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She pressed the code into the control panel so she could enter the house, and stepped inside just as the drizzle which had soaked through her clothing an hour ago turned into fat drops of rain. The metal door slid closed behind her, shutting out the beginning of the storm. Her tense shoulders finally relaxed.
She shivered, stripping off her damp sweater and boots, feeling the underfloor heating sending some much-needed warmth through her tired, overwrought system.
The lights in the entranceway emphasised the gathering darkness outside and her heart did a panicked two-step. The utter exhaustion—both mental and physical—which she had been holding at bay with sheer force of will for the last mile of her hike began to make her overused muscles ache, and the tension headache at the base of her skull turn from a whisper into a shout.
No more indiscriminate hiking. Or extra-curricular bird watching. Especially not less than three hours before dark and/or in the vicinity of Pirates’ Cove.
To avoid Luke from now on she would have to venture out with extreme caution.
She dr
opped her backpack, headed through the mud room, and flicked on the lights before taking the steps down to the basement.
Her hollow stomach howled in protest. She needed food. A hot shower. Some painkillers and bed. In that order. At least tonight she shouldn’t have any trouble sleeping.
She rummaged through the chest freezer for one of Mrs Mendoza’s ready meals and found a vegetable lasagne in a glass container. Carrying the dish under her arm, she headed back upstairs and scanned the dark open-plan living space.
Only the lights in the kitchen were on. The clenched muscles in her stomach relaxed.
Empty. Luke must still be out and about.
She’d been more than ready to forgo the first part of her To Do list and starve herself until morning if she had found Luke already there. She might be famished, but she did not want to face him tonight. She simply didn’t have the mental bandwidth to deal with his overbearing presence when she was already exhausted and perilously close to tears.
Not only did Luke Broussard have the ability to look right into her soul and discover all her secrets without even trying, there was no way on earth she wanted to risk seeing him with the vision still in her head of him naked and gorgeous and indomitable in Pirates’ Cove.
The kitchen’s lighting glowed on the clean granite work surfaces. She tiptoed into the quiet space, finding the fierce patter of the rain almost soothing as she placed the container on one of the surfaces without making a sound and set about programming the microwave.
She’d heat up the pasta dish and head upstairs to her room with a plate. Safe for another night.
‘Sneaking around comes real natural to you, doesn’t it?’ a deep voice purred from the darkness.
Cassie let out a high-pitched squeak and swung round so fast the lasagne dish launched off the counter like a missile. The sound of glass shattering blasted away the last of her calm.
She steadied herself against the countertop as Luke Broussard’s tall, broad and uniquely intimidating silhouette rose from one of the sunken sofas in the living area.
She gulped in a few desperate breaths, then pressed her palm to her chest to steady her rampaging heartbeat and control the vice now tightening around her ribs with the force of a starving anaconda. How long had he been lying in wait, ready to scare the bejesus out of her?
‘Are you actually trying to kill me?’ she managed—not easy with the adrenaline now pumping round her body at warp speed.
He stepped into the light.
Heat powered through her exhausted system.
He’d showered and shaved since she’d left him in the cove. And put on a few more clothes. Thank goodness.
Unfortunately, the black cashmere jumper did nothing to disguise the sleek musculature of the chest she’d been admiring four hours, five miles and one major coronary episode ago.
Look away from the six-pack.
She forced her gaze to his face and noticed a muscle tensing in his jaw. And the flat, disapproving line of his lips. Apparently he hadn’t been lying in wait to scare her for a laugh.
She should be grateful that he hadn’t enjoyed seeing her learn how to levitate, but somehow she wasn’t—because his displeasure was having a far more devastating effect.
‘I’m not trying to kill you,’ he said. ‘But if I did, I reckon a judge would consider it justifiable homicide.’
He ground out the words, and it occurred to her that Luke Broussard was absolutely furious. Possibly even more furious than he had been when he’d read Ash’s text two days ago.
Just as she was trying to figure out what she could possibly have done, he supplied her with the answer.
