For Love of a Grump: A Grumpy Soft for Sunshine Collection

Chapter 6

By the time they finished installing cameras, Malcolm had to go see to something or other on the estate, which meant Charlotte was on her own, forbidden from doing more work on the cottages. At least, for now.

That whole situation irked her. She hated being told what to do. Especially by a grumpy, dictatorial man. But he’d asked her not to. Sort of. He’d actually said, “Please,” a word she hadn’t thought was in his vocabulary.

“He wants me safe. What does that even mean?”

Bubbles bounced into her lap. “Baaa!”

“I know! It’s confusing. He’s confusing. Is he just spouting general good sense and trying to avoid liability because he’s the estate manager? Or is it something else?”

“Baaaaaaaaa!” Buttercup insisted.

“Baaa baaaa!” Blossom argued, little tail wagging.

“I swear, it was easier when he was just being a grump. When he didn’t care, I could just act however I wanted around him because it didn’t matter. He was going to be who he is, no matter what. But something’s… shifted, and now I feel all… squirrelly inside.” The inconvenient attraction she felt suddenly seemed like more somehow, and the question of whether he actually returned that attraction had been driving her crazy.

“Baaa?” Buttercup butted her head against Charlotte’s arm and peered up with those big, liquid eyes.

“Okay, okay. Enough about my problems. You’re ready for your close-up.” Shifting to her knees, she set Bubbles on her feet and pulled out her phone, swiping open the camera and turning it to video. “Okay, girls, get your cute on!”

By the time she’d finished playing with the babies and uploading another video to social media, Charlotte hadn’t worked off much of the restlessness. Her next best fallback was cooking. Instead of heading up to the manor house to take advantage of the larger kitchen, she elected to stick to something simple that she could prepare in the smaller one in her flat. Enchiladas would be easy enough and would keep until whenever Malcolm got home. She lost herself in the familiar rhythm of the kitchen, soaking in the spicy scents of home as she made the sauce from scratch and assembled the casserole. As a rule, she loved feeding people because food was about so much more than the stomach. It fed the soul. If anyone needed his soul fed, it was Malcolm Niall.

The timer was just about to go off when she heard his door shut. What was it with that man not knowing how to close a door quietly? Whatever. It was in her favor tonight. Switching the oven off, she went to knock on his door.

He hadn’t even shed his fleece when he answered.

“Bring the computer with the camera feeds over to my place.”

His brows drew together. “What?”

“We both agreed that whoever this is will probably be coming back tonight, at least to get their stuff, if not to stay another night. That means a stakeout to watch the camera feeds. Why shouldn’t we be well fed and comfortable while we watch?”

“We?”

“Don’t think you’re going to be doing this without me. Come on.” Without waiting to see if he followed, she went back to her flat, leaving the door open.

When his boots sounded on the stoop, she counted it as a win. Her door he shut without slamming, so maybe he could be taught. Hearing no further movement, Charlotte turned to find him standing agape at the entrance, staring at her space. She realized this was the first time he’d been in her apartment.

It was more or less a mirror image of his, but she didn’t think it could be any more different. Where his flat was spartan and minimalist, hers was a riot of texture and color. When Raleigh had offered her the space, he’d told her to grab any extra furniture pieces she wanted from the manor house to make her place more comfortable, and she’d taken him at his word. On top of the eclectic mix of furniture, she’d been adding her own touches as her family continued to slowly ship her things from Texas. Patterned pillows and throws added pops of brightness to the otherwise drab interior, and an assortment of potted plants added life. There were bowls of pretty stones, books about every subject under the sun, and dozens of framed photos of friends and family.

“When did you put all of this in here?”

“Over the past couple months. As I’ve said before, I like making spaces comfortable. Please sit. The food is just about ready.”

“You’re really moving in.”

She paused as she pulled plates out of the cabinets. “I am. Did you think my being here was temporary?” Did he hope it was? The idea of that caused a pit in Charlotte’s stomach.

“I hadn’t thought about it. This is…”

“A lot?”

“Homey.”

She couldn’t decide if he thought that was a good thing or not. He clearly had a complicated relationship with the idea of home, after his mom walking out on him as a child, then losing his daughter and wife. Even Afton. It seemed most of the people he’d cared about had left him in one way or another. After all that, Charlotte could admit he’d earned the right to his grumpitude. But that hadn’t stopped her from trying to lighten that habitual dour mood. She’d coaxed a few almost smiles out of him over the past couple of weeks and considered it a victory. Maybe tonight she’d coax out more.

“Go ahead and set up the computer. I’ll dish this up.”

She flitted around her kitchen, plating up enchiladas and topping them with sour cream. She even added a sprig of fresh cilantro from her potted herbs to each plate for garnish. Eating began with the eyes, after all.

Malcolm looked up from the laptop as she brought over the food. His eyes widened, his nostrils flaring. “What’s that?”

