I hitch my backpack higher and drag my protesting suitcase over the cobblestones, squinting at the building numbers through the falling snow. It’s darker now, the afternoon bleeding into evening, and the streetlights are flickering on one by one. The mist has rolled in properly from the harbor, thick enough that I can barely see the water anymore. Just gray pressingagainst gray, the world narrowing to this one street with its pastel buildings and glowing windows.
The address I’m looking for is painted on a building that matches the rest of the town’s aesthetic perfectly. It’s three stories tall, narrow like its neighbors, and is a soft blue gray with white trim around the windows and door. The roof peaks sharply, designed to shed snow. The nautical vibe is strong here. There’s a ship’s wheel mounted decoratively beside the front door, white and weathered to look antique. Rope details frame the entrance. Even the house numbers are done in a font that looks vaguely maritime.
It’s charming. Exactly the kind of place I’d choose if I were actually moving here instead of conducting a temporary investigation.
Someone is already at the front door.
A very large man.
He’s fiddling with the lock in a way that immediately sets off alarm bells. He’s massive, easily six foot three or four, with shoulders broad enough to block most of the doorway. Blond hair falls to his shoulders in loose waves and shifts in the wind, and he’s wearing a heavy black coat that makes him look even bigger. His boots are serious, the kind designed for actual work, not fashion.
He looks intimidating, and he’s definitely trying to get into the building.
I slow down, gripping my suitcase handle tighter. The real estate agent is supposed to meet me here with a key. This guy doesn’t look like a real estate agent but someone who could bench-press a car.
Is he breaking in? Does he live here? Should I call someone?
Before I can decide, he turns around.
And I forget how to breathe.
Ice-blue eyes meet mine, so pale they’re almost startling against his tanned skin. His face is cleanly shaven, all strong angles and sharp lines, with a jaw that calls my attention. He’s beautiful in the way that glaciers are beautiful. Cold and stunning and vaguely dangerous.
Then he grins, and the whole effect shifts. Warmth floods those icy eyes, and suddenly he’s less an intimidating mountain and more an approachable human.
“Hey,” he says, stepping aside from the door. His voice is deep, serious, but there’s something underneath it. Amusement, maybe. “You want to go in?”
I shake my head, still trying to process the fact that this man exists. “I’m waiting to meet someone.”
He straightens, tilting his head slightly. “You’re Ash Monroe?”
My brain fuzzes.
The name that belongs to my fictional brother. Panic hits like ice water.
How does he know that name? Why does he think I’m Ash? Is my cover already blown? Did I mess something up? Oh God, what if he?—
“Wait,” I say, forcing my brain to catch up. “You’re looking for Ash Monroe?”
“Yeah.” He’s studying me now, those blue eyes taking in my face, my luggage, my general state of being half frozen and confused. “The real estate agent said he’d be here this afternoon.”
Right. The apartment. I booked it under Ash Monroe because that’s my cover identity for the job at Wilde Charters. A Beta male named Ash who’s coming to work in their marketing department. Not Anita.
Pull it together.
I laugh, and it comes out slightly breathless. “Oh! No, that’s my brother. He’s coming first thing in the morning. I’m just checking into our apartment early. Getting settled in.”
I’m talking too much. I can hear myself breathing heavily.
Stop talking. You sound suspicious and like someone who’s lying, because you are lying, so maybe stop making it obvious.
The man just watches me, and then he grins again. It’s devastating. “Got it. Makes sense.”
Does it really? Because I feel like I just word-vomited all over this interaction.
He extends a hand. “I’m Jasper Lawson. I own the property.”
I shake his hand, and the moment our palms touch, something electric shoots up my arm. His hand is huge, warm despite the cold. He holds my hand just a fraction longer than necessary, and I watch his eyes flicker to my mouth and back.
