Maybe if I keep saying the words, I’ll believe them.
Then the slider to the back deck opens, and Jeremy walks in.
He’s carrying a plate of steaming grilled chicken and wearing that ubiquitous gray T-shirt he favored at the villa, athletic shorts, and a ball cap turned backward. His forearms are tan and corded with muscle, his jaw shadowed with a day’s worth of stubble, and those amber eyes find mine with the accuracy of a heat-seeking missile.
My ovaries annoyingly start to cha-cha slide while my heart stutters to keep up, and my skin flushes hot despite the breeze drifting in through the open door.
The immediate urge to turn and run floods my system. Probably the same instinct a deer feels when it comes face-to-face with a mountain lion. Because he’s not looking at me like I’m an unwelcome guest or an inconvenient complication.
He’s looking at me like now that I’m in his house, he’s never going to let me leave.
“Avah.” My name in his mouth sounds like a claim.
“Jeremy.” Mine sounds like a warning.
Sloane’s gaze bounces between us, and I watch her register the crackling tension neither of us is doing a good job of hiding. Shit just got real.
15
JEREMY
After Avah tookoff from the island like I was a mistake she needed to outrun and then went feral cat on me when I showed up at Sloane’s apartment, I figured our night together had been some kind of aberration. A lusty glitch in reality that I’d replayed an embarrassing amount of times in the weeks since.
But she’s standing in my kitchen, and once again, those ocean-blue eyes make me want to drown in their depths. For a split second, my brain short-circuits into full-on alpha mode. I want to keep her locked up here where I can make sure no one hurts her again. Not even me. Hell, I’d build her a massive library with a rolling ladderanda dream kitchen so she could stress-bake to her heart’s content, minus the talking teapot.
In other words, I’d give her anything if she’d just…stay.
Nope. I’m not that much of a fucking goner. Close but not quite. I also have it on good authority that Avah would sooner gut me with a bread knife than tolerate being possessed. She’s not property, and the fact that my instinct is to hoard her like dragon’s gold undoubtedly means I should seek professional help.
Or at least stop staring at her like she’s oxygen and I’ve been holding my breath for weeks.
What was the line from that movie my sister watched on repeat during her stay in the hospital last winter? Bewitched, body and soul.
Yeah. Makes perfect fucking sense now.
I unclench my jaw and force my features into something less nerd-boy-crush-on-the-homecoming-queen. Remind myself to act like a rational man who is not currently fantasizing about locking a woman away in his house.
Sloane clears her throat, her gaze bouncing between us with growing suspicion. “Is it a problem that I invited Avah for dinner?”
“Not if you’re into Taco Tuesday.” I direct the words at Avah, trying for casual and coming off closer to constipated, and dial back the smile that feels too wide and hungry on my face.
“Is there guacamole involved?” Avah asks, cool as a cucumber, damn her.
“Of course.” I turn toward the fridge, grateful for a moment to pull my shit together. “It will guac your socks off.” Christ, did I just try for avocado humor? If there’s a God, she’ll smite me right now.
“He’s better at food than jokes.” Sloane opens the bag of chips sitting on the counter. “It’s not fair that you got the brains and the cooking ability. What was left for me?”
“You’re plenty smart.” I grab the volcanic stone bowl I used to prepare the guac and set it next to the chips. “Plus, you got all the emotional intelligence in the family.”
Avah chokes back a laugh, and I raise a brow in her direction.
“You said it.” Her palms go up in mock surrender. I know it’s mock because I can’t imagine her ever surrendering, not that I’d want her to.
We eat on the back deck as the light softens and the river hums its familiar white noise below. Normally, I find the rhythmic gurgle meditative. At the moment, I’m too busy tracking Avah’s every movement to give a rip about nature’s soundtrack.
I bought this house to be close to Sloane, then bought the lot next door so no one could encroach on my privacy. Now Avah is sitting at my table, shiny hair grazing her shoulders, and the part of me that usually screamskeep people outhas rewired itself tokeep her close.
My sister has a gift for filling silences, and I let her carry the conversation while I focus on not staring at Avah like a starving man at a buffet. Sloane talks about the bookstore, a difficult customer, and some new releases she’s excited to stock.
