by Ella Fox
I’d have kept right on staring had he not cleared his throat. I cringed as I came back to reality and realized he’d asked a question I hadn’t retained.
“Um, huh?” I asked, perfectly clueless.
"I was asking if you're a professional gate climber," he said in a husky voice.
“No, I—”
"She's fine after a fall from that height?" the officer asked as he came through the gate.
“She never hit the ground,” my savior said, “since I caught her.”
The cop looked almost as impressed as I felt. I’d have heaped praised onto the stranger who saved me had I not remembered that I needed to be focused on a more pressing concern.
"So now that I'm on this side I need to get my—"
The officer pinned me with a look that left no doubt that he was in charge. “Miss, please remain silent while I work out what’s going on here.”
I pursed my lips and tried to contain my annoyance. I knew he was just doing his job, but all I cared about was finding Elvis.
The officer turned back to the Spanish model—I naturally assumed he modeled because he looked like he belonged in sensual looking black and white ads for men’s cologne. You know the kind of ads I’m talking about, right? There’s always a sexy guy giving you the let’s have all the sex look with a set of eyes that are clearly attempting to hypnotize you into buying something.
He was at least six feet tall and had a head full of thick, dark hair. His face was perfectly proportioned from forehead to chin, and I could find nothing that didn't appear to be symmetrical. He had a ridiculously sexy closely trimmed beard that I wanted to trace with my fingers, and his jaw was the sexiest thing I'd ever seen. I turned crimson when my eyes trailed up and met his, and I realized he was observing me—which meant he knew I’d been staring at him. Again.
I bit my lip and tried not to blush as I blinked like an idiot. I was relieved to have a reason to look to the police officer when he cleared his throat to get our attention. “Are you the one who called about the disturbance down the side of the house?” he asked the man.
I couldn't resist the urge to let my eyes wander back to the Spanish god. I knew just enough Spanish to determine that if his looks were rated on the salsa scale, he'd be called el más caliente.
His eyes were on me as he answered the cop. “My brother called, yes.”
“What’s your name, sir?”
“Alejandro Cruz.”
Even his name was sexy. My skin felt hot and prickly under his gaze. Anxious for a reprieve, I looked back to the officer.
The cop nodded as he took note of it on his pad. “What about your brother?”
“Rafael Cruz.”
“And you?” the cop asked with a head nod toward me.
“Kaya Porter.”
“Can you spell that?”
“K-a-y-a,” I answered.
“That’s a weird name,” the officer said as he wrote it down.
I wasn’t sure if he was being rude or not so I shrugged and said nothing. Alejandro growled something under his breath that I couldn’t understand. A shiver went down my back at the way the words rolled off his tongue. His Spanish accent fascinated me. I’d never been one to care one way or the other about a man’s voice, but his did things to me. I wondered if audio erotica was a thing. If it were, I would pay a subscription fee to hear him talk all day.
“So were you trying to escape or get in?” the officer asked, ruining my good fantasy about an Alejandro Cruz dirty talk subscription service.
“I was trying to get in,” I answered stiffly, annoyed that the officer had already forgotten everything I’d said, “I told you—”
"No, no, she is not the disturbance," Alejandro interjected. "My brother thought someone was trying to steal God only knows what from the exterior of the house. He was asleep and heard something outside his bedroom window and panicked. He shouldn't have called the police—it's animal control that we need. Some dickhead bird went through the trash that my brother forgot to secure, and he's been leading him on one hell of a chase around the yard."
My eyes narrowed, my hands going to my hips as I stared down Alejandro Cruz. "Don't talk about my little buddy like that!"
His eyes widened, and his jaw dropped at the same moment the cop let out a choked laugh.
“So the little fella you were climbing the fence to save is a bird?”
I turned my attention away from Alejandro Cruz, bird hater, and focused on the police officer.
“Yes. I’m surprised he went onto someone else’s property since he’s never done anything like this before. I fell asleep on my lounger and woke to the sound of him shrieking. I panicked because I thought he’d gotten caught up in something.”
“Where do you live?” Alejandro asked.
The words were barely out of his mouth before he grimaced. “I didn’t mean that in a creepy way. I just wondered how far the bird wandered. I wasn’t aware they could get around high walls.”
“I’m right next door and—”
I stopped speaking when I heard Elvis's normal bird noise. I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw him in the side yard. Of course, he was showing off, his full plumage extended so that everyone could see how beautiful he was.
“You’re shitting me,” the cop bellowed, his eyes bugging out when he got his first look at Elvis. “Jesus Christ, what the hell is that doing here? Those goddamn things belong in zoos. Is it even legal to have it?”
Great, I thought. Two bird haters in one day.
“I can assure you that it’s perfectly legal to own a peacock,” I answered, careful to keep from getting snippy with an officer of the law. “You’d be surprised how many people keep them as pets.”
“No shit,” the cop said with a nervous-sounding laugh. “Learn something new every day.”
“I didn’t mean to insult your bird. I swear, my brother didn’t know he was someone’s pet when he called the police,” Alejandro interjected, speaking directly to me. “I too was unaware that peacocks could be pets.”
