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I want to share more with him, I realize. Unlike James and Grey, Beau is a welcoming and comforting presence.
Maybe I could tell him the real reason I’m here.
If I told him about Michael, could he protect me?
No.
I’m a guest here, and I leave in less than a week.
Regardless of what I’d like to think, I’m in this alone.
5
HARPER
As we head backto theInn, I catch a head of icy-blonde hair through the slats of the gazebo. Dressed in all black, James stands out in the lively green of the garden. He’s looking down, but as I stare, his head snaps up to meet mine.
Beau stops and sighs. “I’m going to go ahead.” He takes the basket from me, and I frown. “My brother wants to talk to you.”
“Your brother?” I echo.
“Foster brother.”
“Oh,” I mumble. James doesn’t stop staring at me, and I bite my lip.
“I doubt he wants anything to do with me,” I say hesitantly. “I don’t think he’s a big fan of me.”
Beau chuckles. “He’s just dramatic. He’s always been the most emotional out of all of us. You don’t have to talk to him, of course. But maybe he’s going to apologize for being an asshole to you.”
“You heard about that?” I ask.
“Yeah. Charlotte told me. Do you want to come with me, or maybe stay out here some more?” Beau asks.
I should walk away. I should break eye contact with the psychotic brother and follow the rational one inside.
But there’s a pull in my chest, and every instinct in me screamsgo to him.
I intend to find out why.
“I’ll see you inside,” I murmur, and Beau heads down the stone path, away from the gazebo and back to theInn. Wilson follows close behind him.
Damn it. Not even the cat for backup.
James’s icy eyes are a mixture of hypnotic and frightening. He stares at me expectantly as I make my way up the wooden steps of the gazebo, my gut churning with anxiety.
I should have gone with Beau.
What the hell am I doing?
James frightens me, but in a different way than Michael.
He’s frightening in a way that makes my stomach flip and my skin flush. Electricity flows through my veins, my arms tingling as I catch his scent.
He stays seated, dressed in a black long-sleeved shirt and pants, a closed sketchbook in his lap.
He cocks an eyebrow at me expectantly.
“Are you enjoying your stay, Princess?” His voice is low, barely above a murmur.Princesslingers on his tongue a little too long, and his wicked smile is back.
