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Thank fuck. He barged into the house and turned toward the kitchen, where it seemed the fire had originated.
“Shit, shit, shit,” he heard as he waved his hands in front of his face to clear the air.
The sound of her voice had him sagging in relief.
When he emerged into the kitchen, he stopped dead in his tracks for the second time that morning.
Michaela stood below the smoke detector with a cookie sheet, waving it back and forth like a madwoman. Smoke flowed from the sink where she’d stuck a large frying pan. Flames shot straight up and the black smoke sucked out the open window, hence his race to save her ass.
Which had apparently been totally unnecessary.
He narrowed his eyes. After the morning he’d had, rushing to a fake emergency was the last straw. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” he shouted over the ear-splitting drone of the smoke detector.
Michaela shrieked and stumbled backward, bumping into the kitchen island. “Holy shit, you scared me,” she yelled back, pressing a hand to her chest.
He scowled at her as he marched to her sink. “You’re not going to get the noise to go away until you put out the fire.” He flicked on the faucet and within seconds, had the fire doused.
Michaela resumed her fan imitation. Keith grabbed a cutting board from the counter and began to fan smoke toward the window. A few minutes later, the smoke detector cut off, and blessed silence filled the house, though a singed odor still clung to the air.
“Oh, thank God,” she said on an exhale. “Thank you for your help.”
“What the fuck happened?” he barked.
She frowned. “Um, Jagger invited me to dinner tomorrow night at your house, and I said I’d bring dessert.”
What. The. Fuck.
Jagger invited her? Did he want her? Was he trying to get in her pants? Keith shouldn’t give a fuck. If Jagger wanted to waste his energy on a stuck-up woman who nearly burned her house down trying to cook, he was welcomed to it.
The sick twisting in Keith’s gut had to do with his anger at wasting more time that morning. Nothing more.
“I’m uh, not the greatest cook, but I’m trying to learn.” She spoke fast, wringing her hands together then gave a sheepish shrug. “Anyway, I overflowed the pan, then tried to wipe the side of it with a wad of paper towels, and the whole thing went up in flames. I accidentally dropped the paper towels in the pan, which set everything else in there on fire so I threw it in the sink.” She patted her chest. “Phew, my heart is still racing.”
“Christ, woman, do you have rocks in your brain?”
Her eyes widened, and a frown appeared on that kissable mouth. Damn her for looking so cute and vulnerable. She was neither of those things. She was a helpless woman who probably moved there after a divorce and would be looking for sugar daddy number two any time now.
“Put the fucking fire out next time, huh? Actually, put all your money to good use and order takeout, so you don’t start a forest fire that takes out the whole neighborhood.” He started out of her kitchen, stomping the entire way. “Least you aren’t drunk,” he muttered under his breath as he made for her front door.
Really, he hadn’t meant for her to hear that last part. Actually, he hadn’t meant to say it out loud. He realized how cruel and unnecessary it was the moment the words left his lips, but he’d hit his limit. Between sleepless nights imagining her naked and screaming his name, his father’s fuck ups, and the mess with his siblings, this was just the wrong time for a fake emergency.
Hopefully, she hadn’t heard, he could slip out, and finally get to work.
The ear-shattering slam of her cookie sheet against the counter had him jumping and whirling around.
She heard.
Fuck.
“How dare you!” She seethed, fists clenched, and eyes spitting pure hatred. “Since I’ve arrived in town, you’ve been nothing but a judgmental asshole. You know what, Keith?” She said as though his name were a curse. “You’ve taken issue with everything I’ve done and everything I’ve said, and I’m fucking sick of it.”
Holy shit, Miss Prim and Proper was losing her shit on him.
And it was hot as fuck. Even smelling like a campfire, with mussed hair, soot on her cheek, and without a stitch of makeup, she was the most stunning woman he’d ever seen.
“Yes, Keith, I have money. But you know what? I’ve worked damn hard for every single penny I have, and I won’t apologize for it. Especially not to a judgmental prick like you. And, yes, I came here after going to rehab because I have issues with alcohol. But I haven’t had a drink in more than half a year.” She advanced on him like a striking, pissed off runway model. When she reached him, she jammed her finger in his chest. “I get it, Keith. You don’t like me. You can stop beating that dead horse. I. Get. It. But if you’re so perfect that you can pass judgment on everyone else, then fuck you! You hear me, Keith? Fuck you!”
