Chapter Six
RHYS
WHEN I saw fear replace the anger in her eyes, I should have stopped, but the asshole in me wanted her to know. She needed to know what she’d stepped into. It’s pissing me off that I have to keep reminding myself that she’s innocent in this.
It’s not her fault.
She didn’t step purposely into the middle of a dangerous situation. It’s my job to keep her safe, and that’s what I’m going to do.
Even if it means possibly losing the promotion I’ve been busting my ass for the past two years.
When she came back from outside, she wanted to talk to her brothers. The one she stepped up to was Mason, which tells me he’s the one I have to convince that she. can’t. be. here. I wasn’t able to get him alone after they shut themselves in a room. I’ll have to do it tomorrow.
His wife, Sloane, showed me to a guest room and told me to make myself at home. She’s a beautiful woman with a dancer’s graceful body and based on the way she practically glides when she walks, I would bet that she was in some form of dance.
Memories of watching my mom perform on stage hedge my thoughts, but I push them away.
The room is small, but the full-size all-wood bed looks comfortable with the homemade quilt and matching pillow covers. Bedside dressers are on each side, and a tall clothes dresser is across from the bed against the wall. I toss the bag from my SUV onto the bed and glance at the window.
The soft orange and pink glow of the setting sun is in the sky, and I step up to see the view.
Trees as far as I can see. The barn and stables are not far from the house to the left, and a dirt path goes past those to a small bridge big enough for ATVs over the wide stream that cuts through the property.
The dirt trail disappears into the line of trees on the other side of that.
To the right is a garden. It’s not huge, but it’s not small, and looks well-tended. Movement on the far side of the garden gets my attention, long blond hair is barely visible through a screen of vining vegetables along the far edge.
I look closer, shorts, tie-dyed tank top. What’s she doing? Turning from the window, I grab my gun and push it into the holster under my arm and quickly go downstairs to find the back door through the kitchen. Sloane and a younger woman with long auburn hair watch me walk through.
It doesn’t take me long to close the distance, but up ahead is a cabin that I didn’t see earlier.
It’s set back about an eighth of a mile from the house, behind the barn, and a narrow trail in the green grass connecting the main house to it.
Sitting cozily next to the stream, the porch is on the side overlooking the running water, with a small fire pit in the middle.
She hasn’t noticed me walking up behind her. Her awareness is for shit. Just as she jogs up the steps and puts her hand on the knob, I say, “You shouldn’t come out here alone.”
She screeches as she jumps to face me, her hair flying and her hand on her chest. “Goddamn it! Why?!”
Stepping up the step, I’m pissed. “Because you shouldn’t be walking around by yourself where anyone can grab you.”
“No, I mean, why would you sneak up on me like some kind of creeper instead of just letting me know you’re following me?” Anger flashes in her eyes and her chest rises and falls in a huff that has a laughable growl laced in it.
Rolling her eyes, she turns the knob and walks into the cabin, flipping the light switch as she crosses the threshold.
As I follow her, she purposely pushes the door closed behind her, and I put my hand up to stop it from hitting me.
She spins around, anger in every line of her face. “I did not invite you in.”
“You should be counting your lucky fucking stars it’s not someone else. There’s cover in every direction that anyone could use to wait and grab you.” I slam the door behind me.
I’ve never talked to a civilian this way when I’m on the job.
Something about this woman makes me want to break things.
Then I realize I’m fucking pissed that she put herself in danger by walking up here alone, what if I hadn’t looked out the window?
I’d never know she wasn’t in the big house with me.
She would be an easy target while I slept.
Crossing her arms, she pushes her tits up on her chest, and it takes every sort of fucking self-control to not look down.
She pops her hip out and says, “Do you steamroll all women? Or is it just me, Special Agent? ‘Cause I’m starting to feel a little bit special.” She holds her thumb and index finger up with just an inch of space between them as she sarcastically drags out her last few words.
I don’t think I’ve ever met a more beautiful but irritating woman. And she’s right, I don’t know what it is about her that has me wanting to strangle her and kiss her at the same time. Shaking my head once, I chuckle. “Baby, don’t flatter yourself. I like my women a little less… exhausting.”
Her eyes narrow, and her lips press together in a tight line. “I told you to stop calling me baby, I’m not your baby.”
The cute as fuck kitten is back, swatting at me, and I smile inwardly at the rise I just got out of her.
She takes a step toward me, her shoulders square and her back straight, and smirks as she looks over my face.
“It doesn’t surprise me that the big, bad FBI guy likes his women submissive.
Too much of a challenge would be a threat to your ego.
” Her eyes flick to my pants and back up as she lifts an eyebrow. “It might make you feel small.”
Fuck me, she’s going to make me lose my shit. Cupping my mouth and chin with my hand to stop myself from saying anything I might regret. I count to ten in my head as those hazel eyes hold mine fucking captive like she’s fucking daring me to say something.
Pulling my palm down my chin, I take a deep breath. “Here’s how it’s going to be. You don’t go anywhere without me. If you want to go somewhere, let me know ahead of time and I’ll make arrangements. Don’t talk to anyone you don’t know. And for fuck’s sake, be more aware of your surroundings.”
The smirk turns into a smile, and I remember how those plump lips felt pressed against mine last night. Then she wrinkles her nose like an annoying teenager. “You’re bossy.”
“I’m doing my job.” I grind out between clenched teeth.
All humor in her eyes drains away, but the smile stays on her face. “Okay. Well, special agent, good luck with all that.”
What does that mean?
Holding my arms out to my sides in question, I wait for her to elaborate.
