5. Reid
That girl is trouble.
I’ve always been good at sensing it.
Something in my veins burns when she’s near. Maybe it’s the way she smiles with everything she has. Maybe it’s the way people love to be around her.
Maybe I’m on edge because Nova has yet to smile at me like she does everyone else. It’s probably for the better. I wouldn’t deserve it, anyway, but I can feel how infectious she is. Like a siren, people flock to her.
All sailors know to stay away from sirens.
Maybe it’s just because she’s been avoiding me since our afternoon in room B-5.
Not that I care, but she hasn’t spoken, or even looked my way in two days. In fact, I prefer it. There’s something about Nova Fischer that gets under my skin, burrowing there until she’s all I can think about.
And that’s a real fucking problem.
I spend those two days finishing the drywall in B-5. Manto, the cook from the restaurant and someone I’ve come to speak to everyday, finds me the right paint in the basement that looks like it doubles as a portal to hell, and I finish that, too. By the time I’m done, you can’t even tell the hole was ever there.
To my surprise, food shows up at my door every night and every morning. Some of the best fucking breakfast I’ve ever had, all neatly wrapped from the inn’s kitchen. I ask Manto about it, but he just shrugs and says he’s not doing it. I doubt Beth is doing it.
That leaves one option.
My suspicions are confirmed the night I finish the wall and a brand new shirt to replace the one that’s covered in drywall as well as an envelope with a hundred bucks shows up with the food.
Then, I snap.
Envelope in hand, I march up the steep path toward Nova’s cottage, anger twisting through me.
I’m not a charity case. I don’t need to be paid. I told her I would finish the damned drywall and I did. I don’t want her damned money. Especially not when the inn is in desperate need of other repairs.
I hop up on her porch, banging on the front door, but no one answers. I know she’s home, because a faint light streams from the front window. Still, she doesn’t answer.
I growl under my breath and step back, looking around the small clearing in the trees where the cottage rests. It’s a nice day. Sunny and warm, but the breeze blowing in is fucking fantastic.
It would be the perfect day to be on the water. Not here, gearing up to fight with a little blonde witch who seems to have stolen every last brain cell I had left.
Accepting defeat, albeit, angrily, I’m just about to leave when a small moan trickles from the backyard.
I freeze, ice sliding through my veins.
Another soft whimper floats to the front of the house and I know I . . . I know I shouldn’t, but I do it anyway. I step off the porch and follow the small stone path to the back garden gate.
And everything inside me turns to concrete.
She’s laying back in the hammock, pretty little yellow sundress on and her feet bare. It’s the site of the pink between her legs that stops me and my mouth runs dry.
I’m not meant to see this.
I also can’t look away.
She grinds against her hand, whimpering as she gets herself off, right here, in the middle of the fucking day, outside. Her cheeks are flushed, her hair a wild mess of curls and her eyes screwed shut.
I could go over there, make her really come. Replace her fingers with my own. See what this budding obsession really is.
Would she send me away or would she welcome me in?
“Reid,” she whispers, so quietly, I think I imagined it.
Fuck. Me.
She just moaned my name. My fucking name.
Never have I wanted something so bad. My knuckles turn white, as I bunch my hand together on the envelope so much that it crumples. My cock strains against the zipper of my jeans and it takes every. Fucking. Thing. I’ve got to not go through that back gate and finish her myself.
So, my little bird does want me.
No.
With every fiber of my being, I tear my eyes away from her. Forcing myself to walk away, I toss the envelope on the front porch and get the fuck out of there because fucking Nova is the last thing either one of us needs. She’s got enough on her plate. My plate is empty and that’s the way I like it.
A girl like Nova is after feelings. Shit I don’t do. She’ll want a relationship. I want to fuck her. She’ll beg me to stay at the end of the summer. I’ll break her heart.
No. Nova and I will remain two separate entities. I won’t touch her. I won’t fuck her.
Because no matter how pretty she sounds moaning my name . . . Nova Fischer wasn’t meant for me.
After my little run-in with a very pretty, very flushed Nova, I can’t shake the unease stirring in my gut. So, I do the only thing that seems to take my mind off her. Work.
There’s a leaking faucet in one of the rooms. I fix it. There’s a problem with room A-3’s door getting stuck and locking guests in. I fix it, too.
Finally, I find myself on the third floor of the building, in the rooms that barely get used because they need the most work. Don’t ask me why, but I need something to do and no one around here is going to do it, unless Nova tries and well . . . we already know my feelings on that.
The woman needs a support system. One that’s capable of handling shit like this. Cracked floorboards, busted pipes. Broken air conditioning. She can’t do it all by herself and while the last thing I want to do is give her some kind of idea, I also can’t stop myself from being the one to help her. At least while I’m here. After I’m gone, she’s on her own.
I’m inspecting one of the rooms on the third floor where the wallpaper is peeling away when I hear footsteps behind me. I turn, ready to punch whoever’s sneaking up on me and come face to fucking face with the object of my insanity in all her fucking glory.
She’s still got that damned sundress on and the image of her making herself come in the hammock earlier today are still burned in my brain.
“What are you doing up here?” She doesn’t sound happy, but neither am I. My cock’s rock-fucking-hard and all she’s done is walk in the room and fill it up with her fucking vanilla scent.
“You have a busted pipe. Needs fixed or it’s going to rot the rest of the walls out below it. Probably already has.”
“Okay, but that’s not your concern. You’re a guest here.”
Thank fuck. I need to argue.
“And who’s going to fix it if not me?”
“That’s beside the point. I can’t afford to pay you to fix everything this building needs done,” she mumbles, crossing her arms over her chest. I can see she’s embarrassed, but I don’t care. I have money. I don’t use it. Not enough. It all sits in a safe I carry with me wherever I go.
“I don’t want your money.”
“Is that why you left this envelope on my porch?” she snaps, holding the very crumpled up envelope up in front of me. “Spying on me?”
I take a step toward her; she steps back. I take another step toward her; she steps back again. We do the same routine until her back presses against the wall and I’m a few inches in front of her.
She’s so close, I can taste the sweetness of her skin.
Her lips part over a shaky breath and for a moment, I think she’s going to run, but she doesn’t move. Heat travels up her neck, over her cheeks, and into her hairline, as if she’s putting two and two together about just what I was spying on earlier today. Gently, her hands rest over my stomach, but she’s not pushing me away.
One of her curls slips over my finger and I catch it. It’s as soft as it looks.
Carefully, I lean forward, running my nose up the column of her throat and a shiver ghosts through her.
“Let me make myself clear, little bird.” I hover at the pulse point in her neck and her breath hitches. Her hands on my stomach flex over the material of my shirt and I swear to God, it goes straight to my fucking cock. “The next time you decide to make that pretty little pussy come, give me a head start so I can make popcorn. Wouldn’t want to miss the show.”
And before I can do something stupid, I pull away from her and leave her standing in the middle of the room by herself.