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She continues before I can say anything. “Per your explicit, surly instructions I have clothed and fed myself.” She crosses her slender arms and appraises me. “I had a coffee at the Beanery and hit up at least a dozen shops on Main Street.”
Irritation sinks into me. She didn’t see Tempest the right way. She saw it in a tourist’s light. Not the way I know it.
From the trunk, she removes a handful of shopping bags from various shops around town, tucks a footlong sub under her arm and a bottle of wine under the other.
A growl vibrates in my chest.
“What?” She puffs a strand of blond hair from her eyes. “Is wine not allowed?”
“Shouldn’t shop at Bob’s store. He overcharges.”
She slams the trunk shut. “Bob’s a saint. And you’re bossy. And grumpy. A dreadful combination, I fear.”
She pivots toward the Creek House, bags straining her arms.
The impulse is so instinctual I can’t stop it. I reach forward. She takes a step back. There it is again, that fucking flinch.
“Your bags.”
She stares at me, her beautiful face a picture of stubbornness.
“Let me.”
At her nod, I step closer. I smell it on her skin. Honey, vanilla, baby oil. It gets me so fucking hard I forget how to think.
Goddamn it’s going to be a long summer with her in my space.
Reaching out, I take her bags, easing her burden.
“I guess you can be a gentleman.” She stares up at me, her voice breathy. “Who knew?”
“Lead the way,” I grit out.
Out of her purse come her keys, and I follow her to the Creek House. She unlocks the door, flicks on the light, and we enter.
At the counter, I deposit her bags, and she instantly starts unpacking. Water bottles, canned food, bags of chips, Pop-Tarts, and gummy bears. Annoyance curdles in me. She should be eating better than tin cans of beef stew and greasy sub sandwiches.
Amid the jumble of bags, my gaze locks on a small, bright pink box.
“Take it you met Hassie.”
“I did.” Her hands unpack the box. Slender fingers with short sparkly black nails. “She gave me a blade in case I run into trouble.” Her eyebrow lifts as she looks at me. “So be very prepared, cowboy.”
I can’t help it. I chuckle.
Delilah opens the blade and examines the pearl handle. “Ezra says we’re neighbors.”
I watch the blade shine in her hands. “Unfortunately.”
She purses her lips, a scrutinizing gaze on her face. As she shuts the knife, she hisses a gasp.
Fuck. A fist clamps around my heart. I take a step closer. “Let me see.”
“Fooled you.” Her seductive brown eyes land on my face.
“Not funny.” I take a step back, not trusting myself around her.
High elegant cheekbones. Glossy blond hair. Slender shoulders. Toned legs. I feel like a walking hard-on every time I look at her. Her shoulders are dusted with a glittery powder.