Without another word, she spins on her toes, her hair spinning around her like a tornado, and walks to a short hallway, her little ass swaying the entire way, and disappears around the corner and shuts a door.
I don’t think she’s coming back.
Tearing my eyes away from the hallway, I look around the cabin for the first time. I’m surrounded by canvases of all different sizes. Some have abstract paintings on them, and some have landscapes, but all of them are good. I don’t know much about art, but she’s good.
When I looked her up, I found her website where she sells her art. She has a considerable following.
On the other side of a narrow counter is the small kitchen with a round table big enough for two next to the window, and on the opposite wall of the kitchen is a door to a room that’s almost all windows. There are two easels in the room, both with canvases on them, the paintings unfinished.
There are paint, paintbrushes, and various art supplies everywhere. A few smocks covered in splotches and streaks of paint are hanging by the door.
The sun has almost completely gone down, and there is barely any light in the room, but in the corner on a short shelf are a small, dim lamp and a Bluetooth speaker. What grabs my attention is a book sitting next to the speaker, and my curiosity pulls me over to see what it is.
The Awakening by Kate Chopin - a classic. I wonder if she’s even read it. I’m surprised, but not, at the same time. It kind of seems fitting, a difficult woman reading about another difficult woman.
As I walk back through the kitchen, all signs point toward the fact that she stays in this cabin. This is her space, and I’m snooping.
Is she staying the night here?
I had no idea when I left the house to follow her, she would stay here, all my things are in the big house. There’s no fucking way I’m leaving her here to go get them. She might disappear into the woods like a fucking sprite just to spite me.
There’s a plush leather couch and a chair in the living room. The couch has a throw pillow on one side and a blanket folded up on the back. Looks like that’s my bed for the night.
I’m fucking tired after my night last night, so I grab the blanket and put the pillow on the end of the couch that lets me see the hallway.
Tucking my gun under the pillow, I throw my arm over my head.
As I close my eyes, the soft scent of jasmine floats around me from the pillow, and I force myself not to think about the little spitfire down the hall.
The screeching beep of a coffee maker wakes me up with a start, the smell of the fresh brew is in the air. The cabin is still dark, and there is just a hint of sunrise through the sheer curtains on the windows. My back is aching from tossing on this couch all night.
Sitting on the edge of the couch cushion, I scrub my hands over my head and down my face. Soft, low music is coming from the room on the other side of the kitchen.
Stepping up to the doorway, I see Ms. Harlow in a pair of skintight yoga shorts that barely cover her ass and an oversized t-shirt that hangs off one of her narrow shoulders but is cut off above her belly button. Her hair is twisted into a big blond pile on her head, and she’s barefoot.
My morning wood just stood up and took notice, and I adjust to try and hide it.
Her back is to me as she looks out one of the big windows toward the sunrise. In one hand is a paintbrush moving across a canvas in smooth strokes. The abstract looks like the sunrise is breaking through a black hole, and I wonder if that is her frame of mind.
Without acknowledging me, she continues what she’s doing.
“I can never get the colors just right. When I was in college, one of my art professors challenged me to capture the colors of the sunrise. At the time, I laughed at him because it sounded so ridiculously easy, but I’ve been trying ever since. ”
Looking at the skyline to the east through the floor to ceiling windows, I take note of the colors streaming across the sky and look back at her canvas. “It’s close.”
She huffs a laugh and shakes her head like I just insulted her. “What?”
“Is that what you told your boss when I fucked up your night and the bad guys got away?” She pauses and holds the brush in midair as she looks out the window again.
“Was he okay with you telling him, ‘we didn’t get them, but it was close.’?
” She sighs and mixes two colors. “How long will you be here again?”
I did insult her. She just pointed out how narrow-minded and shallow I’ve become since I’ve been working on this case.
I’m well aware of the struggles of artists. My mother became a world-renowned cellist after struggling to achieve her standing. My father struggled in his career as a linguistics and literary studies professor to become respected enough to publish reviews and journals and be taken seriously.
They both would tell me they are disappointed in me right now.
I shouldn’t care that she’s insulted, she’s just part of my job right now. I don’t have time to worry about her feelings, but I do have to spend a lot of time with her, so I want to keep the peace as much as possible.
At least that’s what I’m going to tell myself as I try to ignore the feeling of guilt that is churning in my gut.
Clearing my throat, I tilt my head to crack my neck. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to diminish your talent.”
Setting her brush on a disk sitting on a tray next to her easel, she turns to me.
There are splotches of paint on her too-short shirt, which leaves a gap between it and her tiny shorts.
Her belly button piercing is silver against the golden tan of her skin, and there are splatters of paint on her arms and a line down one cheek.
Her face is clean of any makeup, her eyes a little sleep swollen, and those lips… fuck, those lips…are just as plump and pink as they were yesterday. She’s fucking gorgeous.
“You didn’t diminish anything, you just proved me right.”
It’s my turn to be insulted, but I don’t show it. “Right about what?”
With a small eyeroll and a sigh, she steps toward the doorway that I happen to be blocking. “It’s too early to fight with you, Special Agent. I need my caffeine first.”
Holding my hands up in surrender, I back away from the door into the kitchen as she walks past me to the coffeemaker.
Shaking my head, I say, “Not interested in a fight.”
As she walks by, the smell of jasmine wraps around me. Her head comes just to the bottom of my chin with no shoes on, which makes her look small. She can’t be more than five foot five, I’m a whole head taller than her.
She opens the cabinet, and when she reaches up to grab a cup, her shirt rides up even higher, exposing the round globe of her ass, and I can see the soft skin on her back and hip.
Fuck me.
I’ve got to keep this professional. Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath and remind myself why I’m here as I think about the work I need to focus on today.