Page 189 of Toxic Kiss

“Can I charge my phone at least?”

I hold it up, but she plucks it from my fingers and sits on it.

“Nope.”

Crossing my arms, I stare at her profile.

“Haven, what the hell is going on?”

She glances at me.

“You’ll see.” She points to the backseat. “There’s a baseball cap back there. Put it on.”

Well…if this isn’t fucking mysterious as hell. If it were anyone else…I’d worry. But Haven…she can take me anywhere, and I don’t care as long as we’re together.

chapter

forty-eight

“I thought I was protecting myself. I didn’t realize I was losing everything.” – Cyrus

CYRUS

My eyes pop open as the car bumps along on the rough road. It’s dark, and I have no idea how long I’ve been asleep, but my neck is killing me. Rubbing it, I bring the seat up and look at Haven.

“How long was I out?” I yawn.

“Few hours.”

“A few hours? Where are we?”

“We’re almost there,” she says slyly, not really giving me a response.

“I see…sort of…”

We are moving slowly down a dirt road, surrounded by massive trees. They’re so thick that we may as well be encased in darkness.

The road curves, and I realize that we’re on a wide driveway as a large log home looms ahead. We pull up to the front, and Haven turns off the car. The only light comes from the single fixture beside the front door.

This place seems fancy enough to be a year-round home. I shift to stare at the devious red-headed devil who has abducted me.

“Should I be worried that you have an axe in the trunk? Or do you just want to tie me to a bed?” I smirk. “I won’t complain with option two.”

“Hmm…I’d definitely worry about the axe.”

Haven gets out, closes her door, then moves to the rear to grab what looks like grocery bags.

“Well, come on and help me with this stuff. Once we’re inside, I’ll explain.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

My large duffel bag is in the back seat. I grab it and her bag before following Haven up the front steps. She lifts a potted plant and pulls out a key then unlocks the door.

Haven is all business as she moves through the house, flicking on lights. Her energy is out of control. She’s practically vibrating, and it’s easy to see she is thinking a million miles an hour. Before I know it, she has a pot of coffee brewing and has pulled steaks from the fridge.

“Okay…do you mind explaining now? This seems like an odd time, in the middle of a tour, to go glamping.”

“This is not glamping. You glamp in that tour bus you dare to call roughing it. This is a…cottage. We are cottagers.”