“Beef enchiladas. My mom’s recipe. Or as close as I can get with the ingredients over here. I had my sister send me spices by the case.”

He accepted a plate and brought it to his nose, closing his eyes and inhaling. “This smells amazing.”

“We aren’t afraid of spice where I come from. They aren’t set-your-mouth-on-fire hot, but I didn’t think about dialing back the heat.”

“Good. I like some heat.”

She’d have sworn something flashed in his hazel eyes, there, then gone again as fast as she could blink.

Heat flushed her cheeks for reasons she didn’t want to think about as she sat next to him on the sofa. Because it was easier than looking at Malcolm, she fixed her gaze on the cluster of static images on the laptop screen. The three cameras caught almost every angle of the cottage, and she could only hope that their squatter hadn’t been around to see the two of them hiding each one.

Silence settled but for the scrape of utensils against plates and the occasional low groan of pleasure from her companion. If nothing else, she could tell he absolutely liked her cooking. It was a skill she took pride in. But she couldn’t quite remember the last time she’d been jealous that it was her food and not her eliciting that kind of noise from a man.

For just a moment, she considered asking him straight out whether she was reading the situation correctly. But then she remembered that horrible morning after, when his relief that nothing had happened between them had been so profound, and he’d insisted she was the last woman he needed to get tangled up with. Whatever apologies he’d made hadn’t been about that. They’d been about her need to mother people. Better to keep quiet and assume she was in this alone.

Malcolm ate every bite, and she thought he might even lick the plate. His gaze slid over to the kitchen counter. “That was pure dead brilliant. Is there more?”

Charlotte laughed, pleased. “Of course. Mama always said the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach.”

When he only blinked at her, she played the words back in her head and winced. “Not that I’m trying to seduce you with food. It’s just she made all her recipes with Papi in mind, and he could eat a lot and—I’ll just get you some more.”

Leaping to her feet, she snatched his plate and hurried to the kitchen, cheeks flaming. God, why couldn’t the floor just open up and swallow her?

As she scooped another couple of enchiladas onto his plate, her mouth opened and more words fell out. “I’m making sopapillas for dessert.” She hadn’t actually planned on making dessert, but her feet carried her to the cabinet, and she began to pull out ingredients. “Have you ever had sopapillas? They’re a sort of fried pastry that’s finished off with a sprinkle of cinnamon and drizzled with honey. Will you have room for dessert after another serving of these?”

The enchiladas. Right, I haven’t given him those yet.

She turned to reach for his plate again and walked right into Malcolm, hard enough that she bounced off that broad chest. As they had earlier in the day, those big, work-roughened hands cupped her elbows to steady her. How the hell had he made it across the kitchen without her hearing?

He stared down at her in consternation, his expression serious. Because he was always serious. “Woman, do you ever stop talking?”

Not when I’m mortified, I don’t.

“I’m sorry. I really wasn’t trying to flirt and make this weird. That’s not what I?—”

He closed the distance between them, pressing his mouth to hers in a fleeting kiss that dried up the river of words.

Wide-eyed, she stared up at him when he pulled back.

Those thick brows of his drew together. “Hush.”

Charlotte didn’t think she could have found a single word in that moment if her life depended on it.

Evidently satisfied with her silence, he lifted her to her toes and bent his head again, settling his lips over hers. The man kissed like he did everything else—with studied deliberation and intensity. And Charlotte was a hundred percent on board with it. She twined her arms around those broad shoulders she’d wanted to get her hands on for months and drew him closer for a deeper kiss. On a growl, he wrapped one big arm around her waist and hoisted her higher, devouring her mouth the same way he’d devoured her food. His easy ability to manhandle her was such an incredible turn on. As was the growing evidence of his arousal pressing against her belly.

Wanting to feel the press of it between her thighs, she tightened her hold, about to lift her legs to wrap around his waist, when some odd chime penetrated her haze of lust.

Malcolm’s head came up. His expression was dialed to fierce and hungry, and all she could think was Oh, yes, more.

But he apparently didn’t get the memo because he let her go and walked across the room.

Charlotte swayed where she stood, having to work extra hard to convince her legs to hold her up.

“Gotcha.”

Her brain hadn’t managed to come back online to process what had just happened. “What?”

Malcolm grabbed his keys. “Our squatter has arrived. Get your coat.”

Coat? There was so much heat pumping off her right now, she could power the entire village.

When he just stood there, staring expectantly, waiting for her to get her ass in gear, she shook off the remaining dizziness. “Right.”

Recognizing that they definitely weren’t going to address that kiss that had all but incinerated her underwear, she grabbed her coat as ordered and followed him out the door.

