4. Callum #2
I stared at the dilapidated cottage. The flimsy curtains were drawn tight, but there didn’t seem to be any movement inside. The worn-out porch creaked under my boots as I circumvented the hole I had created earlier in the week.
I knocked.
Nothing.
But I knew better than to trust silence. Silence was just the pause before all hell broke loose .
Another knock, harder this time. “Hey,” I called. “You’re trespassing.”
Still nothing.
I sighed and tried the doorknob. Unlocked.
Fantastic.
I pushed it open, bat at the ready—and something shrieked, a horrible inhuman sound.
Then something collided with my chest.
Soft, warm, and tangled around me in a way that should not feel as good as it did. Bare, feminine legs locked around my thighs, the faint scent of vanilla and something else—something deeper—drifted between us. It was the kind of scent that got under a man’s skin.
Dangerous.
From the collision, I lost my footing and slammed backward through the doorway as the bat clattered on the floor and rolled away. I landed on my ass with a woman on top of me—legs flailing, hands gripping my shoulders, a knee dangerously close to my balls.
“What the hell?” I grunted as my military instincts took over, locking my hands around her biceps to keep her from tearing me apart.
“Oh my god! Let me go, you psychopath! You just broke into my house!” the woman shrieked.
I blinked up at a pair of wild green eyes—furious, untamed, and way too pretty for someone currently trying to strangle me. The woman straddling me was an absolute stunner with wavy brown hair, wild from sleep, and she had a death grip on the collar of my T-shirt.
She smelled like exotic vanilla and pure trouble.
And I did not need to be noticing that.
I bucked my hips up slightly, trying to move out from under her, and my traitorous cock took note. “I didn’t break in. You are trespassing.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I live here,” she hissed. My hand flexed against her biceps, heat curling up my spine before I shoved it down.
Nope. Not happening.
The woman ripped her arm out of my grasp and slapped a hand on the floor beside me as she tried to climb off.
My stomach dropped as I sat up. “What?”
“I. Live. Here.” She flicked a rogue strand of hair out of her face and stood above me, arms crossed. “Who are you ?”
A soft glow from the lamp was warm on her skin. She was dressed in an oversize T-shirt and tiny shorts, her skin practically glowing. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen a woman, rumpled and sleepy, in nothing more than a flimsy pair of pajamas.
My hand flexed at the thought of exploring every inch of that creamy skin. Irritated at myself and her, I bit back a growl.
“No one lives here.” I stood, crossing my arms and mirroring her stance.
Fire danced in her eyes at my refusal to leave. “I’m calling the police!”
I held up a hand. “You don’t need to do that.” I gestured toward the inn. “I’m the owner of the Drifted Spirit. I saw a light on and came to check it out for Stan. Sometimes we get trespassers, and his house is clear across the property.”
Relief washed over her before her face twisted in an annoyed grimace.
“What are you, the neighborhood watch?” She looked down at her elbow, and I noticed a small spot of blood from where she must have banged it against the floor.
“Ow ...” Her eyes moved back to me. “I’m staying here while I help Mr. Stafford revitalize things around the farm. Not that I owe you an explanation.”
The air in my lungs seized.
Stan. The farm?
“No,” I said, shaking my head. “That’s not possible.”
“Uh, yeah. Well, it is.” Her hands went to her hips. “We shook on it.”
My jaw locked. How long had I let myself daydream about the possibilities? I was this close to taking over that damn farm. Finally expanding the inn in order to build my own restaurant.
Stan had said it himself—he was ready to give it up. We had walked this fucking property, talked about how it made sense for me to be the one whom it would eventually go to.
It could be yours if you wanted it.
But now some random woman thinks she can snatch it out from under me?
I stepped closer, my frustration leaking into my voice. “You and Stan had a handshake deal?” I let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “That’s cute. Because you know who else had one?” I poked a finger into my chest. “Me.”
Sure, I was leaving out the part where I hadn’t exactly agreed to anything, but I knew Stan was a man of his word. He was simply waiting for me to accept it.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” She tilted her head and plastered on a sweet smile, cutting me off. “But, clearly, plans change.”
She flashed another sugar-sweet smile that made my blood pressure skyrocket. It made me want to either shake some sense into her or pin her against the wall and see if she’d smile like that for an entirely different reason.
I’m sure to her I sounded completely unhinged, but my blood was boiling. My nostrils flared. This woman was pushing all the right buttons, and after the day I’d had, I was in no mood for her bullshit. I didn’t care how pretty or feisty she was.
I exhaled, slow and measured. I had two choices: start a fight with this woman in a barely standing cottage, or keep my cool and figure out what the hell just happened.
I scraped a hand down my face.
Option two won out, though I’d be lying if I didn’t acknowledge there was some appeal to going toe-to-toe with a smoking-hot brunette.
She smirked like she’d already won—like she wasn’t standing in a house she had no business claiming.
Like she hadn’t just pulled the rug out from under me without even realizing it.
My fists clenched at my sides, and I took a slow breath before I did something really fucking stupid, like kiss her just to shut her up.
Something flickered in my gut. Annoyance. Attraction. A bad idea waiting to happen.
Nope. Nope. Nope. Time to go.
“Fine.” I exhaled, turning for the door. “Enjoy the rabid raccoons.”
Her eyes darted toward the dark corners of the cottage. Just for a split second, and there it was—the tiniest flicker of hesitation.
I bit back a smirk and picked up my baseball bat with a swipe.
She lifted her chin, recovering fast. “I intend to,” she shot back, voice dripping with stubborn pride.
I muttered a curse as I walked away, gripping the bat tighter than necessary.
This summer just got a whole lot more complicated.