Chapter 11
ELEVEN
Blackwood Estate
Mabel’s House
Aubrey came downstairs barefoot and half asleep, expecting the house to be empty.
Instead, Bennett McCrae was still stretched across Mabel’s linen sofa like some exhausted mountain warlord who’d lost a fight with furniture.
One long leg hung off the edge of the couch. His boots sat side by side on the rug beside the coffee table, streaked with dried red clay. Moose was sprawled on the floor nearby, snoring hard enough to rattle the windows.
And Bennett—
Bennett was still shirtless.
Aubrey stopped.
Well.
Morning light cut across the hard planes of his chest and stomach, sliding over dark ink along his ribs—numbers. Coordinates, maybe. The tattoo disappeared beneath the waistband of his sweats before she could read enough to guess where it led.
Her gaze lingered a beat too long.
The man looked unfairly good unconscious.
The house was quiet. Locked.
She pulled out her phone before she could talk herself out of it.
The picture came out annoyingly perfect: Bennett asleep on the couch, Moose sprawled beside him, light on the tattoo and the sharp lines of his face.
She sent it to Machelle Gray.
My temporary security detail.
Three dots appeared almost immediately.
Machelle: JESUS CHRIST.
Machelle: Are those coordinates tattooed on him??
Machelle: Aubrey. Is that man leading people to buried treasure?
Aubrey bit back a laugh.
He’s my arrogant business partner. Someone tried to get into the house last night.
Machelle: I don’t care if he’s emotionally unavailable and hiding bodies in the vineyard. Keep him.
Aubrey was typing back when Moose’s tail thumped once against the floor.
Bennett’s eyes opened.
No slow blink. One second asleep, the next awake.
His gaze locked on her.
Then to the phone in her hand.
Aubrey shoved it behind her back so fast she nearly dropped it.
“Delete it,” he rasped.
She blinked. “Why?”
“Because I look dead.”
“You look fine.”
His eyes narrowed, waking up a little more. “You think I look fine?”
“Don’t make this weird.”
“Princess, you took a picture of me sleeping.”
Heat crawled up her neck. “Evidence,” she muttered. “In case you murder me in my sleep.”
His mouth twitched, but he let it go.
Bennett pushed himself upright, dragging a hand through his dark hair. His voice came out rough.
“That’s a different look for corporate America, Langford.”
Aubrey folded her free arm across her oversized sleep shirt, suddenly aware of the tiny black shorts and a lot of bare leg.
“And you look like you lost a fight with a sofa.”
“Sofa lost.”
He stood, reaching for his boots, and Aubrey immediately regretted having eyes.
“You drool,” she said.
He straightened, one brow lifting.
“You lie.”
“You snore too.”
“Also a lie.”
He closed the distance between them in two easy steps, bare chest level with her nose, the heat of him crowding out the cool morning air. His gaze drifted down, taking in the sweatshirt slipping off one shoulder, the bare legs, the phone still clutched behind her back.
“Anything else you want to accuse me of while I’m defenseless, Princess?” he asked softly.
Aubrey’s breath hitched. Her corporate poker face deserted her as his eyes flicked to her mouth for the briefest second.
“Right,” he murmured, straightening, the satisfaction in his voice quiet and infuriating.
Behind him, Moose hauled himself up and lumbered toward her, breaking the moment.
“Traitor,” Bennett muttered.
“He has excellent judgment,” Aubrey said, grateful for the distraction.
Bennett snorted and headed for the kitchen.
He came back a minute later with two mugs of coffee.
He handed her one. It was fixed exactly the way she'd taken it the day before.
“Drink that,” he said. “Then stay inside a little longer.”
Aubrey frowned. “You’re going back out there?”
“Checking the perimeter again.”
He shoved his feet into his boots and headed out the back door.
Aubrey drifted to the kitchen window and watched him cross the damp grass toward the hydrangeas. He crouched there, studying the ground.
Outside, Bennett pulled out his phone. A weather alert sat at the top of the screen, along with a sheriff’s bulletin—Blackwater Resort, trespass reports.
The print in the mud felt less like an isolated scare and more like part of a pattern he wasn’t ready to hand her yet.
He wasn't ready to decide whether it made her safer—or put her in even more danger.
When he came back inside, his expression was unreadable again.
“Well?” Aubrey asked.
“I’m sending one of the guys over to replace the back porch lock and check the windows.” Bennett set his phone on the counter. “Apparently we’re not the only place that’s had prowler problems lately.”
Aubrey straightened.
“What does that mean?”
“Blackwater Resort’s had a couple incidents. Some of the luxury cabins too. People creeping around after dark.” He shrugged once. “Could be nothing.”
“And could be something.”
“Yeah.”
Silence stretched.
Then Bennett nodded toward her laptop on the island.
