Brennan O' Reilly has been crazy about Evie Morgan since the day he met her. She's his sister's best friend, so naturally she's off limits. Even if she weren't, Evie is his opposite. She's chaos to his calm; chatty to his quiet; messy to his tidy. Those alone should mean it could never work between them. Could being trapped alone together in her cabin--in the middle of a snowstorm —be the moment that proves they are perfect for each other?
CHAPTER 1
The twenty stepsfrom Evie’s separate studio to her cabin’s front door were not quite enough for Brennan’s heart rate to return to a respectable pace. Nor were they enough to dilute the fear burning through his veins or ease the tension in his body from when he’d walked into the studio ten minutes ago. She’d been so absorbed in her art she hadn’t registered the smoke rising from the portable heater. Her earbuds had clearly blocked the snapping of the electrics that were popping and sending flames licking close to the flammable products nearby. Thankfully, they hadn’t stopped her hearing him roar her name and order her out. She’d jumped, and upon seeing the flames, her eyes had widened, the color in her cheeks had drained, and she’d fled.
A faint stench from the electrical fire still lingered in his nose. He took a deep breath of the clean, crisp air as he rolled his shoulders, then attempted to dust the snow off his suit. Pointless really, considering the wind had the falling snow swirling unpredictably, but he needed something to focus on. He needed more time.
As a firefighter, and the son of one, details and dangers, big and small, had been drilled into his subconscious over the years. He’d noted more than half a dozen dangers in Evie’sstudio, as small as it was, when he’d finished dealing with the smoldering heater, including the lack of a smoke alarm. Mentally kicking himself for not forcing an official inspection of the entire property, he added it to the top of the list of things he’d go over with her and ensure were done. When she’d moved in, he’d checked the cabin over because Lacey had got him here under the guise of helping Evie move. His crush on his sister’s best friend was only marginally larger than his inability to form words around the woman. Otherwise, he’d have asked her himself to do an inspection.
The door swung open. “Is everything okay?” Evie’s gaze tracked him from head to toe. “Areyouokay?”
He was not ready for her but clearly his time was up. He stomped his feet, dusted off his shoulders, and stepped through the door, escaping the cold that was seeping through the layers of his clothes.
Her face was still pale and, while her hands were clear of evidence from her earlier work, splatters of red, blue, and gold paint still marked her clothes. Her fingers fidgeted, twisting the bottom of her shirt. But the biggest sign of worry was the tiny streak of blue near her left ear. If there was one thing he’d learned about Evie Morgan in the year since he’d met her, it was the telltale rub of that earlobe when she was unsettled or nervous.
“Brennan, are you okay?” she asked again.
“I’m fine. Fire’s out,” he said. “But your heater’s gone. The fire extinguisher lasted but was expired. You’re lucky it even worked.”
“I’m lucky you were here.”
“Yes, you were.” If Lacey hadn’t asked him to come and pick her up for the wedding rehearsal, things could’ve been so much worse. Consequences hurtled through his mind and the ache in his chest intensified. He wasn’t sure which caused himthe most pain: that his sister might’ve lost her best friend three days before her wedding or that he might’ve lost Evie and any chance of doing something about his feelings for her. Forcing his thoughts back to the moment and the fire—a more practical use of his brain—he asked, “Did you check it when you moved in?”
“I meant to,” Evie said. “I did in here. But out there?” She smiled and stepped forward. His heart rate kicked up again. “I forgot. I was too excited.”
She was right in front of him. Close enough to touch. His fingers curled into his palms to stop him from reaching out to her.
“It’s the first place that’s my very own,” she said. “I couldn’t wait to make my mark and set it up. Free to do whatever I wanted. And the studio?—”
“That studio,” he cut in, desperate to stop thinking about how good the strange combination of Evie and paint smelled, “is a death trap. If I hadn’t arrived when I did?—”
Her hand on his chest stole the rest of his words. The heat from her fingertips burned through his shirt where they touched. His heart was beating far too fast. And then she brushed a light kiss on his cheek and the air stalled in his lungs.
“Thank you,” she whispered, her words dancing across his skin.
The soft, breathy sound of her voice was not something he needed to add to his store of information already infiltrating many of his dreams. And no, he would not turn his head and catch her lips with his. No matter how much he wanted to.
“You’re welcome.” Brennan focused on the checked blanket over the back of her couch and counted the squares on it, not on what slipping his arm around her waist and pulling her into him might feel like. He was not there to bury his nose in her blonde hair, or against the skin of her neck and breathe deeply.
He’d come to pick Evie up for the rehearsal that started in less than half an hour. His sister hadn’t wanted her driving if the predicted unusually heavy snow eventuated. Evie’s car was a small, yet perfectly reliable, hatchback, but it didn’t have the power or handling abilities of his truck. Given the amount of snow already piling up, those abilities were going to be needed.
“We need to go,” he said, stepping back from temptation.
Evie nodded. “I’ll get changed. I’ll be quick. I promise.”
She turned and walked away, leaving him standing there, mesmerized by the sway of her hips under the black, paint-splattered leggings.
He pulled his gaze from the spot where she’d disappeared around the corner and took in the rest of the living area. It was the first time he’d been inside since the day he’d helped her move in. The cabin was warm, bright, and decidedly feminine, with more than a touch of chaos. It suited Evie to a tee.
Brennan was the opposite. A simple, structure-loving, non-chaotic kind of guy. Growing up in a family of six kids had left him with a need for order. Now he lived in a one-bedroom apartment, on his own, with minimal belongings. He didn’t even have pictures on his walls. Something Evie noticed the only time she’d been there. Her disappointment in his sparsely decorated living room when she’d delivered Lacey’s birthday present—ironically a painting—had been clear.
Brennan’s phone rang. He pulled it out to see his sister’s name on the screen.
“Lacey,” he answered. “Evie’s almost ready to go. We should still be there on time.” He’d allowed more time than necessary, given the weather, and his sister’s warning about Evie’s punctuality.
“Let me guess,” his sister said, amusement in her voice, “sidetracked with some art thing?”
“Yep.” Lacey didn’t need to know the rest. She had enough going on.
