Demanding Ransom by Megan Squires

Author:Megan Squires [Squires, Megan]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Amazon: B00CKIFTBK
Published: 2013-04-27T23:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

“Maggie.” Ran’s not wearing a shirt. I hadn’t planned for that, because if I had, I would have practiced keeping my eyes held open at an appropriate size so they don’t fall out of my head. There is no other way to describe what I’m doing right now other than gawking. Slack-jawed, stunned gawking. “What are you doing here?” he asks, the side of the front door in his grip.

Cora alluded to the notion that Ran had an incredible stomach, but I don’t think her washboard example was a fair description for his abs. As my eyes rake over each individual muscle, it’s like I can feel the ridge of them under my fingertips, just by staring. The tattoos that peeked out from his shirt earlier snake fully across his upper arm and onto his chest—a colorful mosaic of designs and patterns twisting into a beautiful work of art on his perfect body. Just below his collarbone, woven into the ornate design on his upper half, is the word ‘Ransomed’ etched in flawless, black cursive.

“Maggie? You alright?” A German shepherd joins Ran at the door, his large body swinging back and forth with the playful momentum of his tail.

“Yeah.” I shake my head so hard I get an instant headache. “Here.” I shove a large carton of goldfish crackers his way. “These are for you.”

He steps out onto the porch and pulls them from my hands hesitantly when he views my truck over the top of my head. “Maggie, did you get a new car?”

“Yeah. I finally got the insurance money from the accident.”

Ran switches glances from the truck back down to me and then says, “I like it. And my bike will fit in the back. Nice choice.”

He still doesn’t have a shirt on. Well, obviously. But it’s all I can think about. Like all of my years of schooling, all of my time on the debate team learning how to speak confidently in front of an audience, even my kindergarten teaching where I was taught how to sound out my first words—that’s all robbed from me when I look at Ran, standing there, his bare muscles inadvertently flexing under the porch light. It’s all gone. All of my faculties for speech have been stolen away.

“You want to come in?” Ran side steps and holds out an ushering hand toward the inside of his townhouse.

I close my eyes and try to form a sentence. “I brought you a tree.”

He cocks his head. “You brought me a Christmas tree?” He looks past me again toward the truck. “Shoot. That completely shows up my earlier attempts at gifting room décor.” Ran disappears into the house and when he comes back, he’s got a long-sleeved Henley on and suddenly I’m able to think, breathe, and speak again. He skips down the steps toward the vehicle and slides the tree out of the bed, hoisting it over his shoulder, and presses past me on the sidewalk to enter the house. “Thank you, Maggie.

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