Before I could answer, a man wearing a pair of gray lounge pants came running down the side of the yard. “Este maldita ave esta loca!” he yelled, his exasperation palpable.
It didn’t take a genius to figure out he was talking about Elvis, nor did I need an advanced degree to know that the man was Alejandro’s brother. Even with the distance between us, I saw the physical similarities. They were both prime specimens, to say the least. If getting pregnant with a mere look were a thing, the Cruz brothers would’ve left a trail of knocked up, swooning women in their wake.
“Tranquilízate, Rafe, el pájaro le pertenece a nuestro vecina,” Alejandro called out in a no-nonsense voice.
Although I didn’t have the benefit of knowing much Spanish, I had the feeling he’d told his brother to calm down.
“Elvis,” I called, hoping against hope that he hadn’t created too much trouble. Some messed up trash I could handle, but if he did any real damage and I had to call Emery with it, I’d be beside myself. Although I knew she wouldn’t be angry with me, I’d have hated to let her down.
With his feathers fanned out for full effect, Elvis began coming toward me. There’s a reason the phrase proud as a peacock came to be, and he was the living embodiment of it as he sauntered across the property.
“Well, now that I’ve got all the details and the bird’s on his way back to his owner, I’m no longer needed,” the officer said as he took a few steps back. “I’d suggest you do a better job of keeping the bird contained in the yard.”
I gritted my teeth and nodded and bit back a pithy response. It wasn't like Emery had a cage for Elvis—and I didn't think he needed one anyway. He'd never escaped before, so I was confident his trip over the wall was a one-time thing.
I couldn’t contain a snort of amused disbelief when I realized that the cop was anxious to get back into his squad car before Elvis got close to him. A jolt of electricity rolled through me when Alejandro laughed huskil
y as Elvis came to my side, with the other Cruz brother right behind him.
I crouched down and wagged my finger at my bad boy. “What got into you, big guy? Weren’t getting enough attention while I was sleeping so you decided to bother the neighbors, right?”
He cocked his head to the side and gave me a look that was the equivalent of saying who, me?
“You almost gave me a stroke,” I scolded. Elvis looked suitably abashed as he stepped closer to me and gave me what Emery and I referred to as his butter-wouldn’t-melt-in-my-mouth eyes. Snorting out a laugh, I straightened to face Alejandro and his brother.
“I’m so sorry—”
“Don’t give it another thought,” Alejandro instructed. “Your bird is welcome over here anytime. Now that we know he’s a house pet, Rafe will know not to panic.”
Rafe guffawed. “I wouldn’t say I panicked. I was just surprised when I came out to investigate a noise and found a rather large bird eating our garbage. I may have been startled when he started running toward me.”
I’d never seen Elvis run toward anyone that wasn’t Emery, so I assumed Rafe had tried to get between him and his food.
“You were running from him like he was going to eat you,” Alejandro said dryly. “When I saw you streak past the window to the gym I hopped off the treadmill and hauled ass to get out here to see what the hell was going on. I assumed I needed to save you from whatever had you damn near pissing yourself. I was sure Cujo was on your tail, you big baby.”
I couldn’t contain my smile. “He’s not an attack bird,” I assured them.
Rafe gave his brother the side-eye and shrugged. “Well, that was my excitement for the day,” he yawned. “Now that this situation is resolved, I’m going back to bed.”
My brows went up before I was able to school my expression. I wasn't sure how long I'd been asleep on the lounge chair, but at last check, it had only been just after noon.
“How about you remember your manners before you do that?” Alejandro said.
“Manners?” Rafe repeated, a look of confusion on his face.
Alejandro rolled his eyes as he looked back to me with a smile. “It’s customary to say hello to strangers that are standing right in front of you,” he said. “Rafe, this is Kaya. She’s our next door neighbor.”
Rafe inclined his head toward me but didn’t put his hand out for me to shake it. “Hey,” he said. “I’ll be sure to wave if I see you around the neighborhood again. Later.”
Without another word, he turned and wandered back toward the house. I had to snap my fingers at Elvis to get his attention when he started to follow Rafe. Luckily he stopped and returned to my side when I called for him.
"I'm sorry about my brother," Alejandro said huskily. "I swear he's usually not such a douche. He turns into a real idiot when he doesn't get his twelve straight hours of sleep."
I didn't think Rafe was a douche, but he hadn't been overly friendly. I wasn't concerned by it, though.
“Don’t worry about it. I’m sure the crazy bird lady from next door doesn’t seem very interesting.”
Alejandro’s eyebrows arched as he stared down at me. “I’d hardly say you’re not interesting. Quite the opposite, in fact.”
I knew I was blushing, but it wasn’t like I could stop it. Suddenly conscious of the fact that I was clad only in a bathing suit and a cover-up that was little more than some white fabric that left nothing to the imagination, I crossed my arms over my chest.
“I should go…”
Alejandro’s brows furrowed as his beautiful lips turned down into a frown.
“Our maid told us an actress lived next door,” he blurted. “Are you an actress?”
