I twist around from where I'm kneeling in the dirt and glance back at Mack. He's sitting on the porch steps, wearing only a pair of jeans, his broad chest gleaming in the sunlight, rippling with muscles. His elbows are on his knees, his phone held loosely between his hands. He's expecting a call.
He's watching me again. Mack is always watching, tracking my every movement with those incredible eyes. He's always been that way, but it's become somehow different since the day those guys snatched me off the street. I shudder as memory threatens to flicker through my brain once more and destroy the delicate peace we've found here.
Mack thinks my desperate attempts to fill his home with the beauty of flowers and music is my way of fixing the darkness in his life by taking everything ugly away.
