be like to see genuine emotion cross those sculpted features – to see him smile or laugh without restraint.

His fingers lightly grazed the back of my hand as he pulled away from the frame. "No need to thank me," he said finally.

I wasn't sure if the lingering touch was intentional or not, but it sent another delightful tremor racing down my spine. "It's what neighbors do, isn't it? Help each other out?"

"Is that what we are? Neighbors?" I was surprised by my own boldness.

The stranger’s lips quirked up in a small yet breathtaking smile. "For now," he replied cryptically. "Who knows what the future holds?"

With that, he turned to leave.

His long strides carried him swiftly towards the door. "Have a good day then," he called over his shoulder, not bothering to look back.

We didn't exchange any further pleasantries as he headed out, and the heavy front door closed behind him with a soft thud.

However, I got the distinct sense that our interaction, albeit brief, had been refreshingly genuine – devoid of the usual social niceties and falsehoods that often colored first meetings between strangers.

I approached the large bay window overlooking the circular driveway, unable to resist watching as he made his way to his car.

His sleek black Lamborghini sat gleaming in the late morning sun.

I observed as he slid gracefully into the driver's seat and the powerful engine roared to life moments later.

My mind kept replaying our encounter as the expensive vehicle pulled away and disappeared down the winding road out of our exclusive neighborhood.

My first impression was that he seemed like a cool, calm, and collected yet extremely dangerous man. But in an intriguing, positive way, not an off-putting one.

There was a depth to him, a complexity that hinted at hidden layers beneath that polished exterior.

Shaking my head to clear my thoughts, I turned away from the window and surveyed the chaos of half-unpacked boxes and misplaced furniture surrounding me.

“There is still so much to do to make this house feel like a home!”