No Need to Knock

Chapter 1

SEBASTIAN

I unpack the last box, then pause. A sigh comes from me as I look around the renovated historic house.

The backyard has a small, flat area before the forest engulfs it.

When I look out my window, I see a trail where the former resident jogged through the woods, which works for me.

I’d much rather deal with nature than people.

I push the box aside, needing a drink.

Standing, I walk through the house—way too large for the average single person, but perfect for me. I like space and privacy.

Passing the patio doors, I glance out at the vast deck stretching across the back of the house. The boards shine beneath the late afternoon sun. The former owner clearly put a lot of time and attention into this place before his death.

My attention shifts to the large living room on my right. A fire roars in the fireplace. A large screen TV is centered above the mantle. The room is big enough that the U-shaped furniture fits without crowding the space. From here, I can see the front door and most of the hallway.

I frown, gaze landing on the large front windows.

Too exposed at night. I'll fix that.

I keep moving into the kitchen and open the fridge, grabbing a bottle of water.

Old Mill Row in Hollow Creek, Vermont. Who would’ve thought I’d move here?

Certainly not me.

I take a long drink, the memory sharp. When my co-worker, Marcus, first suggested I move here, I thought he was crazy. I was fine living in the city three blocks from the office. Or so I thought.

I didn’t realize I’d outgrown it until he sent me the pictures of this house, and my curiosity was piqued.

The photos of the house—and a quick search of the town on Google Maps—showed a quiet, affluent neighborhood lined with historic homes. The crime rate was low, and the area seemed quaint.

On a whim, I made an offer.

I was shocked when they accepted it.

Now, here I am in a strange town where I don’t know a soul.

And I like it that way.

I sit at a table in the back of the bar, doubting my sanity. The music is too loud, and there are too many people here. I must’ve been out of my mind when I agreed to meet Marcus here.

Irritation flares as I look at my phone—again. Marcus is late. I don’t know why I thought he’d be on time.

I take another pull of my beer and set it on the table. Drumming my fingers, I debate leaving before Marcus gets here. I just want to go the hell home where it’s quiet and peaceful. But if he catches me walking out, I’ll never hear the end of it.

Damn it. Where the hell is he?

If the asshole can’t make it, he should text me.

My eyes roam the bar, locking with a pair of striking green ones framed by long black lashes. Her brunette hair catches the light, creating a halo around her head. She’s strikingly beautiful in a way I shouldn’t care about, since I don’t do relationships.

I suck at one-night stands. I had a few before the last one convinced me I’m better off alone.

When I thanked her after sex and got up to get dressed, she freaked out and threatened to curse me with impotence.

Then she tried to set my clothes on fire.

I ran out of there half-dressed, genuinely concerned she’d put a hex on me.

As I sped away, I vowed to enjoy my solitude. I seemed to attract all the crazies, anyway.

Averting my eyes, I focus on the ring of condensation on the table as I swirl my bottle aimlessly. I check my phone again.

Nothing.

With a sigh, I sit back in my chair, my eyes drifting to the brunette again. There’s something about her that keeps drawing my attention. She’s standing beside the waitress, laughing at something she said. Even over the thumping beat of the rock music, I swear I hear it.

She’s wearing a green sweater that accentuates her eyes, and tight jeans that showcase a curvy figure I appreciate far longer than I should.

As if she feels my stare, she glances over. I immediately look away.

When the door opens, my head turns, hoping it’s Marcus.

It’s not.

A cocky guy struts inside like he owns the place. I scoff, knowing his type well. Entitled rich boy.

His eyes land on the brunette, and he smirks.

My spine stiffens as I glance back at her. She tenses, making a disgusted face. Then she turns to the waitress and says something, throwing irritated glances at the guy. The waitress shrugs and moves away.

The smug guy moves in front of the brunette, crowding into her space as he leans over her. She frowns and takes a step back. He follows.

I watch the unwilling dance, wondering what it is about some men that they just can’t take a fucking hint.

The door swings open, and I glance over, hoping it’s Marcus.

It’s not. Just a couple strolling inside like they’re regulars.

My phone vibrates, and my eyes drop to it.

Marcus. Finally.

His text says, Running late. Be there as soon as I can.

I roll my eyes and sigh.

Movement draws my attention back to the brunette. She’s backed up against the bar. He’s inches from her face, saying something that makes her eyes widen.

Then he yanks her against him so hard her hands slam against his chest. She shoves at him, saying something I can’t hear. He ignores her and drags her across the bar.

Her feet slide on the hardwood floor. For a brief moment, our eyes lock. The panic on her face has me out of my seat, following them.

I weave through the crowd, my eyes locked on them. He pulls open a door in the back and shoves her through it.

Anger wells inside me at the rough way he’s treating her. My hands clench into fists as I move faster, only a few steps behind them.

“Please, just let me go,” she pleads, struggling against his grip.

He leers at her. "Only place you're going is to my car. And home with me.”

He dips his head and whispers something in her ear. Whatever it is, she recoils like he slapped her.

The sound of my boots on the gravel driveway behind the bar draws the guy’s attention.

I don’t say a word. My fist flies, smashing into his nose. His head snaps back, and he goes down, dragging the woman with him.

Before she hits the ground, I grab her, tugging her against me.

“Are you okay?” I ask, studying her pale face.

Wide green eyes stare back at me, filled with terror.

Her full pink lips are parted from heavy breaths.

God, she’s even more beautiful up close.

She nods, her hands wrapped around my forearms. “Yeah. I am now.”

In the dim parking lot lights, gratitude replaces the terror on her face. Her voice is low and breathy. “Thanks to you.”

