The man had had a gun pointed. At me? Who did he think would be knocking on the door early on a snowy morning?
Even more than the afternoon before, an aura of danger surrounded him, as thick as the haze of sensuality.
What was wrong with every man in the entire continental United States? Why were they all flakes in general, assholes often, and with some sliding into the realm of being monsters?
I didn’t know what in the world had possessed me to make the arrogant prince homemade muffins. Sure, I baked sometimes when I was nervous, but that wasn’t the case around him. I’d been incensed, furious with his attitude.
What bothered me almost as much as his reaction had been that I’d wanted to make the muffins special. Maybe the small-town vibe was finally rubbing off on me after a couple of years. Thecoffee had been an afterthought, but I’d made the special brew, a bag of coffee that I’d ordered as a treat after my one-year anniversary of the store being open. I’d even ground the beans myself.
I was furious I’d wasted my time.
Then again, maybe the mischievous girl inside of me had taken advantage of the situation. There were vacation homes dotted throughout the mountain landscape, but the Prince house was my favorite in town, the Swiss chalet design creating whimsical fantasies about living in the Alps.
Ridiculous of course.
It was even more beautiful up close. Spectacular detail had gone into both the design and build out, the craftsmanship rivaling anything I’d seen in magazines. And the backdrop was to die for. Nestled at the base of Mt. Mansfield, every angle no matter where I’d stood had provided breathtaking views.
But not nearly as breath-stealing as after Mr. Prince had opened his front door.
Holy hell in a handbasket. Zoe’s favorite expression. While I’d captured an idea of his handsome physique under his tailored suit, catching sight of him without a shirt and in bare feet had tossed my hormones into overdrive. At least I’d been right about something else regarding the man.
He was built like a brick shithouse. A saying Bekka used all the time. All buff with every muscle sculpted. Not merely from lifting weights and doing cardio exercises, but also from inheritance. He came from good genes.
What I’d barely been able to keep my eyes off had been the way both arms had been mapped with colorful tattoos. One was a sleeve with continuous ink crawling over his shoulder onto his chest. Given the design, I had the distinct feeling the vivid artistry continued down his back. Somewhere in the back of my mind I knew if I succeeded in decoding them, I’d regret doing so. Yet I couldn’t help allowing my eyes to trace the intricate patterns, my curiosity about his identity increasing.
It had been obvious I’d awakened him, the sexy look about him including tousled hair and a two-day stubble that completely covered his cheeks and jaw. Yummy.
Nope. I wasn’t going down that road thinking of him as anything I would or could put my hands on. I’d apologized because that had been the way I’d been raised and that was that. Other than getting my plate and thermos back. At least I knew where he lived.
Not that I’d get an invite back. Not a chance in hell.
I made a turn, doing my best to get him off my mind. I had a busy day and had yet to pick up a present for Zoe’s party. What did you get the woman who had everything?
Including the hottest man in town.
Well, the second hottest man now that Mr. Prince had rolled into town. I had no idea who he was, but a part of me was eager to learn. Not just out of curiosity either. I knew his type far too well, men who paraded around as decent human beings while hiding dark secrets.
It wasn’t my place of course to warn anyone in town about my suspicions, but if I discovered he had ill intent in mind, a small part of me felt like it was my duty.
I pulled into the parking lot and into my usual spot, barely managing to throw the gear into park when I heard the chirping of my phone. My chosen ring was far too chipper this morning. Given I was running late, I didn’t bother glancing at the screen before answering.
“Hello?”
“Hey, sis. Don’t hang up.”
That’s exactly what I almost did, driven into zero movement while I tried to ascertain how in the hell my brother had gotten my phone number. Or why he was bothering to contact me. During our last conversation now eighteen months before, I’d made it perfectly clear I never wanted to hear from him again.
After doing so, I’d felt guilty and angry for weeks, finally trying to put my past behind me. Why did he choose to make contact today of all days?
“What do you want, Danny? I have work to do.” Thankfully, he had no clue about what I did or that I owned a business. Not unless he’d gone to great lengths to snoop into my life. Which I doubted. He had far more important things to do like killing people for monsters who dared not get their hands dirty and ruining his life.
“I’ve missed talking to you.”
I’d thought his words couldn’t surprise me longer. Laughing, I grabbed my bag and climbed out, careful to avoid the few patches of ice. Even though with the wind and frigid air I was freezing, I had no intention of allowing anyone to hear anything about my sordid family complications.
“You don’t miss anything but my money, Danny. I told you before, I’m not bailing you out again.”
His laugh was as unnerving as the call. “I don’t need your money, sis. I have my own. Lots of it. Enough to pay you back with interest.”
