By the time he pulled his motorcycle into his usual spot, he was almost too tired to check and make sure the coast was clear. If anyone spotted him, he’d tell them he was cleaning. It was a legitimate excuse. Something he really should be doing.
He hadn’t been able to shake the feeling all week that someone was following him, probably paranoia over Mr. Richardson. He peered deeply into the trees, near the old bridge, but no one was there. He was losing his mind. He wasn’t made for keeping secrets like this. Grandpa would have been very disappointed in him.
He cut through the break in the trees and headed toward the bungalow, but something made him pause. A noise?
A creaking.
He squinted in the quickly dimming light, and his heart stopped when he realized someone sat on the porch swing at his grandpa’s bungalow, slowing swaying back and forth.
And not just someone.
Eliana Peters.
Chapter 6
“She is too fond of books and it has turned her brain.” —Louisa May Alcott
WasthishowtheGrinch felt right before he stole Christmas?
Or Snape every time he gave Harry Potter detention?
Should she feel uncomfortable that she was relating to villains in stories?
Eliana saw the moment Asher recognized her sitting on the swing at his late-grandfather’s bungalow. The slight stutter in his confident stride, then the determined line of his mouth as he stalked toward her like a sleek lion approaching prey.
She swallowed. It wasn’t too late to stop this plan before it even started. Had desperation led her to fall so far?
Yes. The answer was yes. Because the more she thought about that advance payment in her account, all those zeros linking like chains around her wrists, she knew she had to do something.
Desperate times called for desperate measures. That was the saying, right? And the fact that she’d come up with this idea while she’d lain awake last night, Cameron’s snoring in her ear … Well, didn’t all the best ideas come in the middle of the night, after a lot of stress and sleep deprivation?
A newsletter topic started to form: “Five Ways to Make Sleep Deprivation Work For You.”
First, those ideas that are mostly illegal when you’re awake? They seem absolutely reasonable and justifiable when you’re going on three hours of sleep.
“What are you doing here?” he growled as he placed his foot on the uneven wooden slats of the porch. The bungalow had fallen into some disrepair, unlike the other well-kept ones along the beach. She knew The Palms maintenance center handled the upkeep of the bungalows, but for some reason, this one had been neglected.
He glared at her as he waited for her answer, and her throat suddenly felt thick. This close, he was more imposing than she remembered. Even though he stood at least six feet away, his presence took up the entire porch. It wasn’t fear that made her pause—well, maybe a little, though something told her he’d never hurt her—but it was a tingling awareness along the top of her scalp. Like that feeling you get when someone runs their fingers through your hair.
Weird.
She stuck her foot on the ground to halt her gentle swinging, but she remained seated, trying to pull off an air of confidence. Of belonging.
“You live here,” she said.
“No,” he ground out. He folded his arms, putting those biceps on display and teasing her yet again with just the barest glimpse of his tattoo. “My grandfather did. I’m here to go through his boxes.”
“Interesting.” She kicked off the ground to rock the swing again. It really was peaceful out here at the edge of The Palms. Quiet. Private. Nearly deserted. And the lighting that would come in through those back windows in the middle of the day? Absolutely perfect.
“If you don’t mind …” He walked up the steps and headed to the door, coming close enough for her to smell him—sunscreen and a hint of outside, as if the pollen and leaves had attached themselves to him while he rode.
“Not at all,” she replied, continuing to swing.
He paused in the doorway, and she wondered if he’d go inside. But if she’d guessed his personality right—there was a whole lot of decency behind that growly exterior—he wouldn’t leave her out there. “Can I help you with something?”
“Actually, yes. You can.” She stood and approached him, realizing her mistake the moment she did. While on the swing, she felt like she’d had the advantage of looking casual, without a care in the world. The distance gave her courage.
Standing close to him, her heart couldn’t remember how it was supposed to beat. Too fast, then too slow, and suddenly she was breathless. But if she stepped back, he’d know he affected her, and she couldn’t let him see that he might have any upper hand in this.
