I’ve never met anyone who smelled like her—the warmth and sweetness of amber with hints of citrus. No, she didn’t smell like a field of whatever variety of flowers most women seem to prefer. It was subtle enough that I had to be close to catch it. And hell, if that didn’t fuck with my head more than anything.
Her beauty, though… There was nothing subtle about that.
Nothing subtle about the cascade of strawberry blonde hair that fell around her shoulder, shimmering in the store light like spun gold tinted with rose. Her eyes were a striking blue, stunning against the milky paleness of her skin. And fuck, those freckles scattered across her nose and cheeks, like tinystars across a face that was already too damn perfect. And that mouth…
I take another sip of coffee and try not to wonder what she’d taste like if I dipped in for a kiss. I haven’t let myself think about a woman in a long time. I haven’t felt drawn to anyone enough to let them linger in my head past the initial encounter. But she stuck; stuck long enough for me to wonder how long my pretty little tourist will be staying on the island.
I empty my cup and consider getting a second, then decide against it. I have a shit ton of work to do, and the cup when I finish will be a perfect reward. I’m rinsing the mug in the sink when Sabaak stiffens. His ears perk up, and his head swivels toward the door. He’s a big, boisterous dog, usually the picture of a goof, but now, every muscle is coiled.
A low growl rumbles in his chest, vibrating through the kitchen, seconds before he darts to the front door, clawing at it. I set down my mug and follow him to the door. Although I can’t hear a single thing, it’s clear something set him off. Sabaak has never been wrong about a threat—and every trespasser on my private property is a threat.
Sabaak barks, and then I hear it—the distinct hum of an engine. I walk to the window and spot the 4-wheeler in the distance, clearly approaching my property.
No one comes up here. There are quite a number of warning signs along the perimeter to keep hiking tourists from wandering. The locals rarely come up anyway. For the longest time, it’s been just me and Sabaak. Before that, I was a man living in the concrete world until I was shown just how fragile life is and how even money can’t protect it.
My parents were killed in a plane crash. They died in their private jet, every luxury and safety feature money couldbuy, and none of it stopped the engine from failing or the plane plummeting to the ground. I was twenty, still in college, with more money than most people could ever dream of and no family left to share it. They left everything to me and, as the sole heir of my family’s business, I was expected to step up before I’d had a chance to breathe, let alone mourn them.
I could’ve hired someone to manage their wealth and lived large. Most people assumed I would and, in turn, would take them along for the ride.
Instead, I came back to the place that meant something. My family had vacationed on Adak Island for as long as I could remember—it was the one place that had always felt more like home than anywhere else.. I sold everything, donated what felt right, and moved into my parents’ old vacation cottage. The sizable cushion they left behind meant I’d never want for anything.
And I don’t. Want for anything.
I’m fine living up here with my dog but it seems someone is determined to disturb that peace.
I watch the 4-wheeler pull up, and my brows furrow when I recognize it as Acca’s rental. Then I spot that wild strawberry blond hair, and my confusion deepens. She doesn’t seem to be lost, hard to be when this particular road leads straight to my cottage.
Sabaak spots her too, and he transforms from a menacing beast to an eager puppy, tail wagging like he’s about to reunite with his best friend rather than a woman he met less than an hour ago.
“Stay,” I tell him, but he ignores me. The moment I open the door, he shoots out and runs toward the 4-wheeler. Theengine cuts off, and the woman climbs out, smiling when Sabaak trots to her and jumps up like they’ve known each other forever.
“Oh, hey there, Sabaak,” the woman coos, crouching down to rub the eager dog’s fur. “There’s a good boy. I didn’t think I’d see you again so soon.”
I watch with disgust as my loyal dog eats up the attention, trading his dignity for a few ear scratches. Then the woman reaches back into her car and grabs a bag of treats, which I recognize as the ones Acca sells at her store. As she feeds my dog, Sabaak practically melts against the woman, eating off her hands, literally and figuratively.
When I’ve seen enough, I step out of the cottage and approach them. The woman finally lifts her eyes from the dog to acknowledge me, and I notice the quick flush on her cheeks when those blue eyes meet mine. “Sorry,” she says, rising to her feet but still holding out her palm for Sabaak to take the treats from. “My parents always say that our family has a gift, a connection with animals. I’m sorry, and I didn’t mean to intrude.”
When I don’t respond and simply angle my head inquisitively, the blush on her cheeks deepens.
“My name is Sylvie—”
“Are you lost?”
“No. I’m not lost. Actually, I was hoping to speak with you,” she says, and I notice a slight tremble in her hands. She’s cold. It runs colder up here near the mountain than in town, even in June. And her jacket looks like it’s failing in keeping her warm.
“Come in,” I say, nodding toward the cottage, surprising us both. I never invite anyone inside, let alone strangers. It’s anorm to send them on their way, but watching her shiver does something to me that I can’t explain. It makes me want to bundle her into a blanket, carry her inside, light a fire, and stay by her side until she’s warm. Of course, there are faster ways to do that than lighting a fire. I imagine her body spread out on my bed as I… No, I need to keep those thoughts at bay.
She should know better, but she follows me inside, Sabaak at her heels. They both make their way to the kitchen. “Um, thank you. I was hoping to speak to you about—”
“Coffee?” I interrupt, already reaching for a second mug.
“Uh, what?”
I turn to find her standing in the middle of my kitchen, watching me like I’ve grown a second head. Sabaak, the traitorous dog, is planted at her feet like he’s been appointed her personal guard. I shake my head at the oddity of it all. “You drink coffee?”
“Yes. Of course. I’m a grad student in California. I have to take coffee to keep up with the textbooks and… you probably don’t care. Sorry.” She waves her hands, then settles them at her sides. “Light, with sugar or cream—.” She stops herself, glancing at the counter.
The coffee I keep is black and strong and I don’t have cream or sugar on hand—nothing about my life requires them. I fill the second mug and hand it to her. She takes it and wraps both hands around it, and when she sips, there’s a flicker of surprise on her face before she adjusts.