The idea of me reading from a script was hilarious. “No,” I said, choking back a laugh, “I’m not.”
“Are you a relative?”
“Not by blood, but yes. Emery is like a cousin to me. She’s on location for the next two months. I’m here to take care of Elvis and watch the house.”
“Just you in one of these houses all alone?”
I looked over his shoulder to his Mediterranean style home, not all that dissimilar visually to Emery’s rental, but at just under twenty-two hundred square feet I knew her house was far less than even a quarter of the size of Alejandro’s. “Just me and Elvis,” I confirmed.
Alejandro frowned. “That seems dangerous.”
I shrugged as I tried to ignore the fact that having his attention on me was far too heady an experience.
"I've done it for her a bunch of times, and I live here anytime I'm between jobs, so I know the house and the neighborhood well. There's a private security company that monitors the property at night, and the alarm system is state of the art. I feel secure and very comfortable in the house."
“You live with her sometimes?” he asked.
"Emery is my best friend, and she gave me my first gig. She's also responsible for encouraging me to make the service available to other people."
Alejandro studied me while I spoke like there could be a pop quiz later. I’d never had someone pay such close attention to the things I said. It bothered me that I liked it.
“So you’re a professional house sitter?”
“I am,” I answered.
Alejandro cocked his head to the side, his blue eyes full of curiosity.
“How old are you, Kaya?”
My brows furrowed as I tucked my hair behind my ear. I wondered why he wanted to know and why the heck I wanted to answer.
“How old do you think I am?”
4
Alejandro
What I thought was that I’d flip out if she weren’t legal. I was ninety-eight percent certain she was, but that two percent was making me anxious, especially because I had notoriously shitty luck in the dating department. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to be in a relationship—it was that something about me drew out the nut jobs. Don’t believe me? Let me fill you in.
My very first serious girlfriend, Ximena Lopez, was a kleptomaniac. I only found out when she got busted stealing money from our teacher's purse. One thing led to another, and she was implicated in two-dozen incidents at our school. She confessed to it all and was expelled. It didn't take me long to realize that she was also responsible for all the things that had gone missing from my room, my locker and my car during our relationship. That put a damper on the whole first love thing.
Then there was the girlfriend I'd had at the beginning of my second year at Stanford, Havana Rodriguez. Havana liked to save all of her finger and toenail clippings—something I discovered when I looked under her bathroom sink for a roll of toilet paper. Instead of toilet paper, I found several gallon-sized bags of nail clippings. To this day, I get a little grossed out when I see nail clippers.
I figured the problem was that I dated girls instead of women, so I changed my whole game and went for my English teacher. Dariana Escoval was a thirty-two-year-old woman who knew what she wanted. We enjoyed a solid week of whenever we could get our hands on each other sex before her husband came to my apartment and asked if I was ready to talk about having a threesome. I hadn’t known she was married. Thanks to Dari, my college roommates started calling me the cougar catcher.
I didn’t help my cause to drop the nickname when my next failed attempt at dating involved a thirty-year-old manager of the Starbucks I frequented. Easy on the eyes and a devil between the sheets, Bethany Vesser was a great—right up until the moment I realized she groomed her cat with her tongue. After watching her spend half an hour grooming her cat from top to bottom, I tapped out and never looked back. I can handle weird, but there’s a line. I couldn’t date anyone who had an animal for two years after that.
My family joked that I had the worst dating luck of all time and I had to agree. I'd been thrown up on during oral sex, twice—by two different women. Two years ago, a date I was on ended when the woman was arrested at the door to her apartment for credit card fraud. I'd dated countless stage five clingers, one compulsive liar
, a nose picker, a ballerina who left used band aids all over the place, and, most disturbing of all, a girl who called me Uncle Alejandro the only time we had sex. I'm not even ashamed to admit it was such a turnoff that I couldn't finish.
The one thing they all had in common—aside from the crazy—was that they were all exotic looking. You could say I had a type since they were all so similar— tall with dark hair and ample breasts.
Kaya was the opposite of the women I normally found myself interested in, yet I'd never seen anyone more beautiful than her in my life. There was no way she was even a smidgeon over five foot three, and I doubted she weighed more than one hundred ten pounds soaking wet. Her golden hair was pulled back in a long ponytail that stopped mid back, the casual look far more alluring than anything more time-intensive had ever been. Her body was incredible—the cover up she was wearing did nothing to hide that—and I was fighting an incredibly strong impulse to touch her. She was flat out fucking gorgeous, and I wanted to know more about her. That was going to be a real issue if she was underage because at almost twenty-eight years old I sure as hell wasn't looking for a teenage girlfriend. I felt fairly confident no one would let a child house sit, but fuck knew I'd seen weirder.
“I’m twenty-one,” she said softly, her soft green eyes sparkling in the sun.
I breathed out a sigh of relief. Kaya wasn’t just legal—she was a full-fledged adult. The intensity of my attraction to her would’ve been alarming had I been able to think of anything besides her. I could only hope that she wasn’t off the fucking reservation like every single other person I’d ever been interested in.