* * *

Malcolm hadn’t meantto kiss her. He’d just wanted to ease that painful embarrassment, or maybe mention he’d be completely fine with her seducing him with food. She was one hell of a cook. But she wouldn’t stop talking long enough for him to get a word in edge-wise. A kiss had seemed the quickest way to interrupt the babble.

And then… Then he hadn’t been able to stop himself from leaning in again, pulled to her unapologetic warmth like a magnet pointing to true north. He didn’t trust it. Didn’t believe he deserved it. But apparently, he wasn’t immune. And, damn it, now that he had the taste of her, once would never be enough. A simple kiss wouldn’t be enough.

Not that there’d been anything simple about that kiss. If the camera alert hadn’t sounded, he’d have been searching for the nearest empty counter to get his hands on more of her, and he was pretty sure she’d have let him. If they’d gotten to that point, where would they have stopped? Would they have stopped? It seemed all that sniping antagonism had morphed into the kind of heat that only ended one way—naked and sated.

Except they hadn’t gotten that far, and now she sat in the passenger seat, staring resolutely ahead, kiss-swollen lips pressed into a line. He never would have imagined he’d miss her incessant talking. At least when she did that, he knew where they stood. This silent Charlotte worried him. She hadn’t said a single word since they got into the 4x4.

Maybe it was a good thing they’d been interrupted. Getting involved with her beyond their reluctant partnership on the cottage renovations was probably a mistake. Nothing good could come of getting more entangled with her. Not for her, at least. She was legitimately starting a new life here. She deserved better than the likes of him.

Just shy of the curve in the road that led to the cottage, Malcolm rolled to a stop and cut the lights. They were far enough from the house that their intruder shouldn’t have heard the engine. Now that they were here, he was regretting his automatic invitation. They had no idea who or what they’d find, and he was the dumbass who’d inadvertently put her in potential harm’s way.

“You should wait here.”

Charlotte merely fixed him with a withering stare. Was that about his request or the fact that he hadn’t said anything on the drive about the kiss, either?

Biting back his frustration, he released the seatbelt. “Fine. But stay behind me.” He could at least put himself between her and whatever prospective danger lurked ahead.

Malcolm grabbed the tranquilizer gun from the rack in the back, and they slid out of the vehicle, closing their doors with a quiet click. He had plenty of practice walking silently through the woods because of all his years as a hunting guide. He expected Charlotte to crunch her way through the leaves, as most people did when they were trying to be quiet. But again, she surprised him. She moved with almost as much stealth as he. In truth, he likely only won out because of his familiarity with the land.

As they neared the cottage, Malcolm spotted the faint glow of a light through the window. It didn’t waver, and he scented no smoke, so he was banking on an electric torch. There was no good way to peek inside without giving themselves away, so he’d have to rely on the element of surprise. These little cabins had only one door in or out. This one had a couple of broken windows, but they were narrow and would be difficult for a grown man to shimmy through.

Leaning close, he pressed his mouth to Charlotte’s ear. “I’m going inside. Stay out here in case he gets past me.”

He caught her shudder as he eased back to assess her agreement. There was no reading her expression in the dark, but she held up a sturdy branch she’d picked up somewhere along the way. It wouldn’t do a hell of a lot in the face of a gun or knife, so he’d just have to make sure their interloper didn’t give him the slip. But at least she was armed with something.

With a nod, he crept closer. The tranq gun he carried wasn’t actually loaded, but he was banking on the squatter not being aware of that. The night was chill, so perhaps they’d luck out and the guy would already be in his sleeping bag, conveniently immobilized. In his head, Malcolm counted the steps from the entrance to the back bedroom, where he suspected the intruder was hiding. The door to that room opened inward, to the left. He’d come in low and use that for cover if needed.

Looking back once to check Charlotte’s position at the treeline, he braced himself and burst inside. The door banged back against the wall, and Malcolm charged toward the back bedroom. That door was ajar, and he caught a flurry of movement. He burst inside, his gaze going to the puddle of fabric on the floor, before snapping up to see a slim figure disappearing through the window.

“Oy! Stop!”

Malcolm lunged, but the figure disappeared into the black. Swearing, he reversed directions, racing back toward the front door. From somewhere behind the house, he heard an oof and a thump.

Charlotte.

He skirted the edge of the cottage, prepared to use the butt of the tranq gun as a bludgeon as necessary.

But it was Charlotte on her feet, the branch braced against her shoulder like a bat, waiting for another swing. “Stay down.”

The figure on the ground continued to wheeze.

“You okay?” Malcolm asked.

“Better than he is. He basically clothes-lined himself. I think he just had the breath knocked out of him.”

Shifting his grip on the gun, Malcolm strode closer and pulled out the torch he’d shoved into a pocket. “Let’s see who we’ve got here.” He snapped on the light and shone it on their captive.

Charlotte gasped, and he froze.

Their squatter wasn’t a man at all. It was a skinny, hollow-cheeked boy, who looked absolutely scared to death.