I nod, shifting my weight uncomfortably as I release her. I’ve never been good with compliments. Or interacting with others.

"What the fuck?" The guy I hit yells, holding his nose.

I glare at him. "You're an asshole who doesn't understand the word no.”

I’m ready to knock the fucker out until my gaze shifts to her. She’s trembling—from cold or fear, I’m not sure which—but it stirs something inside me.

I wrap an arm around her shoulders. “Come on. Let’s get you away from this asshole.” My hand rubs her arm. “Let’s get you someplace warm.”

She leans into my touch. “Thanks.”

The quiet gratitude in her voice hits harder than the punch I threw.

Instead of leading her back inside the bar, we continue around it. The pounding bass from the music inside is muffled through the closed doors and windows. The night air has a bite, and her sweater is too thin to ward off the chill.

I stop, pull my sweatshirt over my head, and hold it out to her. “Here.”

She looks at my T-shirt, then back at me. “But you’ll be cold.”

I pause.

She’s scared. Cold. And she’s worried about me?

“I’m fine. I tend to run hot.”

She bites her lip, clearly doubtful. “Are you sure?”

Instead of answering, I pull the sweatshirt over her head. She blinks up at me in surprise.

Her warm vanilla-sugar scent envelopes me, and I try not to react. The last thing she needs is me sniffing her like a dog.

My sweatshirt hangs on her, hitting mid-thigh.

She hugs the material to her body. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

In the distance, I hear the jackass cursing. I glance over my shoulder but don’t see him. He’s probably heading back inside, but just in case…

I put my arm around her shoulders and steer her toward the parking lot.

“Why don’t I follow you home? Or, if you’re too shaken to drive, I can take you?”

A blush colors her cheeks before her eyes drop to the asphalt. “If you could take me home, that would be great. I don’t want to wait around for my driver.”

Oh. She doesn’t drive.

“Yeah. Smart choice. It’s not safe to be out here alone.” I gesture to my black sports car as the doors unlock from the key fob in my pocket. “I’ll get you home safely.”

When I remove my arm from around her to open the door, I feel the loss immediately. The tingles from touching her—even through clothing—are something I’ve never felt before. It’s… unsettling.

I push the thought away when she speaks, her voice soft enough to make me look at her again.

“Nice car.” She slides inside, looking me up and down. “Sleek and powerful. It matches you.”

I rub a hand over the back of my neck, unsure how to respond. “Thanks.” I close the door and murmur, “I think.”

I start the car, the engine roaring to life. “Where to?”

She gives me the address.

I tense.

It’s three doors down from mine.

Of all the houses in this town.

So much for privacy.

I don’t say a word as I back out of the space and head in that direction.

“Thanks again for what you did back there,” she says, like she hates the silence. “Silas is such an asshole. I turned him down in high school, and he’s carried a grudge ever since.”

I nod, not saying anything. She’s obviously lived in this town for a while.

“I’m glad you intervened. Most people wouldn’t.” She bites her lip and looks out the window. “I can’t imagine what would’ve happened…”

A violent shiver rolls through her. “…if he had gotten me into his car.”

My jaw clenches. “I wouldn’t have allowed that to happen.”

Her eyes flick to mine, something soft replacing the fear.

What the hell? Where did that come from?

Her eyes are soft in the dashboard lights, a small smile on her face. “No. You wouldn’t have. You’re different.”

Once again, the compliment makes me uncomfortable.

As if she senses it, she changes the subject. “You’re new in town, right?”

I stiffen, and she immediately notices. “I haven’t seen you around. And I’ve lived here long enough to notice.”

I nod, keeping my eyes on the road. “Yeah. I’m new here.”

She waits a moment. When I don’t say more, she asks, “Where do you live?”

I squirm in the seat. This is why I don’t normally intervene. People talk too much. Ask too many questions.

“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to pry.”

I remain silent.

She launches into stories about the town, especially the residents of Old Mill Row. I listen, cataloging the cadence and warmth of her voice—and how it fills the space I usually prefer empty. Occasionally she slips and asks me questions, but immediately apologizes and launches into another tangent.

When I pull into her driveway, she gives me an expectant look. “Aren’t you going to ask my name?”

I stop the car near her front porch, then look over at her with raised brows.

She giggles. “It’s Ivy.” She bats her long lashes at me. “Ivy Hart.”

I nod, a slight smile tugging at my lips.

The name suits her. Clingy like the vine, yet warm and bubbly.

“What’s yours?”

I stare at her for a moment before answering. “Sebastian.”

“Nice to meet you, Sebastian. And welcome to town.”

“Thanks.” I clear my throat. “It’s getting late.”

Her smile is like the sun, filling me with a warmth I didn’t ask for, yet for some reason, don’t mind.

That might be a problem.

"Okay, Sebastian, no-last-name. Thanks again for... everything."

I turn away, my grin wide. This woman is something else.

She puts her hand on the door.

“Locke.”

She turns her head. “What?”

“Sebastian Locke.”

She beams at me like the July sun in the city. “Well, thank you for… everything.” Her voice lowers as she repeats, “Sebastian Locke.”

Something about the way she says my name does strange things to my chest.

“You’re welcome, Ivy Hart.”

That seems to please her. She slides from the car, her steps energetic as she bounds up the stairs to her front porch.

She pauses at the front door before turning and giving me one more enthusiastic wave, then disappears inside.

Once the door closes behind her, I shift into gear and head for home.

Ivy Hart.

That name certainly fits the mini hurricane of a woman who filled my car with non-stop chatter.

The silence is deafening now that she’s gone.

Funny. It didn’t bother me before.