But I'm not the curious sort. Instead, I try holding my breath to keep from getting another whiff.
The beast inside me is getting antsy. I feel caged and it makes me want to tear right out of my own skin. Literally.
“That sounds like her,” Goldie says with a light, tinkling laugh. “She was always too busy getting married or traveling around the world making new friends.” She cranes her neck to look around me, clearly hoping I’ll invite her in. “Would you like me to set the cake in your kitchen?”
I step in closer, my body further blocking the door and forcing her head to tilt back even more.
Oh fuck. I hate that this close, her scent is even stronger—a physical caress against my body. I’ll need to shower after this to get her off me.
“I don’t like cake.”
Still not taking a step back, her expression flattens. “You don’t like cake?” she repeats, her tone dripping with skepticism. “Everyone likes cake,” she counters.
“Not me,” I insist. The mixture of strawberry cake and this girl’s deliciousness is flooding me, sparking a hunger in my stomach and. . . lower. Damn animal instincts.
“Well, how about a pie?” she says slowly. “I could bake you a pie.”
I shake my head. “I hate pie.”
Her grip tightens on the glass dish. “Cupcakes?”
“No.”
Her eyes narrow, sparks practically spitting from them. “Cookies? You hate those too?”
I nod.
“How about fun? Do you hate fun?” She cocks her head to the side, her voice assuming a biting tone.
Something inside me rears up and takes note of her sass.
“Definitely,” I confirm.
“Well, that makes six things I know about you other than your name,” she says, still glaring at me like she wishes she could stab me with red hot pokers.
“What?” I ask, my brows knitting.
She holds the cake with one hand to count off fingers with her other hand. “You hate cake, pies, cupcakes, cookies, fun, and are a complete ass. If you tell me your name, I’ll know seven things about you.”
Smart ass.
It almost,almostmakes me want to break into a smile. But the threat she poses to my peace and quiet is far more pressing, and it’s currently pressing me into being an ass to effectively drive her away.
Goldie curls the cake closer into her body, as if she realizes I don’t deserve her amazing gift and I’d have to beg on my knees for it now.
“The seventh thing about me is that I like to be left alone. How’s that?”
Somewhere inside, I cringe at how harsh that sounds. But then I think again about my brothers catching a whiff of this delectable girl on my doorstep and immediately harden up. I need her far from here. For all our sakes.
Goldie’s mouth forms a small ‘O’ as if she can’t believe I actually said that. When she recovers, her jaw clenches and as sweet as a dagger coated in pink sugar, her words emerge through clenched teeth. “I’ll be sure to write that one down too. Thanks for sharing.”
Before she can say another word, I step back and shut the door in her face.
A strangled cry of outrage comes from the other side. I vigorously rub at my forehead and the fast-forming headache, trying not to feel so guilty over how I just acted, even as it gnaws at me.
It’s going to be fine, I assure myself. You did anything but roll out the welcome mat and that cream puff clearly won’t last in that massive, crumbling old Victorian. She’ll be gone before you know it. And you can deal with the regular shit shows that visit your house without piling on.
Letting out a sigh, I turn and decide to avoid my back deck for the rest of the day, so I don’t risk another sighting of her. Because having scented her now, there’s no way I won’t be able to sense this Goldie chick with every nerve ending of my body.
