Mrs. Halloway beams. “Built in 1892. The woodwork is original, you know. Those mantels came from an estate in Boston?—”
“I love the history,” Madeline cuts in, smooth as glass. “Babe, we should really get going. My sister is expecting us.”
I nod, playing along, but my jaw is tight. “Right. Dinner.”
“So lovely to meet you both,” Mrs. Halloway says, following us to the door. “Come back for tea anytime. We have the most wonderful lemon cakes.”
“Oh, we will. I love everything with lemon,” Madeline promises as she steps onto the porch.
I grab her hand firmly and pull her toward the steps. She tries to pull away, but I hold on.
“Luke, I was getting?—”
“Getting what? Yourself killed?” I glower down at her. I take a deep breath, trying to get myself under control. The thought of her putting herself in harm’s way intentionally has me all out of sorts. My hand aches to bend her over my knee and spank her for this. What the fuck? I don’t even know where that thought came from.
“I was being friendly. People talk to friendly people, and I’m new in town.”
“People also remember friendly people. When the cops come asking?—”
We reach the bottom step and stop.
Emily stands there, key in hand, looking up at us. She goes still. Her eyes find mine first, recognition flashing, something cold and calculating. It could be because she’s hiding something or that she remembers I’m an asshole. Then they slide to Madeline.
Her expression shifts. The coldness melts into something else. She smiles slowly, and her gaze travels down Madeline’s body and back up, unhurried, like she’s deciding what to order from a menu. If she were a guy, I’d punch her in the face for the outward disrespect.
“Hi,” Emily says, her voice warm. She tucks a piece of her dark hair behind her ear. “Are you two staying here?”
I step slightly in front of Madeline, my grip tightening. “Just leaving.”
Emily’s eyes stay on Madeline, amused. “What a pity.”
She brushes past us, close enough that her shoulder grazes mine, and pushes through the door. It swings shut behind her.
I don’t move. Madeline’s hand is stiff in mine.
“Was she checking me out?” she whispers.
“Yeah,” I say, pulling her toward the car. “I don’t only have to worry about every swinging dick, now I’ve got to chase off girls too,” I mutter under my breath. Madeline lets out a laugh. I jerk open the passenger door. “It’s not funny.” She slips inside.
“It’s a little funny.” Another growl escapes me, and I shut the door. I go around the back of the truck and stand there taking a few more calming breaths so I don’t jump down her throat. I’m so pissed. This is the most pissed I think I’ve ever been in my life, and I know it’s all wrapped up in fear.
It’s quiet as I pull away from the curb. Madeline’s arms are folded over her chest, and she’s glaring out the window.
I pull into the first empty parking lot I find, gravel crunching under the tires. I turn the engine off. My hands are still shaking.
“Luke—”
“Why didn’t you answer?” My voice comes out rough, too loud for the small space. “I called three times. Three.”
“I was busy being charming.” She tries to sound light, but her brows are drawn together. “It worked, didn’t it? I got information.”
“You could’ve been—” I stop, throat closing. I can’t even put my worst fear of something happening to her into the world. “If I hadn’t shown up, you would have been alone with her. With Emily. Do you get that? If she’d recognized you, if she’d?—”
“I’m not helpless,” Madeline says, her voice rising. “I know what I’m doing. I made a choice.”
“A stupid choice.”
“Excuse me?” We’re both breathing hard. I grip the steering wheel, knuckles white, and then force myself to let go. “I wouldn’t have been alone with her. I was in the inn with people around.”
