Stephanie
THIRTY
Wear the hat and claim you’re his sister.
Rolling onto my back, I stretch my arms in the air and groan. Those painkillers are powerful, and they knock me out for hours. But I feel rested this morning, ready to fuck up James’s plans of evading his attraction to me.
“Morning,” the man in question rumbles.
Wait...
My eyes snap open, and I stare at the ceiling for a beat, trying to place where I am. I turn my head, finding a half-naked James sitting in bed next to me with his phone in hand and my hair fanned out across his lap.
“Why am I in your room?” I croak.
“Excellent question, Stephanie. Why are you in here?”
Oh, no. Not again. I need to get a grip on this sleepwalking.
But it happens in times of high stress, and no amount of sparkly nail polish can take away from the fact I’m being hunted by a demon who wants to make my life an endless nightmare for no other reason than he decided he wanted to break me.
“I’m sorry. We should get a lock for my bedroom door.”
“Absolutely not.”
“But—”
His hand wraps around the back of my head, burying in the tangle of curls.
“Listen to me, Stephanie King. If I have to put up with you wandering into my bed because for some unfathomable reason you consider this to be a safe place, then I will. Any lock is a potential for seconds wasted if the wrong person is on the other side as I break it down.”
My eyes flick between his, finding only resolve burning in them. This isn’t an argument I’m going to win.
“Fine.”
He quirks a brow. “Fine?”
“I’m not obstinate for no reason. I can understand your logic and know when it beats my emotion.”
He huffs a laugh. “Good to know you can be a good girl.”
Warmth rises in my cheeks. “Don’t get used to it. It happens once in a full moon.”
“I’m sure I could get you to behave with a little persuasion.”
Well, hot damn, if James Austin isn’t a teasing hot temptation first thing in the morning. I need to break the tension before I ask him to test how bad my breath is.
“We’re going to pick up parcels today?” I check.
His lips twitch, and he lets his hand trail through my curls, pinching one between his fingers before allowing it to spring back and break our connection. “Go get ready. I’ll make us breakfast before we go.”
A grin curves my lips. I’m getting out, if only for a few hours. “Do I have time for a shower?”
“Make it quick. I want to be back before the town gets busy.”
I’m up and out of bed, flying into the bathroom seconds later. After a quick scrub and brushed teeth, I hurry into the kitchen. He better not have left without me. I think I’d break a little inside.
But no, he’s at the stove, flipping pancakes like he once worked as a short-order cook. I don’t have the coordination skills for such things, so it’s always been a marvel to me.
“I ran out of bacon, but I have fresh mixed berries and syrup,” he informs me as I slide onto the stool.
“Perfect,” I reply, my stomach growling.
I feel like I slept for a week and still need more.
Probably the drug-induced hangover from the pain meds, but could also be because of where I slept and who I slept next to.
I freeze as that thought settles. I slept next to a man.
Actually, I sought him out during a sleepwalking episode, so my unconscious chose him as a safe space.
That’s a startling realization, and something I thought I might never achieve.
“Eat up,” he says, making me blink. He’s sitting next to me and has already demolished half of his breakfast while my fork hovers in the air like a wax statue.
I dig in, not really tasting what I’m certain are great pancakes because I’m tangled up in thoughts.
Not just of desire, which I’ve already accepted, but what if...
what if he’s my person? Not the one who heals me of my past, but gives me something I’ve struggled to grasp—a future filled with shared moments, private jokes, family, love.
What if he’s that one person meant to be mine?
“Stephanie? What’s wrong, sweetheart?”
I shake my head and pull on the sleeves of the cream sweater, unconsciously hiding the forever scars of my moment of weakness. “Nothing, just a little groggy.”
“Well, you slept like a baby, snoring aside.”
I gasp. “I do not snore.”
“You absolutely do. Cute little puppy snores. You also talk in your sleep.”
My jaw tenses. “Did I say anything interesting?”
“Many things. Now eat. You have ten minutes before I leave, and I want to see a clean plate.” Then he’s gone, leaving me to eat alone with a thousand possibilities of what I might have uttered while my walls were down. Whatever it is, he’s not running, so it can’t have been that bad.
Thirty minutes later, we’re in his truck and rolling down the mountain road that I came up only a few days ago. Why does it feel like years? Time is such a fickle yet cruel mistress.
“Will the snow stick?” I wonder as a few flakes flurry against the window.
He glances up through the windscreen at the low clouds pregnant with wintry intent. “Eventually.”
The thought of being stuck in a lodge with him does all sorts of things to my tummy. None of them is bad. “How far is the town?”
“Thirty minutes’ drive on a good weather day like this.”
I hear the worry in his tone. “Do you have enough stores if we get snowed in?” I don’t doubt him, but maybe a little reassurance and reminder will help.
“Always.”
He turns on the radio, and smooth country music fills the silence between us as we wind lower and lower, my ears popping with the decreased altitude.
We roll into a quaint town with all the basic stores needed for the locals.
Hardwear, grocery, pharmacy, florist, diner, and an Italian restaurant which boasts to serve the best lasagna in the state. Bold declaration.
He pulls into the grocery parking lot and hands me a baseball cap. I curl my lip. “I’m not a Yankees fan.”
“And you are the minority, meaning no one will pay attention to you among the thousands wearing the same one. This isn’t about personal preference; it’s about blending in. Wear the cap or stay in the truck.”
I groan and plant it on my head. “No one needs to see this, so best hope I blend in.”
