The Mercenary Next Door (Rogues and Rescuers #2) - Lucy Leroux Page 0,2
too, in addition to watering his plants. But that was no trouble. After cooking at Gardullo’s bakery, whipping up a single batch of her special rocky road brownies or a lemon pound cake took no time at all. Besides, the extra treats were the least she could do considering how well Mason compensated her to look after his plants.
Twenty dollars a day was insane for fifteen minutes of work—although truth be told, some of his plants were fussy. The mosses and his dozen or so orchids were especially demanding. Too little or too much water, and they wilted or died outright.
Laila wasn’t good with plants—cooking was her thing—but Mason had an incredibly detailed list of instructions she could follow, down to the number of sprays each orchid received. As long as she stuck to the list, the plants lived, even thrived. Whenever he was away for more than a few weeks, he rounded up whatever cash he owed her, telling her to put it to good use.
At first glance, Mason Lang didn’t look like the type of man to grow flowers. At second glance, he didn’t look like the kind, either, but his apartment was proof that appearances were deceiving. It was a miniature jungle, an oasis in the middle of their dry urban sprawl.
They never discussed his hobby, but she liked that. People would pass him on the street, they would see his perfect face and hard body, and they’d never know about his meticulously maintained garden. It was like a secret they shared.
And the man had several.
Laila didn’t know what Mason did for a living. All she knew was that he would fly off at a moment’s notice, and his trips could take anywhere from days to a few weeks. This last one had been the longest.
Laila often wondered where Mason went and what he did when he was there. But he never brought it up himself, and she was too tongue-tied around him to ask. Not that he ever engaged in prolonged conversation. She considered herself lucky to get a five-minute chat out of him at a time. But Mason’s gruff manner didn’t put her off. As far as she was concerned, it just added to his mystique. If they did have a real conversation that lasted more than a few minutes, it might shatter her illusions about him. Her crush would die a quick death once he proved he was just like everyone else.
Yeah, keep telling yourself that.
Feeling like a fool, Laila limped back to her couch where her dinner was getting cold. Stalking her hot neighbor was a giant waste of time. If he didn’t like his plants so much, he’d probably never speak to her.
Turning on her TV for the company, she finished her meal…alone. Again.
Mason cracked a lid, hyperaware he wasn’t alone. He sat bolt upright in bed, surprised to find it was morning.
He hadn’t meant to crash right after getting home. Mason had planned on ordering a pizza and watching some porn to round out the night, but the jet lag took him down before he could decide on toppings.
Now it was daylight, and someone was in his apartment. He listened carefully, pulling his hand away from the bedside table, where he kept his gun safe.
It’s just Laila. He’d forgotten to text her to let her know he was back.
After rolling out of bed, he went to the stairs that led to the living room. He could hear her moving around, humming along to whatever music was pumping through her earbuds.
And there she was, appearing from behind his blood orange tree…wearing nothing but skin-tight yoga pants and the tiniest tank top he had ever seen.
His lips parted as she set down the sprayer he used on his orchids. He’d never seen Laila wearing so little. Mason typically saw her dressed for school, or on her way to work in the plain green polo and beige pants the store used as a uniform.
She’d always struck him as modest, or at least painfully shy—too shy ever to show any skin. And right now, she thought she was alone, which was why she was dancing around like no one was watching.
His lips lifted at the corners as she twirled unexpectedly, her creamy coffee curves highlighted by the bright sunlight streaming through the windows.
Laila reached out, touching one of the rounded oranges hanging from his tree. As she closed her eyes, her surprisingly lush lips parted as she bent and inhaled, drawing in the citrus scent.