Chapter 5

A whisper of movement was my only warning as one strong arm wrapped around my waist, pulling me against a broad, hard chest.

A knife glinted in my peripheral vision as it sliced through the air and pressed to my neck. My heart lodged in my throat, and the bags I'd been holding hit the floor as my hands flew up to clutch the the man's forearm.

"Wait, please!" I felt the muscles in his arm tense, and the tip of the blade dug into the sensitive flesh of my throat. "I won't hurt you. I... I live here."

The knife lifted away ever so slightly, and I swallowed hard. "My name is Lily. You... you passed out in the kitchen last night. Do you remember that?"

The man didn't respond, but his arms dropped away, and I turned to face him, putting some much-needed distance between us. My gaze automatically strayed lower, locking on his genitals. Heat flooded my cheeks, and I tore my gaze away, focusing on the knife instead.

"You were pretty torn up whenever you got here, so I cleaned up your cuts as best I could. I wasn't honestly sure you'd make it through the night. You didn't have a fever or anything, though, and you seem to be okay now, so…"

I trailed off, leaving the rest of my thoughts unspoken. The man still hadn't said a word, so I lifted my gaze to his. "Are you feeling okay?"

His brows drew slightly together as he studied me warily. After several long seconds, he finally nodded. I gestured to the bags at my feet, studiously avoiding his naked form. "I brought you some clothes if you want to try them on."

Again, those dark eyes bore into mine, and he stared at me as if trying to read deep inside my soul. His eyes were nearly black, the iris and pupil blending together into a single orb. They reminded me of devil's eyes, cold and emotionless, and a ripple of fear skated down my spine.

Without a word, gaze still locked on mine, he bent and riffled through the first bag. He extracted a dark blue flannel shirt that had once belong to Joey's grandfather.

"I don't know if that'll fit, but a friend let me borrow some things." The man's eyebrow winged upward, and I rushed to reassure him. "No one knows you're here. I didn't say anything about you."

He stared at me for another moment before nodding, then slipped his arms into the shirt. The sleeves were just a touch too short, but it seemed to fit well enough everywhere else.

"The underwear are obviously new," I stated as he pulled the package from the bag. I averted my gaze as he began to step into the boxer briefs. I cleared my throat. After he had pulled on the sweats, I glanced up at him. "Are you hungry?"

He nodded once. I wondered briefly at his inability to speak. Had he always been this way, or had he endured some kind of trauma? "I'm going to make a casserole if that's okay with you."

He nodded again, and I pointed to the bags on the floor. "Use whatever you need. If it doesn't fit, I'll take it back."

Those dark eyes stared into mine unblinking, and I shifted uneasily. "I'm going to go start dinner."

I felt his gaze on me as I turned and quickly strode away. He joined me in the kitchen nearly a half hour later. "I just put the casserole in the oven. I'm going to go change."

Avoiding the man's stare, I headed down the hallway toward my bedroom only to draw up short in the doorway. The mattress was no longer on the floor. Instead, he had returned it to the bed and straightened the sheets. I took a tiny step backward and sucked in a breath as I bumped into something. My heart gave a hard lurch. I hadn't even heard the man approach.

Swallowing hard, I turned my head slightly and met his gaze over my shoulder. "Thank you for putting that back."

I offered a small smile. "I knew I would never get you up on the bed. At least, not without giving you a concussion."

The man didn't return my smile, and the mood turned somber once more. I hitched a thumb over my shoulder. "I'm going to change."

The man held out a hand, and I stared at it for a moment, confused. "I don't need your help, thanks," I replied sarcastically.

He sent me a wry look, then pantomimed a phone. "You want my phone?" I had to laugh. "Are you out of your damn mind? I'm not giving you my phone!"

The man spread his feet wide and crossed his arms over his chest. Even as thin as he was, he cut an imposing form. Yet for some reason, I trusted that he wouldn't hurt me. If he wanted me dead, he had the opportunity to kill me the moment I walked through the door.

"What do you think I'm going to do, call the police?"

He shrugged, only serving to infuriate me even more. "I should've called them last night when you passed out on my floor," I retorted. "Instead, I took care of your stubborn ass. Why the hell would I have waited until now to call for help?"

The man's only response was to hold out his hand again. "You know what? Fine."

I dug in my back pocket for my phone, then slapped it into his hand. Before he could make any other demands, I slammed the door in his face and threw the lock. I took my time changing into a pair of lounge pants and washing my face before making my way back out to the kitchen. My phone sat in the middle of the table, and I stared at it for a second before meeting his gaze. "Happy?"

