He then nods to himself, turning on his heel before heading out again, with his sewing kit tucked under his arm.
Ho-ly fuck. I think I just came.
There’s something about quiet confidence that clearly revs me up.
Either that or it’s all the pheromones in the air from living with rock stars. We might only have been in the cabin for a day, but we’ve spent over half the week in very close quarters.
That’s the kind of environment that’s always going to lead to one of two things: fighting or fucking.
Here’s hoping for the latter.
Wanton slut.
The words come from out of nowhere. Accompanied by an unwanted memory of the Herald pulling me to one side after I had a conversation with a cute guy at a coffee shop that lasted longer than he thought appropriate.
I was seventeen and his reaction fucked my brain up for a good long while. Whenever I got a little too close to anyone, even someone who wasn’t an outsider, he’d get this look on his face and I’d instantly retreat.
It was like he had me trained like a damn dog. And it took me a long time to train myself out of that after I left The Path.
I shove that nasty voice to the back of my brain, where it belongs.
It takes me a second to realize I didn’t thank him for his help. Suddenly regaining the use of my legs, I trip out of the workshop after him, with my plate still clutched in my hand.
Cal’s nowhere to be seen though, and I still don’t know my way around the house as well as I’d like.
I head down the hallway leading to their practice room, but there’s no sign of Cal here either. Continuing along until I reach his bedroom, I find that to be empty, too.
There’s a noise in a room at the other end of the hall, so I carry on in that direction. But, instead of finding Cal, I stumble across a sweaty Micah wearing a welding mask. He’s working on what looks to be a sculpture made up of strips of metal all twisted together. It’s six-feet tall and stunning. I’ve never seen anything like it.
This must be his workshop. It smells like ozone and something sweet and the walls are lined with tool benches and neatly displayed tools. I stand in the doorway, staring as he continues to work for another couple of minutes before shutting off his blow torch and pushing his mask off his face. He pulls off his protective gloves, turning tome and rolling up his sleeves, displaying forearms covered in a sheen of sweat.
My mouth goes dry. Holy fuck, what is happening in this house today? It’s like between him and Cal, I’ve stumbled upon my own personal porny fantasies.
He shoots me a massive grin and wipes his sweaty forehead. “Sin!”
I swallow a few times before my dry mouth allows me to speak. “Wh-what are you making?”
“Ah, nothing useful, I’m afraid,” he says, his expression turning bashful.
My damn heart cannot handle him. Nope. It’s not possible. He’s too fucking cute.
“You’re an artist?”
He shrugs. “I’ve tried a bunch of types of sculpting before, but I like the metal ones best. They’re this perfect mixture of harsh beauty—hard material and soft lines.”
Aand now I’m sweating. Not just because it’s hot in here, either. I try to fan myself subtly, but there’s not a lot of give in the ol’ overalls, so I don’t do too good a job of it.
“Sin? Are you all right there?”
“Hmm? Yes, right, fine. I’m fine. All good here.”
I avoid looking directly at Micah, like that’s going to help things. He’s like the sun, better in my periphery unless I have protective eyewear.
I thought I was too jaded and guarded to feel any sorts of fuzzy feelings for anyone, but Cal and Micah are equally showing that’s not the case at all.
These guys might not have any secret skinsuits in their closets—or at least none that I’ve found yet—but that doesn’t mean I’m entirely safe in this secluded cabin in the woods.
Chapter 14
