Is she afraid of the dark,he wondered, the protective instincts he did his best to hide immediately flaring at the idea.Fuck. I don’t care if she’s afraid of the dark.
Except that he did. He cared about the way her chestnut hair had caught the light when she turned to face him. He cared about the way her cheeks had flushed when she realized what she’d done. And he cared, way too much, about the faint, sweet scent of vanilla and sugar that had clung to her like a promise. Even inside his own house, with all the doors and windows shut tight against the cold, her scent haunted him, rich and complex and so unexpectedly appealing that his nose twitched just thinking about it. He’d smelled a lot of humans over the years. None of them had ever made his blood heat the way hers had.
“This is ridiculous,” he muttered, turning away from the window. He drained the last of the whiskey but it did nothing to relieve that
He stalked into the kitchen and yanked open the refrigerator, grabbing a beer he didn’t actually want. The cold bottle felt good against his palm, grounding. He’d spent the entire evening at the Moonlight Tavern trying to work off his frustration, and all he’d managed to do was snap at his staff until Molly, his senior server, had threatened to dump a pitcher of ice water over his head.
“You’re being an ass,” she’d told him bluntly.
“I’m always an ass.”
“More than usual.” She studied him a little too closely. “What happened?”
“Nothing.”
“Liar.” But she’d let it drop, because Molly was smart enough to know when to push and when to retreat.
He took a long pull of beer and turned back to the window. The house next door was still dark but the lamp cast enough lights for him to pick out a few details. Bright yellow walls and colorful pillows on soft-looking furniture, the complete opposite of his own living room with its white walls and black leather furniture. Nothing soft or welcoming or… warm.
The word stuck in his mind like a burr. Warm. That’s what she was. Everything about her radiated warmth—her smile, her laugh, the way she’d offered him her hand like they were old friends meeting again instead of strangers. He could still feel those small fingers cupped in his palm.
This was insane. He hadn’t wanted anyone in six years. Not since he’d walked away from his band and everything that came with it—the fame, the chaos, the females who just wanted to fuck a rock star and didn’t care about the male underneath the image. He’d sworn off all of it.
And now some curvy human with green eyes and a nervous laugh had scattered bunny food by his fence, and his body was acting like spring had come three months early.
Maybe it has,he thought darkly.Maybe the seasons are shifting.
But even as the excuse formed, he knew it was bullshit. Spring fever was a real thing for rabbit Others—a restless, hungry mating drive that came with the warming weather—but it had never hit him like this. Never made him want to memorize the exact shade of someone’s eyes or wonder what sounds she’d make if he buried his nose against her throat and just breathed.
Fuck!He grabbed the beer again and drained half of it in one go.This is ridiculous. She’s my neighbor, she’s human, and she thinks rabbits are fluffy little woodland creatures.
The memory of her face when she’d realized what she’d done—the horror, the mortification, the way her cheeks had flushed pink—almost made him smile. Almost. It would have been funny if it hadn’t also been infuriating. If it hadn’t reminded him, yet again, that humans saw Others as novelties at best and monsters at worst.
She’d seemed genuine, though. Her apology had been sincere, stumbling over itself in her haste to make things right. And she’d looked at him without fear, even when he’d loomed over her.Most humans would have backed away, but she’d stuck out her hand and asked to start over.
Welcome to Fairhaven Falls. Stay off my lawn.
The memory of his words made him groan again. He finished the beer and set the empty bottle on the counter, but made no move towards his bedroom. Sleep felt impossible right now. His body was too wound up, too aware of the woman sleeping less than fifty feet away.
She’s in bed now,his brain supplied helpfully.Probably all soft and sleep-warm, her hair spread across the pillow, her scent soaking into the sheets?—
“Fuck!”
The curse echoed through the silent kitchen before he forced himself through his usual evening routine. He rinsed out the bottle and placed it in the recycling bin, carried out the trash, and wiped down the counters. Once the kitchen was pristine, he set the coffeemaker and headed towards his bedroom. But as soon as he laid down and closed his eyes, he saw green eyes and pink cheeks and curves that his hands ached to map.
Sleep, when it finally came, was filled with the kind of erotic dreams he hadn’t had since he was a teenager in the grip of his first mating season. And all of them featured his neighbor.
The knock came at eight-fifteen.
He’d been awake since dawn, burning off his restless energy with a punishing workout in his basement gym. Push-ups until his arms trembled. Squats until his thighs burned. Anything to quiet the noise in his head.
It hadn’t worked.
He was standing in his kitchen, shirtless and sweating, when someone rapped on his front door with cheerful determination. His ears swiveled towards the sound, picking up the soft shuffle of feet.
Sara.
He knew it was her before he opened the door, her scent drifting through the wood. Part of him wanted to ignore the knock and avoid whatever uncomfortable interaction was about to happen.
