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I hate it.

We stand there staring at each other like two enemies who’ve accidentally found themselves on opposite sides of the same battlefield.

My mother has sent me straight into a trap and judging by the man standing in front of me, this is going to be one hell of a nightmare.

Not a sweet one, either.

eleven

. . .

Pretty Things Bite Back

"Some people believe in love

at first sight. I believe in restraining orders at first sight." — K

The last thing I expect after a three-hour drive in the middle of the night is to walk into Winter Storm and find a stranger standing in my foyer.

An intruder.

One wrapped in enough white fur and surrounded by enough luggage to survive the fucking apocalypse, with high-maintenance trouble written all over her like an expensive, sparkly bow.

I know her type.

Money clings to her like a second skin. From her pale-blond hair to those ridiculous high-heeled boots, everything about her screams I have more money than a small country, and the rest of you can kiss my ass.

Probably the kind of woman who considers manners optional and has a strict policy against strange men with tattoos.

I’ve met plenty of women like her. They see the ink. The scars. The plain clothes and the expression that usually keeps people at a safe fucking distance. Then they decide they know me. To them, I’m trouble. The kind that bites back and doesn’t apologize for the blood.

And this one?

She’s staring at me like my very existence inconveniences her.

“Who the fuck is moving in?” The question slips out before I can stop it.

Not that I’d take it back.

She doesn’t answer. Just stares at me with cool, unimpressed eyes, apparently unbothered by the fact that I’m standing six feet away looking like I crawled out of an underground fight and lost interest halfway through cleaning myself up.

Huh.

Most people at least have the decency to look nervous around me.

This woman looks like she’s deciding whether I’m worth the headache.

The irritation that’s been riding my ass all the way from Seoul digs its claws in deeper.

The fuck…

I take another look at the pale-haired intruder, and something inside my chest shifts.

Something sharp and unwelcome as fuck.

She keeps staring like she’s weighing the pros and cons of burying an expensive weapon between my ribs.

Cute.