He dipped his chin in a semblance of a nod. I pasted on a sickly sweet smile. "Well, as long as you're happy, that's all that matters."

I thought I saw a ghost of a smile flicker across his lips, but it was gone a second later. He picked up the phone, then held it out to me. I slapped a hand to my chest. "I'm allowed to have my phone back? Gee, thank you so much."

He rolled his eyes, then gestured with it again. I snatched it out of his hand and set it down on the table near my seat. Infuriating man.

Stalking toward the oven, I checked on the casserole and adjusted the timer. By the time I turned around, he was already pulling down plates for us. I crossed my arms over my chest and regarded him. "I see you've already snooped through the cupboards."

He flicked an irritated glance my way before setting the plates on the table. But instead of sitting, he advanced on me. He closed the distance between us so rapidly that I didn't have a chance to move.

I retreated until my back pressed against the cabinets. He leaned in, his huge body practically enveloping mine as he stared at me. My pulse raced, and my breaths came fast and uneven as we stood there, locked in a battle of wills.

I couldn't stand it any longer. Those eyes were too unsettling, and I had to tear my gaze away. The man straightened, and I scooted away from him, disgusted in the knowledge that he'd rattled me. Damn him.

Needing to recapture my strength and appear unaffected, I opened the fridge and pulled out a can of soda. I held one up in the man's direction. "Want one?"

He extended a hand, which I took as a yes. I passed the soda to him, then cracked another for myself and took a long swig. I was acutely aware of the man watching my every move. He might be able to exert his dominance over me, but I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing me cower in fear.

I shut the fridge and pulled need him with a stare. "Since you haven't introduced yourself, am I just supposed to guess your name?"

The corner of his mouth tilted upward as he leaned back against the counter and tipped his head my way. "Let me guess." I tapped my lip in thought. "John Doe."

He sent me a wry look, his lips pressing into a thin line. I tipped my head to the side as I studied him. "No? Hmmm... Joe? Bill? Mike, Jim, Nick, Harry, Jack?"

I ticked off the names as he shook his head in the negative each time. "Mr. Smith."

He snorted just as the timer went off, and I clapped my hands together. "We're out of time, so looks like Smith it is. Have a seat, Smith."

His dark look told me I was playing with fire, but his high-handedness had irked me. The asshole deserved a taste of his own medicine. I served up the casserole, then slid into the seat across from him. He stared at it for a moment, using his fork to prod the noodles.

"It's food, you eat it," I said sarcastically, aggravated that even his silence emanated condescension.

He threw another of those irritated looks my way, then speared a large bite and lifted it to his mouth. He chewed and swallowed, his face completely blank. Finally he dipped his chin in a nod of praise, and a warm glow spread through my chest at his compliment.

Almost as soon as the thought flitted across my mind, I mentally scoffed. I'd known the man for less than a day; now I was interpreting his facial expressions? God help me.

With a little shake of my head, I turned my attention to my plate and dug in. "In case you don't know," I said between bites, "you're in Pine Ridge. North of Kalispell, up in the Salish Hills," I elaborated as he digested the information.

Dropping my gaze, I studied him from beneath my lashes. Where the hell did this man come from? Certainly nowhere local if he'd never eaten casserole and had no idea where he was.

Silence pressed in on us, making me squirm in my seat. Though I spent most of my time alone and didn't typically mind the quiet, it felt awkward with this man. With nothing else to focus on, I could feel his eyes on me, stripping me bare. I felt the overwhelming need to deflect his attention, and since he obviously wasn't going to speak, it was up to me.

I prattled on, telling him about Pine Ridge, about my floral shop and how much I loved working with flowers. Surprisingly, he remained attentive the entire time, offering the occasional nod, those dark eyes alert and assessing.

When he finally set his fork down, I nodded to his place. "Finished?"

He dipped his chin, and I gathered our dishes and carried them to the sink. I'd just finished rinsing the first dish when he appeared next to me, towel in hand. I glanced up at him and shook my head. "It's fine, I?—"

He didn't allow me to finish, just extracted the plate from my fingers. I watched, bemused, as he dried it before returning it to the cupboard. He turned to me expectantly, waiting for the next plate.

The man was an enigma: domineering one moment, considerate and helpful the next. He was a puzzle I wasn't certain I wanted to figure out.