The Tenant (8 page)

“Ow.”

When she looked down, she couldn’t believe her eyes. Her anal beads lay on the floor, most definitely
not
where she’d last seen them. Derek had been in her bedroom. He’d snooped through her
very
personal things.

She felt violated.

She was furious.

Screw being nice, indeed.

Not bothering to tie the robe’s sash, she strode to Derek’s room and banged on his door.

“You jerk! You went through my stuff!”

Derek didn’t feel like letting her in. He didn’t know how she’d found out, but she sounded livid. “Go away, I’m sleeping.”

“Let me in, or I’ll break down the door.”

“Will you huff and puff first?”

Maybe he’d gone a bit overboard, disrespecting her privacy. In his defense—or maybe not—he hadn’t expected her to find out. She had, and it made sense for her to yell and call him names. Even make empty threats.

What he couldn’t wrap his mind around was that she would kick in the door, stride to his bed, and throw her anal beads on his head.

Or that she’d be practically naked while doing so.

For a moment, he simply lay there, stunned, sheets pulled up to his waist. His mind short-circuited, trying to decide what to deal with first—and the possibilities were many. From what he’d seen through her open robe, Amanda had nice tits. A tiny woman had kicked his locked door open. Said tiny woman was the first he’d seen without clothes, in the flesh, since Catherine. He should have left the overhead light on, because his table lamp didn’t exactly illuminate the room properly. Amanda had nice tits.
Really
nice!

His alcohol consumption chose that moment to finally catch up with him, and he clenched his jaw, trying to keep his head from swimming. Forcing himself to focus, he jumped up, ready to deal with his exhibitionistic intruder.

Amanda stood only a couple feet away from the bed, holding her robe’s sides together.

She looked hot.

He had to be drunker than he’d initially thought.

She glared. “You’re a pig.”

“And you’re a bitch.”

She pursed her lips, and for a second he expected her to serve him a kick like the one that had gotten her through his locked door. Instead, she said, “I hate you.”

“Feeling’s mutual.” He mirrored her glare while thanking God he’d gone to bed in his jeans; she was stirring feelings of a more carnal nature in him, and he’d rather she not know it.

“You went through my stuff. My personal stuff!”

“Yeah, well, it was under my roof. Had to make sure there was nothing dangerous in there.”

His effort at levity seemed to give fresh boost to her anger. Her eyes blazed, and her voice was dangerously low. “You’re loving every bit of discomfort you cause me. Don’t think I’m going to sit back and take it.”

Her nerve triggered him, and he found himself yelling. “
I’m
causing
you
discomfort? You know, the world doesn’t revolve around you. I’ve been dealing with too much shit lately to worry about keeping with your schedule, Princess.” His voice cracked at the pet name he’d given Cat. “I’ve lost everything.
Everything
. But do you care? No.” He wagged his finger in front of her face, which was turning a darker shade of red by the second. “You only care about living your fairytale. But you know what? I’m doing you a favor. There
is
no fairytale. There’s
no
happily ever after, and the sooner you realize that, the better off you’ll be.”

Her lower lip trembled. For a second there, Derek thought maybe she’d
seen
him. Maybe she’d seen the hurt in him and could tell he was more than an impediment to her plans. He was a man in pain, who needed to hear he was wrong, that there was a happily ever after, and he could still hope. Nobody had really seen him in a long while.

Or maybe he’d merely hurt her feelings. Oh well, it had been about time for her to get a reality check. She’d thank him later.

She closed her fist around his finger and pushed hard. She’d moved fast, and he hadn’t seen it coming, just like he didn’t see her foot coming. Her heel locked behind his, pulled, and he lost his balance.

She left him where he fell on the floor.

•●•

She’d hurt him and he wanted to get back at her.

Maybe more than he wanted to get back at Cat.

He was being unfair—Amanda wasn’t the root of all his problems—but he’d reached his snapping point, and she’d be the one to pay for it. Until the moment she’d landed him on his ass, he’d only wanted to cause trouble for her. Now he wanted to ruin her wedding and her perfect life. If Kenneth called him on it, he could always say he was following instructions and things got out of hand, but the truth was Derek couldn’t remember a time he’d felt more in control of his actions.

He’d mess with everything. He’d be in her way every step she took, and he’d start by going to her and letting her have some more of his mind.

Standing on trembling legs, he checked his reflection in the window, the darkness outside the perfect tableau for the fire he felt inside.

His eyes stung, and his head hurt, but he dragged his bare feet to her room. He’d meant to enter the same way she had, with a loud bang and crash, but the door stood ajar. A sniffling sound gave him pause. A glance inside revealed dragon-lady Amanda lying on her stomach. Choked sobs rattled her now-dressed lithe frame.

He briefly entertained the idea of mocking her, laughing at whatever had caused her breakdown—and he had a serious inkling it was his fault—but his upbringing won. He would never kick someone who was already down, even if that someone was the most irritating being he’d ever crossed paths with. He couldn’t ask her what the matter was; that would put him firmly in the
Twilight Zone
, where he’d be someone who actually gave a damn. Instead, he went to the kitchen and started preparing his mother’s remedy for frayed nerves.

By the time he returned to Amanda, he had a T-shirt on, his temper under check, and a steaming mug of tea with honey and lemon in his hand.

