3. Declan
Chapter Three
DECLAN
Walking into the kitchen, I take a sharp breath in. I’ve only taken shallow breaths since I first saw Georgia.
I have no business being attracted to this young, innocent, beautiful girl. Even when I was bandaging her hand, my cock was pulsing in my pants like it was trying to break free. Every sinew in my body strains to be close to her. It’s like I’ve reverted to being a teenager again, except I never felt this goddamn horny when I was young.
Georgia’s flipped a switch inside me to ‘on’ and I’m wired. All my senses are focused on her. Every movement, where she’s looking when she glances around the room, and each different little expression she makes. It’s hypnotic. And it’s not just those luscious tits and soft thighs, or her beautiful face, or soft hair, or even her distracting spicy rose scent. It’s the sound of her voice and just her existing that makes me want to wrap her up and take care of her.
Which is crazy. I’m wrong for thinking about her lips wrapped around my cock. For what she’d sound like if I spread those sweet thighs apart and licked her the way I want. I’m selfish for wanting to lock the door and keep her inside with me, hiding her away from everyone else.
And I don’t care. My heart thuds in my ears, beating her name over and over again in my chest.
“How long are you planning on living out here?” I ask, pouring some iced tea.
“I’m not sure.” Georgia looks out the window at the rain. “This is kind of a fresh start for me.”
“That so? Plenty of folks find Snowflake Falls a good place to try something new. But that ramshackle cabin will need some fixing to make it watertight. And it needs to be sealed up before winter otherwise you’ll freeze. Your aunt told you about all the snow we get?” Walking back over, I hand her a cold glass of tea. She’s bitten her fingernails right down, making her small hands look even smaller. My fingers brush hers and the contact registers in her eyes.
“Yes. When I was up on the roof I spotted a big hole in the roof. The realtor didn’t mention that.”
“The realtor who sells those cabins is a crook. Couple of local guys are going after him, but he’s a tricky character. Where’s your aunt live?”
“She’s in town, Oakhill Avenue. I guess maybe I should stay with her until I get someone to fix the roof.” She takes a sip of tea.
“You stay here, Peaches.”
She smiles and her nose wrinkles. “Peaches?”
“Like Georgia peaches. My favorite. Unless you prefer me calling you honey or ma’am, of course.”
“I like it. Nobody’s had a nickname for me before.”
“Not even your family?”
“Mom and Dad just call me Georgia.” She shrugs. “Even with all the problems in the cabin, I like having my own space. They watch game shows all the time, and smoke a lot of weed. The fresh air here is a relief.”
That wave of protectiveness washes over me again. This gorgeous woman was meant to be worshiped, not live out her days in some weed-soaked pit reluctantly watching other people’s game shows.
She sighs. “And thank you for your offer, but I can’t accept it. I barely know you and I feel like I’ve imposed enough already.”
“That’s a pity. Albert was looking forward to having you around.”
She smiles. “He’s cute. Does he help you out in the woods?”
“He does. See those carvings on the wall? Albert scouts out good pieces of timber for me and I bring it back, it’s one of my hobbies.”
“I love them. It fits in perfectly with this place.”
“How about you, Peaches? What do you do for a living?” My arm is close enough to hers that it’s almost touching.
“I’m starting my own business, that’s one of the reasons I’m out here. I make my own clothes, and I'm launching a vintage nightwear collection.”
“That’s why you have that old Hollywood style, I guess?” My arm brushes against hers and she flinches, sitting up and wrapping her arms around her body.
Shit. I’ve spooked her.
“It’s okay, Peaches, I’m not making a move on you. Let me get you some of the donuts I brought back from the store. Apple and cinnamon, cherry or chocolate?” I get up and walk over to the kitchen.
Georgia’s body relaxes back into the couch. “Cherry, please.”
“Shame I don’t have peach flavor. You ever had a peach donut?”
She shakes her head. “No. I think it would taste good, don’t you?”
I want to tell her she’d taste good, but instead I put a couple of donuts on a plate and set them on the table in front of her. Maybe she thinks I’m some old creeper and can’t wait to get away. She’s certainly wary of me. If some fuck’s harmed her in the past, I’ll hunt him down and make him pay.
“You’re a little young to be out here on your own, no boyfriend joining you?” I clear my throat, my hands balled into a fist. I’m willing her to say no.
“No. And I’m twenty-seven. I just look younger than my age. How old are you?” She reaches for a donut.
“Thirty-nine. I look older, I’m told. No skincare routine.”
She laughs, powdered sugar brushing on her cheek as she takes a bite. “These are delicious.”
“Sweet stuff is one of my weaknesses. Runs in the family. Dad’s Irish, Mom’s Greek. Food is a big deal in our house. My brothers and I go back home for dinner on the weekend every month.”
“That sounds nice. I like to bake. I’ll make you a coffee cake to say thanks for helping me out. Unless you’d prefer some vintage-style pajamas.”
It’s my turn to laugh. I can’t get enough of this girl. “I sleep bareback. But I’ll take you up on the cake, Peaches.”
Albert skitters in through the window from outside, his tail like a brush. I stand up. “My phone’s about to ring. I don’t know how he predicts it, but….”
My phone starts buzzing and I pick up.
“Bro, can you bring one of your chainsaws over to the firehouse? Griff’s busted ours and we need it. Not an emergency, but urgent.” Mav sounds stressed.
“Roger that. Give me thirty minutes.” I turn back to Georgia, who’s watching Albert hunting for the cookie jar. “You’re welcome to stay here while I go into town, or I can run you to your aunt’s house. You shouldn’t go back home until that roof’s looked at. I know a roofer in town who owes me a favor.”
She sighs. “As much as I’d love to stay on your couch and eat donuts, I’ll text my aunt. And if you give me your roofer’s number, I can call him?”
I shake my head. “Let me do it. I’ll get you a better price. I’ll come pick you up tomorrow and run you back home. You need to give that hand time to heal before you start driving again.”
She looks like she might be about to protest, but then nods and stands up. Her expression is strange, like she’s remembering something she doesn’t like. I want to scoop her up and tell her everything’s going to be okay, but I’d be overstepping the mark. And I’ve done enough of that today. I don’t want to freak her out.
On the car ride down the mountain, my beautiful passenger is quiet. A couple of times she raises her hand to her mouth as if she’s going to start biting her nails, then catches herself and puts it back in her lap.
She keeps her head down, texting her aunt and then typing her number into my phone at my request. I want to be able to contact her to let her know when the roof can be fixed and maybe drop her car off to her. Georgia’s aunt lives a couple of streets from the town square. She thanks me and dashes from the truck into the house without looking back. I head over to the firehouse.
My brother swings the door open before I’ve had time to park. “You saved my bacon, Dec. This is the third piece of equipment Griff’s broken this month. That guy doesn’t realize his own strength.”
I pause before I get out of the truck. “Well, that means you use my saw, not him. If he breaks it, he pays for it.”
“I get you. Is that perfume I can smell?” Mav sniffs the air like a bloodhound.
“It is. And mind your own business unless you want me to take my chainsaw back home again.”
Mav is dying to interrogate me, but his need for the saw is greater, so he presses his lips together.
On my drive back home, I stop by Georgia’s cabin. I get on the roof and take a few photos of the hole up there. Then I give my roofer buddy, Tristan, a call. I helped him and his wife out with an out-of-control tree on their property last winter. He agrees to come up tomorrow morning and look at the hole.
There’s maybe a couple of hours of light left. Georgia’s abandoned paint can sits by the porch. I pick it up and find the brush, then get on with finishing what she started.