“Oh, I know this one!” Pippa blurted and with a discordant blare, Wolfie’s fingers slipped off the piano. He turned to glare at her. “‘Ain’t No Sunshine’,” she said weakly. His eyes were almost black in the half-light. “Sorry for disturbing. You’re really good,” she went on. “Like, professional level.”
Wolfie pulled his gaze away from her and picked up his drink, swirling what remained of the amber liquid. “Fun night?”
Pippa grinned. “Yeah, it was. How about you?”
Wolfie considered her question. “I had about as much fun as one can, rattling around this relic by myself.”
Pippa’s buoyant mood instantly crashed in the face of such grumpiness. Fuelled by her multiple wines, Pippa spoke without filter. “Don’t you get fed up being so miserable?” she asked.
Wolfie blinked. “Who says I’m miserable?”
“Well, your face, for one thing,” Pippa retorted.
“Charming,” he tutted.
“Look. I’m sure your life is all hearts and rainbows away from this house.” She pushed back the flare of jealousy at the mere thought of the woman Wolfie was selling the house for. “But when you’re here you’re always so gloomy.”
“So, because I don’t skip around this house full of nostalgic joy about my childhood, I’m ‘gloomy’?” Wolfie cracked.
“Well, yeah.” Pippa nodded. “For someone who hates this place so much, you sure are here a lot.”
Wolfie gazed at her intently. “Well, that’s because…” He let out a long sigh and shook his head. “Listen. I’m selling the place. So of course I’m here more than normal. I have to oversee everything.”
Pippa wrinkled her nose. “There are these people called agents, you know. You pay them to take that responsibility off your hands.”
“True.” Wolfie regarded her stonily. “But for some reason I feel compelled to take on that responsibility.”
“Because you care so much about this place?” Pippa rolled her eyes. “Please. You didn’t bat an eye when that surveyor bloke trampled all over the garden and ruined all my hard work.”
A muscle flickered in Wolfie’s cheek. “I consider it a duty,” he said.
“A duty to, what, stamp and moan like a spoilt brat?” The words left her mouth before she could stop them. Before she could apologise, Wolfie let out a bark of laughter.
“A brat? You think I’m a brat?” He stood, flexing his arms. “Let’s see. My father gambled away much of the money my grandfather left us and didn’t even have the decency to keep his paws off my mother’s own inheritance. He then had the temerity to bloody well die before sorting out his debts. Meanwhile this place?” He waved around him. “Is falling down around my ears and my salary, good as it is, barely keeps the lights on. We need the money more than we need to worry about the hurt feelings of a few local people.” Wolfie snickered. “My father was not a good man, and because of him, this house was never a home, at least not to me.”
He swallowed the last drop of his whisky and stalked towards her. As his powerful form approached, Pippa felt every hair on the back of her neck rise, every nerve and every cell spring to attention. Her breath sped up; her heart thudded. Wolfie stopped in front of her, his eyes boring into hers. He smelled of whisky and leather, of clean cotton and fresh lime. It was intoxicating. “Tell me, do you understand me now, Pippa Munro?”
Pippa’s lips were suddenly dry. When she licked them, Wolfie’s gaze followed the motion yet again. Was she imagining a hunger in his eyes? Or had the copious wines she’d consumed in town begun to cultivate delusions?
“I’m not sure a woman could ever fully understand you,” she said shakily, although in that moment she fervently wished to be the one that did.
Wolfie dragged his stare away from her mouth. “Trust me when I say a woman like you wouldn’t be able to.”
His tone was so acidic that Pippa actually had to take a step back from him. “And what does that mean,a woman like me?”
He scowled at her. “Well, for one thing, I’d love to know when you intend to take those rose-tinted glasses off.”
Pippa knew she’d drunk a lot that evening, but his words made no sense. “Rose-tinted…? What do you mean exactly?”
“This place! Thistown!” Wolfie gestured around him. “You talk as if it’s made of gold or something. Like it’s perfect.”
“Nothing’s perfect,” Pippa said. She’d learned that much about life. “But as a place to live? Yeah, I think Hurst Bridge is the best. Beautiful town with lovely people … what’s not to like?”
“It’s a small town, with a small-town mentality,” he spat.
“Care to explain whatthatis?”
“The people here live for the gossip, the excitement, don’t they?” His handsome face twisted in what looked like grief. “But they don’t care what’s beneath. What’s really going on.”
