Manhattan’s Most Mysterious Billionaire - Chapter 8
He swore softly, then dropped his head back to stare up at the ceiling, the gesture full of frustration. The muscles in his neck tensed as he swallowed. But the rigid line of his jaw, beneath the shadow of morning stubble, had relaxed a fraction more when his gaze met hers. Where she had seen only heat and then fury before in those turbulent blue eyes, what she saw now was a searing concentration. He was staring at her as if she were some strange, annoying and unknowable creature he couldn’t figure out. It wasn’t what you’d call a complimentary look, but it still made the thrum of awareness chase over her skin.
He really was the most gorgeous man she’d ever seen before in her life. A total ride, as they would say in Ireland, despite the disturbing stare and the scowl furrowing his forehead. The patchwork of scars only seemed to enhance his raw masculinity.
He reminded her of a feral hound she’d found hiding in their milking barn as a child. Starved and flea-bitten, the mongrel dog had been badly beaten. She’d coaxed it home with dog treats but—after it had bitten two of her brothers—her mother had insisted it be put to sleep. She had cried for days, devastated she couldn’t save Conan the Barbarian, as her brothers had named him.
Nathaniel King had the same hunted look about him. The look of a creature so brutalized and abused they had learned to lash out to protect themselves.
“Not one single word?” he rasped. “You swear?”
She did a zipping motion across her lips, then crossed her heart and kissed her pinkie.
“Okay,” he said, his reluctance echoing through the word with deafening clarity. “I’ll eat the damn pancakes. Then you can leave.”
It was hardly a fulsome invitation, but she’d take it.
As he settled on a stool at the breakfast bar, she drew the warming pancakes from the oven and began making up a plate for him.
Over to you, Mammy. Time for your secret recipe to work miracles, and stop my hot new boss from kicking me out on my backside!
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