A Stranger’s deadly eyes
868 Words
Chapter Five
Ruth woke up to the soft clatter of metal… and a smell.
A delicious smell.
A wonderful smell.
She groaned, rolling over in her blanket like a lazy cat. Her hair was a wild halo, her voice rough with sleep, her eyes half–open and irritated at the audacity of morning.The headache from the hangover was killing. She wandered if her mum made something for her.
Then she froze.
She lived alone. Quickly, she jumped from bed and ran to the kitchen.
A man.
A shirtless, unnervingly beautiful, broad-shouldered, tattoo-etched man standing at her stove like he owned the place.
Ruth blinked once.
Twice.
A third time for confirmation.
Nope. Still there. Still 6’2 of dangerous beauty sautéing onions like a domestic deity.
AH—!” she shrieked, grabbing the nearest weapon.
The pillow.
Dominic didn’t even turn fully. Just glanced over his shoulder — eyes cold enough to kill a plant yet weirdly glittering with mischief.
“Morning, Sunshine.”
His voice was deep. Too deep. It was inappropriately deep for a stranger making breakfast half-naked.
Ruth raised the pillow like a sword.
“WHO ARE YOU!? WHY ARE YOU IN MY HOUSE!? WHY ARE YOU… WHY ARE YOU—” She gestured helplessly at his chest, which honestly deserved its own introduction.
“Shirtless?” Dominic supplied, flipping the pan with smug ease. “Sweetheart, that should be your first thank-you, not a question.”
“GET OUT!” she squeaked, though her voice came out embarrassingly soft because she was still half asleep… and possibly drooling.
He finally turned to face her fully.
Deadly eyes.
Sassy smirk.
A body that looked sculpted by someone with too much free time and an obsession with perfection.
He leaned against her counter like the world was his stage.
“You don’t recognize me?” he asked dramatically, hand over his chest. “Wow. I’m wounded. Deeply. Emotionally.”
“Sir, I don’t know who you are!” Ruth backed up, the pillow still raised. “This is a criminal act I am calling the police ”
“This,” he announced with a flourish of his spatula, “is actually called divine intervention.”
Ruth stared dumbfounded.
Dominic winked.
“I,” he said with the theatrical air of a man who deserved his own theme music, “amthe man Santa sent.”
Silence.
Ruth’s sleepy face contorted.
“…Santa,” she repeated slowly.
“Yes.”
“Santa… Claus.”
“Do you know another Santa?” he shot back sassily.
She squinted. “what the hell are yapping about?.”
Dominic gasped loudly. “Wow. You’re one of those people.”
“What people?”
“The logical ones. Disgusting.” He shuddered. “I can’t work under these conditions.”
“WORK?” Ruth choked. “What—what work??”
He leaned closer, eyes flicking down her sleepy form — her oversized shirt slipping off one shoulder, pillow marks on her cheek, eyes still heavy from sleep.
She was cute. Ridiculously cute.
And he hated that he noticed.
“Your request,” he said softly, his voice suddenly lower, more dangerous.
“You know… the one you whispered lastnight. About wanting a handsome, muscular man who could cook.”
Ruth sputtered. “I DIDN’T— YOU— HOW—!?”
He tapped his temple.
“Santa hotline. Direct line. Very exclusive.”
“You’re insane,” she whispered.
“I’ve been called worse.” He returned to the stove, swirling the pan. “Now sit. Eat. Pretend you’re not staring at me.”
“I am NOT staring at you!” she lied, immediately staring again.
Dominic smirked without looking back.
“Sweetheart, your eyes have been stuck on my back muscles for five minutes. I’m about to start charging rent.”Ruth’s cheeks flamed.
Then, as if he weren’t already illegal levels of confidence, he added:
“Relax. I’m not here to… s*x you physically.”
Ruth choked on air.
“W-What—? That is NOT—! I didn’t—!”
“Oh, calm down,” he said, rolling his eyes, the sass dripping like honey. “Your face is adorable when you malfunction.”
She threw the pillow at him.
He caught it.
Effortlessly.
With two fingers.
“And don’t worry,” he said, voice softening into something that stroked her mind, warm and electric.
“I’ll start by sexing you mentally.”
Ruth froze.
Her heartbeat stumbled.
Dominic stepped closer, lowering his voice to that intimate register that felt like it slid against her skin.
“I’ll get into your head,” he murmured, eyes locking onto hers.
“Your thoughts. Your fears. Your fantasies.”
A half-smile curved his lips.
“I promise… you’ll feel everything.”
Her breath hitched, and the room suddenly was too warm.
He brushed past her — not touching her, but close enough that she felt the heat radiate from him.
“Eat your breakfast,” he said casually. “You’ll need the energy.”
“For what?” she whispered without thinking.
He smirked over his shoulder, eyes burning.
“For dealing with me, Sunshine.”
- Writer
