And that was what had drawn me to him from the moment I’d seen him in the living room, glaring up at my father even though he was afraid and hungry.

The kitchen island separated us, but he reached over it with one long arm. The Henley stretched against his muscles as he swept his thumb along my skin, right over the deep indentation left in my cheek.

I sucked in a startled breath as that touch burned its way through me. My senses shorted out and a wild heat swept down the entire front of my body, tightening the tips of my breasts. He was only touching my cheek, my scar, and my body was flipping out.

Brock held my stare for a moment too long and then exhaled heavily, dropping his hand. I had no idea what he was thinking as he shifted his gaze away from me, but he had touched the scar, and I could only imagine it was something I probably didn’t want to hear.

Unnerved, I grabbed the ends of my cardigan and yanked them together. Time to get this conversation back on track. “So, why did you—”

“Damn,” he cursed, eyes narrowing. “What in the hell just darted across your floor?”

I turned just in time to see the tail end of Rhage’s brown and white butt scurrying behind the couch. “Oh, that’s Rhage, my cat. He hates people, so it’s best to pretend like he doesn’t exist.”

“Rage?” He looked back at me, brows raised. “That’s an interesting name.”

“It’s based on a vampire—a book character.”

“Glad you clarified it was a book character,” he teased as he reached over and grabbed a paper towel. “Did you get enough of these? We might need one more.”

“Shut up.” My lips twitched as I realized something else about Brock hadn’t changed over the years. He loved to tease. Never maliciously, but he was always playful.

“For a second I thought you had a rat.” He moved to one of the barstools. “Sit with me.”

“Do you want anything to drink?”

“A water would be fine.”

Of course he would ask for a water while eating a doughnut, I thought as I grabbed myself a Coke, because why would I purposely drink water when I had carbonated goodness within reach? I grabbed a bottle of water and placed it in front of him as I walked around the island and sat on the barstool that forced him to sit on my left.

I hopped up, only realizing then that my hair was pulled back from my face. I started to reach for the pin securing the length in place, but stopped myself. What was the point? Not like he hadn’t seen it—and seen it when it had been a hell of a lot worse than this. Plus he’d just touched the one scar, so . . .