He’s such a charmer.
“So you’re the guy who wrote my friend a ticket.” She smirks at him playfully.
“That’s my job,” is all he offers, shrugging and stuffing his hands in his pockets like he’s resigned himself to settle in for small talk he didn’t sign up for.
“Are you sure you weren’t just trying to flirt with her?” Lauren needles, and I drop my head to the side and narrow my eyes.
Why?I ask silently.
“Live a little,” she says to me out loud before looking back at Wolf for a response.
“I’m sure,” he sighs, looking away and it’s like an unexpected fishing knife to my gut.
Ouch.
“Well that’s a shame,” she tuts at him, though he doesn’t even offer her a facial response. He’s not the friendliest guy I’ve ever met, but I don’t recall him being this closed off the other night when it was just him and I.
I don’t have time to ponder that concept however, as Lauren draws in a sharp breath, an air of finality to it.
“Well, I’m going to get going. I’m sure you two have things to discuss.” She gives me a subtle wink and a wave then turns on her heel. Before I can protest that there’s no reason to leave us alone, she’s skipping up the small grassy hill toward the driveway.
I can see the tension leave Wolf’s shoulders as he tilts his chin up, showing me just the shadow of his dark green eyes. “I came to check on the cat.”
“I just did, and Finn is sleeping. He looks better though. The wounds are less inflamed,” I report.
“Excuse me, Finn?” He dips his chin like he didn’t hear me right.
“Well, you can address him formally as Finnegan if you want.” I lift a sarcastic eyebrow at him.
“Tell me you’re not adopting this animal too,” he scoffs, grabbing the bill of his hat and lifting it off his head to display more of his dark and unruly hair. It’s gorgeous, and I don’t bother telling myself to look away.
“No! And give me a break about Velvet. She’s chosen to stick around.”
“You name an animal, you’re more likely to get attached,” he quietly lectures, as he rubs his forehead with the back of his hand before slapping the hat back in place.
“I’m not getting attached. It’s fun to pretend animals have their own identity,” I explain, but clearly this conversation isn’t leading anywhere productive. This guy is nice to look at but can be a real grouch, so I leave him to it. “Go ahead and have a look. I’ll lock back up when you leave.” I turn and make my way for the back porch as Lauren’s car crunches down the gravel road. I don’t hear a response as I go, so I assume he’s disappeared into the barn.
Inside, I putter around, tidying up the dining room and grabbing a drink, not wanting to get too comfortable until Wolf leaves and I can lock up the barn.
As I flip through the day’s mail, the sound of another car coming up the drive gets my attention. Did Lauren forget something? I breeze across the living room to the foyer, ready to greet her with a playful smile. When I whip the front door open, however, there’s a familiar but extremely unwelcome man on my front porch.
“What the hell are you doing here?” I am inwardly enraged when the slimy Damen Riley doesn’t flinch at my tone.
He holds up his hands.“Ms. Butler, I’m sorry. I knew you wouldn’t be happy with this visit, but?—”
“So you just decided to make one anyway?” My voice rises enough that I’m sure Wolf can hear it, and I hope he does. I wouldn’t mind his no-nonsense authoritarian presence aboutnow. “You’ve got some nerve!” I lash out at the relentless land developer.
He has the balls to look unfazed and shoots me a glare of mock admonishment, like he’s trying to calm down a toddler. “I wouldn’t be here if this wasn’t an urgent matter.” He raises his voice. “Some new information has come up that I really think you want to know.”
“Excuse me, this is my home. My property that I know inside and out because I fucking grew up here!” I’m full on yelling now, so agitated at the audacity of this arrogant fuck who doesn’t think boundaries apply to him. “What could you possibly know about this place that I don’t?”
Riley doesn’t answer right away, and a cold brick of ice drops into the pit of my stomach. My pulse quickens as I hurriedly try to understand what he could possibly mean.
“You’re about to lose it,” he declares, his voice loud and heavy, like he’s trying to ensure it lands as he squares his shoulders back. “This land, your house, all of it,” he waves his hand at each thing simply. “You’re about to lose it. Not today, but in the next month, tops.”
“Look,” I cut out a sharp breath between my teeth. “I don’t know what kind of lies you’re trying to pull but-”
“You have to be married.” My breath catches in my throat and I want to tear into him about cutting me off except I’m thrown for too much of a loop by what he said. “You have to be married by your next birthday,” he continues as if the pompous dipshit can sense my confusion. “Your grandmother’s will says so.”
