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I had stormed past him, fully intending to ignore him, when he caught my attention. “You finally got the balls to shoot your shot with her, then?”
My glance sliced to the painted front door of Sand Dune Studio.Fucking small-town rumors.I eyed the cocky smirk on his face. “Mind your business, King.”
He grunted a response. “Well, if you won’t, I’d be happy to.”
Barely contained rage simmered through my veins at the thought of Royal Kingshooting his shotwith Annie. I stepped forward, locking eyes with him as he raised his chin. “You stay the fuck away from her.”
The asshole had the balls tolaugh. “If you’re not staking a claim, someone else will.” He gestured toward Annie’s shop. “And she looks good.Realgood.”
I shook my head, reminding myself that Royal liked to stir up trouble, and Annie was a Sullivan—by association, at least.
I scoffed. “That woman would gnaw her own arm off before ever being with you.”
I had turned to leave him when his comment shot over my shoulder. “You sure about that?”
My jaw clenched as I tore open the door to the studio. The little silver bell rattled angrily against the glass.
“Well hello to you too.” Annie looked up from the small corner of her studio, her hands and forearms covered in wet clay. A streak of gray fanned across her cheek where she must have scratched an itch. The annoyance running through me was replaced with something different.
Darker.
Hungrier.
Annie’s wild hair was piled high on her head in a riot of loose curls. She’d wrapped a scarf around her head and the bow at the top was slightly off-center. Her blue eyes widened as I stormed into her studio.
I looked around to find a few tourists stopping to stare at me. I nodded in their direction. “Morning.”
Annie’s soft hands continued to work the clay despite my intrusion. My eyes snagged on the way her fingers slid and tangled with the wet clay, and it immediately sent my thoughts spiraling.
I wanted to smooth my hands over hers. Feel the wet softness slip between my fingers. Run my nose up the side of her neck and have a full-on Patrick Swayze–in–Ghostmoment behind her pottery wheel. Her disheveled beauty hit me like a ton of bricks, and I struggled to remember why I’d stormed into her place to begin with.
Oh, right.
Dolls.
“A doll maker? Seriously?” I shoved my hands into my pockets to hide the fact my errant thoughts of her had gotten me hard.
Annie snorted. “She did not.” She flipped off the wheel and dipped her hands into water before starting to wipe them clean. “Damn it! I told her no dolls until at least the fourth date.”
A bubble of her laughter filled the studio as I frowned down at her. “You’re cackling.”
She sighed and laughed again. “Of course I am.”
The sight of Annie laughing, her wild red curls bouncing, her head thrown back, was almost enough to make me forgive her.
Almost.
“If you’re not going to take this seriously, then just forget it.”
Annie stepped closer, wiping her hands dry on a towel. I slid her the bottle of lotion I knew she used after working with clay. She scooped it up and began working it into her hands.
“I am taking it seriously. Sammy is a little quirky, but she’s so sweet. I thought you were over the whole fear-of-dolls thing.”
“It hadskin, Annie.”
She swallowed down another laugh. “I’m sorry. I’ll do better next time, I swear. Emma has a cousin I think might be great. A real sweetheart.”
I looked down at my best friend. Her pink lips tipped up in the tiniest smile, and I wanted to call the whole thing off. Tell her that we should just skip ahead to the part where I give in to this gnawing feeling and kiss her already.