He toed the door all the way open and held out his offering, but Amanda wasn’t looking his way. Should he say, “Hey?” Maybe he should just leave the tea on her vanity and backtrack the hell out of there. Nah, that way she might not notice until it was cold, and his mother always insisted tea should be imbibed while it could still steam your glasses.

He opened his mouth and couldn’t believe it when he heard himself say, “Peace?”

Amanda’s whole body tensed. Her back went rigid, and Derek was afraid she’d jump up and kick the mug out of his hand. In his mind’s eye, he could already see the scolding liquid splattered everywhere, including all over his crotch. He winced but didn’t budge.

A couple of heartbeats went by, and he was reconsidering leaving the tea and returning to his room—he had some cleaning up to do, after all—when Amanda turned to look at him over her shoulder. Her eyes were puffy from the crying, but narrowed in what was clearly suspicion.

“Why?” The question was heavy with accusation. “I’m not a damsel in distress. I’m not crying because of you. You don’t get to pity me.”

That was the Amanda he knew and disliked. The one he could deal with. “I don’t pity you,” he said. “I value my peace and quiet too much to keep living like this.” He arched an eyebrow in that sarcastic way that always made Cat mad. “And there’s nothing damsel-like about you, anyway. If anything, you’re like a pocket-sized hurricane.”

“Good.” A tiny smile tugged the corners of her lips upward. “What’s the catch?”

“Just tea.”

She rolled over and sat up. The flannel top masked her curves, but they were already burned in his memory.

Derek handed her the tea. “It’s good after yelling matches.”

“There better not be any spit in this.” At the shake of his head, she cupped the mug with both hands. “And after that?” Her gaze challenged him to say something really worth her while, and Derek realized he wasn’t completely out of danger where a scorching tea-shower was concerned.

“We keep out of one another’s way until I move out. I don’t fuck with your wedding planning, and you get off my case.” Right then, he meant what he said.

He waited for her response, but she took her time blowing at her drink. “I guess we’d be better off if we tried not to kill each other.” She nodded, most likely to herself, and took a small sip. “We can try it out.”

He nodded too, then, finding nothing else to do with himself in there, went back to his room.

The moment his gaze fell on what had started the night’s trouble, he wanted to cut his tongue off. What had gotten into him? He didn’t want to make peace with her; he wanted her to suffer. That had been his plan when he’d gone after her, and Derek was always good with plans.

Well,
with
plans was perhaps incorrect. He was good at making them, but when the opportunity arose for him to go into things half-cocked, he’d usually say, “Screw it,” and jump in head first, instead of sticking with the elaborate machinations he’d decided on.

Whatever the case was, he wouldn’t allow a momentary lapse of judgment influence his decisions; he’d just have to be more subtle while wrecking her wedding and keeping the apartment for himself. If only to avoid the annoying sound of her crying.

He tossed the anal beads in the first drawer of his bedside table.

Amanda was messing with his head.

And he would return the favor.

But first he’d fix his door.

Saturday, May 3rd 2014

Amanda still couldn’t believe she’d cried.

She’d stayed up for hours after Derek had left her room the night before, trying to figure out why she’d gone for the waterworks. It couldn’t have been what he’d said. There
were
happy endings, and she was on her way to getting her own.

It had to be wedding-related stress.

She was in charge of everything, and Mason’s mother—

Oh! Amanda had to remember to book Mrs. Washburn’s ticket today. Mental note made, she resumed her musings. Wedding stress was what had brought on the tears. Preparing a home and a wedding was no easy feat. When your fiancé didn’t seem to have an opinion about
anything
, it became near impossible.

“I know something he’d have an opinion on,” she mumbled to herself, draping an arm over her eyes. The ceiling didn’t hold the solution to how she should tell Mason she was
temporarily
living with another man. For all he knew, Derek had moved out and she’d moved in. Mason had insisted on helping with the move, but she’d told him she needed the time with her sister, and he’d eventually backed off. Maybe she could avoid telling him all together.

It wasn’t like he’d be visiting. The idea of being alone with her pre-wedding apparently gave him the creeps. It was flattering in an odd way. He seemingly found her too irresistible to risk it. And didn’t that “risk” make her mad. It wasn’t as if he was a virgin and wanted to remain so until they were husband and wife. He’d had sex before, but he’d put Amanda on a pedestal and wanted to do right by her, regardless of her wishes. She sighed. She had to make an honest man out of him, if she was ever going to get him to bed.

With a groan, she rolled onto her stomach and covered her head with her pillow. She wasn’t telling Mason unless she absolutely had to. She needed the house to herself, and until then she needed to make sure to grab the phone whenever it rang—though odds were Mason would call her cell phone before trying the landline. They’d gotten that free call package, after all.

She lifted one corner of the pillow and listened. Derek should have been up by now, looking at house listings, but she hadn’t heard his door open. Fully aware she was acting like a petulant child, she kicked at the mattress. Why couldn’t the punk freak just get the hell out of here? And what was up with the truce?

Sure, bringing her tea had been a friendly gesture on his part, but she hadn’t forgotten his prying, and she wasn’t buying the ceasefire bull. She’d bet her bottom dollar he didn’t mean it, but wouldn’t mind if he did. It would make her victory easier. If Derek thought she was being nice, she could find subtle ways to make living in the apartment sheer hell for him.