“You’ve got about seven hours before the allocation dinner tonight.”
Aubrey blinked.
“The what?”
“The Mercer people are coming in from Asheville. Restaurant buyers too.”
“Bennett, someone tried to get into this house last night.”
“And tonight six distributors are still expecting a tasting.”
She stared at him. “That’s insane.”
He took a sip of coffee.
“Welcome to the wine business, Princess.”
Lulu’s Boutique
Sylva
The little bell over the door of Lulu’s chimed the second Aubrey stepped inside.
The boutique was exactly what she had expected from Sylva. Exposed brick. Wide-plank floors. Soft jazz drifting low beneath the hum of conversation. Racks of beautiful clothes arranged by color beneath antique brass chandeliers.
It looked less like a small-town shop and more like somewhere in Charleston where women with trust funds and opinions drank champagne while buying shoes.
Aubrey stopped inside the doorway.
“This town is deeply confusing,” she muttered.
Savannah laughed beside her.
“Told you.”
A woman with glossy dark hair and a tape measure draped around her neck looked up from behind the counter.
“Well,” she announced. “There’s the Blackwood niece.”
Aubrey blinked.
“I’m sorry?”
The woman came around the counter smiling.
“Honey, this is Sylva. We knew before you crossed the county line.”
“Terrifying.”
“Very.” She shook Aubrey’s hand. “I’m Lulu.”
“Of course you are.”
Savannah snorted.
Lulu pointed directly at Aubrey.
“No florals.”
“I wasn’t planning on florals.”
“No pink. No ruffles. And absolutely nothing that looks like you Googled ‘what to wear in the mountains.’”
Savannah nodded solemnly.
“She’s right. The town would smell fear.”
Aubrey looked between them.
“You two are enjoying this way too much.”
“Oh, we absolutely are,” Savannah said.
Aubrey dug through her oversized leather purse, frowning. “Actually, I need to drop the rental back at Blackwater before five. Apparently my ‘luxury midsize SUV’ costs more per day than some small countries’ defense budgets.”
Savannah glanced up from the rack. “No worries. I’ll follow you over.”
Aubrey blinked. “You don’t have to do that.”
“Please. I need the entertainment.”
Aubrey narrowed her eyes. “I’m sensing the people in this town enjoy judging me.”
Savannah smiled faintly. “Only a little.”
Lulu circled Aubrey once, studying her like a project she fully intended to win.
She nodded decisively. “We’re putting you in something dangerous.”
Aubrey folded her arms.
“I need a dress for one winery dinner, not revenge.”
“Same thing sometimes,” Lulu replied.
Savannah wandered toward a rack near the back and started flipping through hangers with alarming confidence.
“You know,” she said casually, “this is the first time I’ve seen Bennett genuinely nervous in years.”
Aubrey looked up sharply.
“He isn’t nervous.”
Savannah pulled out a dark green dress and held it up.
“He called me three times before noon.”
“That doesn’t mean anything.”
“He hates making calls.”
“That also doesn’t mean anything.”
Savannah’s mouth twitched.
“He also said—and I quote—‘Please don’t let her show up looking like she’s filing a hostile corporate takeover.’”
Aubrey gasped.
“He did not.”
“He absolutely did.”
“That smug vineyard troll—”
Lulu looked delighted.
“Oh, this is going to be fun.”
Aubrey stepped out of the dressing room barefoot and annoyed.
Both women went completely silent.
Which was honestly worse.
Savannah slowly lowered the champagne flute she’d somehow acquired from somewhere in the back of the boutique.
“Oh no,” Aubrey said immediately.
“Oh yes,” Lulu corrected.
Aubrey turned toward the mirror.
And stopped.
The woman staring back at her did not look like someone who had spent the last twenty-four hours arguing with a surly mountain man and hand-feeding a grieving dog in leggings.
She looked elegant. Dangerously so.
The dark green dress skimmed over every curve without trying too hard—sleek, expensive-looking in a way that felt effortless instead of flashy.
The color turned her green eyes darker. Her champagne-blonde hair fell in loose waves over one shoulder, the lighter strands catching warm light when she moved.
And the dress—
The dress looked like Blackwood. Which was deeply irritating.
Savannah leaned back in her chair and sighed softly.
“Well,” she said. “Bennett’s doomed.”
“I could not care less what Bennett McCrae thinks of this dress. Or me.”
Savannah lifted an eyebrow over the rim of her glass, wholly unconvinced.
“I’m buying this for the allocation dinner,” Aubrey added, smoothing down the front of the dark green silk with unnecessary precision. “To look like I own half this estate. Not to give a surly mountain man a heart attack.”
Lulu smiled serenely, already reaching for the register.
“Honey, that man is about to forget his own name, and whether you care or not is just collateral damage.”