HANS: Alliance Series Book Four(11)

Crazier than I’m already going.

Feeling a little too much like a creeper, I step away from my window and try to put thoughts of Hot Hans out of my mind. And the only way to do that is to start my day.

With my hip leaning against the kitchen counter, the aroma of brewing coffee fills the house, and I feel a little of my sanity returning.

I’m scrolling through my phone, deleting emails, when I come across one telling me my self-purchased birthday present arrived yesterday. Or at least one of them. The other one should be delivered any day now.

Not caring that I’m still in my pajamas, since I won’t see anyone anyway, I head to the front door and slip on my sandals.

It’s been hot this summer, but the early morning air isn’t stifling. I take my time making my way down the driveway to my mailbox.

I was in such a hurry to get on that call yesterday that I forgot to check the mail.

I spare a glance at Hans’s house, wishing I knew the layout, specifically wondering if his bedroom window is the one on the far front corner, next to what has to be his living room, or if it’s on the back side of the house. I’m assuming the single narrow window closest to the garage is his kitchen, so the house must go garage, kitchen, living room, bedroom—possibly plural—and bathroom.

Okay, wow, time to get a hobby.

I almost chuckle at my inner voice.

Getting a hobby has never been my issue. It’s sticking to a hobby that’s the problem. Bringing me back around to the point of this outing.

Pulling open my mailbox, I sigh when I see that the box is clearly too big for this rusty old thing, but the mail delivery person jammed it in there anyway.

“Would it have killed you to bring the box to my front step?” I grumble, knowing damn well my ass wouldn’t have walked it up to the house either.

I work to wiggle the box out, one corner, then the other, getting it caught on the lip around the opening of the mailbox.

I wiggle it some more.

The one hobby I’ve found that I really like to do is baking. So I bought myself personalized recipe cards, multicolored pens, cute little food stickers, and other things I don’t want bent or wrinkled. It would be great to just mash the corner of the box to release it, but I can’t. I need to finesse it.

When finessing doesn’t work, I give it another hard tug, and finally the box slides free, scattering a handful of envelopes onto the ground in the process.

“Crap.”

I tuck the box under my arm as I bend down to pick up the rest of my mail.





CHAPTER 9





Hans





I watch through the window over my kitchen sink as Cassandra’s front door opens and she prances out.

“Seriously?” I question the universe as she skips down her driveway, wearing practically nothing.

Each step has her tiny yellow silk shorts riding up her thighs, exposing the expanse of jiggling pale skin.

Cassandra takes the last step from her driveway to the road, and her foot comes down a little harder than before, which is highlighted by her unrestrained tits bouncing under her matching yellow silk tank top. The thin straps are barely enough to hold the soft fabric across her chest.

And I know the fabric is soft because I’ve touched it.

I’ve held it in my hands.

My fingers tighten around the glass I’m drinking water from, and I have to force them to loosen. But I don’t look away. Even when she looks in this direction.

The kitchen is dark, and I have a film over this window that blurs the view of anyone trying to look in, so I know she can’t see me. Which is why I continue to stand here staring while she turns her back to me and starts to struggle with something in the mailbox.

The wiggling. And shaking. And bouncing… It’s too much.

This woman is too fucking much.

And when she finally yanks the item free and mail falls to the ground around her, she finally does it.

She bends over.

The tiny shorts are no longer shorts; they’re barely underwear as Cassandra flashes me with an unrestricted view of the bottom half of her ass cheeks. The material pulled tight across her pussy. The bunching fabric right where I want to put my face.

I’m across the kitchen, across the living room, and have my hand on the handle of my front door before I realize what I’m doing.

I close my eyes.

I just got home. Walked in my door five minutes before she walked out hers. I just needed some water and a slice of bread before I crawled into bed.

I don’t need to accost my neighbor in the street.

Releasing the doorknob, I move back into the kitchen and watch her sexy ass walk back up her driveway and into her house.

After I sleep, I’ll replay her walk on my security feed.

For research purposes.

To make sure she locked her front door.

And the next time she leaves the house, I’ll go back over and relock her bedroom window.

I don’t need the temptation of knowing it’s open.





CHAPTER 10





Hans





Leaving my truck in the driveway, I grab my groceries and take the dozen strides to my mailbox.

It’s been twenty-four hours since I watched Cassandra get her mail, and I’m still on edge.