He reaches over and lifts the back to stuff my hair beneath it. Good luck with that; my hair doesn’t fit under any cap. “What are you trying to do?”
“Make you less memorable.”
“My hair is memorable?”
His eyes drop to my lips. “More than you know.”
What on earth did I say last night? It feels like something’s changed, and since I have no idea what it could be, it’s making me spiral.
“This is impossible,” he growls. “How is it escaping no matter what I do? It’s like herding cats but with hair.”
I snort. “There’s no taming me.”
He licks his lips. “That’s a challenge if I ever heard one.”
He’s out of the truck and around to my side before I can process what he said.
He opens the door and leans over to release my seat belt, his arm brushing my breasts.
I suck in a breath. He tosses the offending cap in the backseat before producing an honest to God Stetson.
He rolls his shoulders before dropping the dark hat on my head.
It’s too large, which is the point because he’s able to tuck my long hair inside it.
And now I’m wearing his cowboy hat and trying not to read too much into it.
“Are you coming or decorating my truck?” he asks, retreating and offering me a hand.
If I thought I had the upper hand, I was sorely mistaken.
I slide out and wind my fingers through his. Not sure that’s what he meant to happen, but I need someone to anchor me. He closes the door and doesn’t try to pull away, which I’m endlessly grateful for.
We enter the grocery store first. I drop his hand, attempting to do as he asked—making sure I’m not memorable. He glances over his shoulder at me with a frown.
I make a shooing motion. “Go. I need to check out the ice cream offerings. I have a craving for Chunky Monkey.”
He quirks a brow. “Don’t leave the store.”
He makes a beeline for a desk at the rear, headed by a guy rocking a beard that touches his belly. He smiles at James, revealing a gold front tooth.
“Jason, I saw the parcels, so I knew you were due. Maria baked you some of her famous peach and pecan pie.”
Another alias. I wonder how many he has? It’s impossible to get lost or even out of sight of him because there’s a grand total of five aisles.
“Appreciate that,” James drawls in a Southern accent that makes my lips twitch. Well, now, that’s quite something. It’s not the low growl and cadence of his natural voice, but it makes for some interesting fantasies. Not that I need any more material.
I locate the Chunky Monkey and add a tub of Cookie Dough and Strawberries and Cream to my arms. You can’t have too much ice cream.
“You’ve got a lot here. I’ll get my son to help you out,” the guy says.
“Sure.”
“Robert, get your ass out here and earn your keep.”
“Coming,” a guy growls from the dark room behind the counter.
I glide closer, noticing that James is tracking me in the mirror lodged on the wall behind the counter.
“You found anything you want to add, sweetheart?”
The older guy eyes me with interest, his gaze flicking to my hat and back to James. “Who is this lovely lady?”
“My sister.”
I wrinkle my nose. There’s nothing sibling-like in the way I feel about this man.
“Can you open the truck for me?” he asks, dangling the keys in his hand.
I drop the ice cream on the counter and grin at him. “Sure thing, bro.”
He narrows his eyes as I give him my biggest shit-eating grin. You set yourself up, buddy. None of what happens next is my doing.
A dude with the same green eyes as the store owner appears. Jesus, he looks like he lifts trucks for shits and giggles. That T-shirt is doing its best to hold on tight to his straining muscles. He nods once at James before scanning me with an interest that is most definitely not sibling-like.
“Help Jason to the truck with that big order in the back.”
“That’s okay, I got it,” James decides.
“Nonsense. By the time you’ve signed and paid, he can have you loaded and ready to go.”
I can practically see the internal war taking place in James’s mind as weighs up the fact he could have us back at the lodge in a fraction of the time if he accepts the help.
“Fine.”
The dude scoops up three boxes and several packages with ease.
“Lead the way,” he growls at Jason.
I dangle the keys. “It’s me you’re following, big guy.” I don’t wait for the look of frustration I know James will be wearing as I waltz out of the store and into the parking lot.
“Not seen you around before,” he says, never losing that gravelly tone.
I pop the trunk and stand to the side. “Just visiting.”
He places the first load inside. “Long enough to partake in a little fun?”
Hopefully, but not with him. “Undecided.”
“How can I help you decide?”
Well, he’s forward. While I can appreciate that, he needs to get the hint. I’m not playing hard to get over here. “You can’t. I’m my own woman.”
“I’m sure you are. But if you stay, I can recommend Stacie’s on a Friday night. The wings are to die for, and the dance floor was made for the boots I’m sure you own along with that hat.”
He’s smooth but not subtle. “Not my hat.”
He steps closer. He smells nice, clean and citrusy, but nothing like the dark notes I associate with the man I desire. There is zero stirring in my veins, proving I’m not starving for just anyone. I am, in fact, hopelessly gone for James.
“No? And just whose might it be?”
“Mine,” the man in question growls. He grips my hips and pushes me against the side of the truck. Heat flushes down my spine, and a low throb begins, proving the difference is night and day when I’m being manhandled by the right guy. No, the only guy.
I tip my head back and prepare to tell him I don’t even know the dude’s name and that I was in the process of politely shooting him down. But there’s a feral look in his eyes that makes my breath catch.
My lips part as his hand fists the hair at my nape while his fingers grip my chin.
My eyes flutter closed as his breath skates across my tingling lips. Another moment of longing that will fuel more fantasies.
Warmth presses against my mouth, and my eyes slam open to confirm what I’m feeling.
James Austin is kissing me.