My brows shot to the top of my head. “Pardon me?”
“Oh, where are my manners.” Sarcasm dripped from her voice. “Good morning, neighbor. May I help you with something on this crisp and beautiful morning?” Her lips curled up in what was the phoniest smile I’d ever seen. “That better?”
I blinked at the woman. Stared, really. I was at a loss. Again. Never—not even once—in my life had anyone managed to unarm me like this woman did. And I’d met some sneaky bastards throughout my career.
In my silence, she pointed at my hand. “Is that coffee for me? If so, no thanks. Not only do I not accept things from strangers but I don’t trust you.”
I looked down, noticing for the first time that I had brought my mug with me. Christ. What was up with me? “I’m not a stranger.” I returned my gaze to hers. “And believe me, I wouldn’t care to spike your drink or whatever the fuck you’re implying. I’ve seen you unconscious and you’re just as much work as awake. If not more.”
“I keep forgetting how annoying your kind are.”
My kind. “English?”
“Pompous players who believe the sun rises and sets on them.” A shrug of a shoulder. “And by the way? You are a stranger. The only thing I know about you is your name and that you enjoy shouting at people, specifically women, while they sit in cars.” She lowered her voice. “Sounds like a lawsuit waiting to happen if you ask me.”
I narrowed my eyes at her. She thought she could deflect by insulting me. “I asked you a question.”
“I might have missed it with all the aggressive yelling and intrusive pounding.” Her lips pursed. “Actually, you—”
“Cut the goddamn bullshit, darling.”
Her shoulders hiked up. “I have a name—”
“Oh, I know that,” I interjected before she sidetracked me again. “I goddamn told you, Adalyn. I told you that you wouldn’t make it a night in that bloody shack. So tell me, huh? Why are you sleeping out here? In your car. I’m sure you have a good reason.”
She looked at me then. Really looked, the features on her face gentling, as if my words had caught her so off guard that her walls had dropped down. In that instant, I could finally see her. The Adalyn behind that bravado, pride, and hostility I didn’t understand and who managed to bring my own temper out. And even with her hair pointing in all directions and the dark circles under her eyes, it was impossible to miss two things: Adalyn Reyes was beautiful. And she was also a hot mess.
She was a beautiful hot mess of an inconvenience I wanted out of my hair.
“Sleeping out here is not safe,” I pressed, hearing my voice soften. “Or smart. It’s irresponsible. So if you don’t want to use the cabin you booked, then leave. Pack your things and go.” She paled at that, but I continued. I needed the message to be delivered loud and clear. “If you’ve been sent here to fill in some silly charity quota for your big-time club, lie. All right? It’s easy and all the clubs do it. Make up some reports or a story and go home. Stop the pretense and—”
She threw the driver’s door open, bringing my words to a stop and making me stumble back a step. She stuck half of her body out and pointed a finger at me. “Listen,” she hissed, letting me know all guards were right back up. “And listen carefully, you stubborn, cocky, infuriating, and exasperating… curmudgeon of a man.”
I frowned. “What—”
“If you think you can boss me around just because you think yourself more important than me, or because you have developed some strange superiority complex due to trauma or a small penis, then I suggest you think again.”
My brows bounced up, meeting my hairline. “I don’t—”
“I’m not here for you,” she loud-whispered, her face growing red. “I’m here for my franchise. And I’m not a journalist who can just… concoct a story. I take my job seriously, and that silly charity quota is my one ticket out of here.”
I opened my mouth again, but she pushed at the door, opening it even wider and smacking me in the stomach. “Jesus Christ, woman. What is with you and hitting me with that goddamn car?”
Adalyn didn’t answer me, she was busy stomping out of the car—barefoot, I noticed—with a pair of shoes dangling from her fingers.
“Adalyn,” I called, following her with my eyes as she walked past me. This had escalated in a way I hadn’t been expecting and now I felt like a giant twat. “I’m—”
But Adalyn didn’t care for what I had to say. She stopped her strut to turn and point at me with one sharp stiletto.
“Save it, because I don’t care,” she said, making my jaw clamp shut. “And let this get into your thick skull: this is the only place I plan to stay for the foreseeable future.” She swallowed, and it was then that I noticed her chest heaving up and down. Fuck. Had I been that big of a prick? “Believe me,” Adalyn continued, her voice cracking. “I wouldn’t be in Green Oak if I had a say in it. I wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t been banished from my life like I’m disposable. So congrats, you were right. I didn’t make it a night. But know that I wouldn’t have slept in that car if I had any other reasonable, not-crawling-with-God-knows-what choice!” Her pitch rose, getting squeaky high. “So if my presence bothers you that much, then just act like I’m not here. Because I’ve got a news flash for you: I’m not going bloody anywhere, mate!”
Bloody. Mate. Was she taking the piss out of me? “Ada—”
She whirled around, making her way inside that decrepit cabin while I remained frozen in place, obtaining the answer to my two questions. Yes, she must have been mocking me and yes, I had definitely been a prick.
I closed my eyes, shaking my head briefly until I heard a thud and a yelp.
My eyelids lifted just in time to see a stiletto flying out of the cabin and landing at my feet.
A stiletto.
Walk away, I told myself again. She just gave you an easy out. Ignore her.
I squared my shoulders, downed the rest of my coffee, grabbed the flying shoe, and headed for her door.
The first thing I saw when I ventured into Sweet Heaven Cottage was Adalyn. She was still breathing heavily, her hair still very much a mess and her legs and arms on display. Once again, I couldn’t stop myself from letting my gaze get a little lost in that last fact. And once again, I was honest enough to admit that I liked what I saw. I liked the curve of her hips and thighs, the sight of her bare feet, and even how her breasts moved with her breathing under that thin top. I was, after all, a living, breathing man. And she—
“I don’t have anger management issues,” she announced, making my gaze return to her face. “I wanted to clarify that before you ask or point it out. I really don’t. I was dealing with a frustrating situation. With my shoe.”
“Not to be a bloody ass, mate,” I purposely said in a thick accent, throwing the words back at her to break some of the tension. “But that’s what someone with anger management issues would say.”
She let out a small huff, her shoulders coming down an inch. “Would you rather I take my frustration out on something else? Because I have another shoe.”
“Oh, were you doing that with something in particular?”
A look was shot to her right, and it was only then when I spotted it. The massive and dated four-poster bed. I arched my brows, noticing one of the poles was hanging at a weird angle. I had to bite back a smile. A goddamn smile. “Were you perhaps using the shoe as a hammer of some sort?”
“I’m resourceful like that,” she answered simply. “It was either that or taking my anger out on someone.”
My eyes jumped back to her. And the mental image took shape in my head so wickedly fast that this time, I could do nothing to stop the corners of my lips from finally twitching.
Her expression turned horrified. “Oh God, no. No. I meant—”