Gentry (Wolves of Winter's Edge Book 1)(11)

Lesson learned. Time to move on.

Only it wasn't so easy. She really, really liked him for reasons beyond  her comprehension. The second she'd laid eyes on him, her body had liked  him in some strange chemical reaction she hadn't had with anyone else,  and then with every second she'd spent with him, her heart had liked  him, too.

Of course he was freaking taken!

Today was a light make-up day, wild curls piled into a messy bun, skinny  jeans, snow boots, a red sweater, and a thick winter jacket kind of  day. No point in dressing up to attract that cheaty little cheater who  was still chopping wood outside. Chop, chop, chop. It echoed through the  house. Apparently, he had the stamina of a Clydesdale. Annoying.

Blaire grabbed her purse and left the house, trotted down the stairs,  almost busted her butt on the icy bottom one, saved her balance, dusted  off her jeans primly, and walked to her car, which was still parked in  front of Gentry's cabin.

Gentry stopped slamming the ax into a wooden log, rested his hand on his  hip, and leaned the handle onto the chopping block. His chest heaved  with the exertion, his cheeks were slightly flushed under his facial  scruff, and his breath chugged like fog in front of his face. "Where are  you going?"

"None of your business."

"Uuuh, it is my business, remember? I said it wasn't a safe time in this town-"

Blaire held her hand up and cut him off. "Save your protective  bullcrappery, Gentry. I don't need a controlling man in my life. You  want to protect someone from imaginary monsters? Go protect your  girlfriend!"

Was it mature to shout that last word, escape into her car, and slam the  door? Nope, but it sure felt good to watch his face go slack.                       
       
           



       

She waved toodle-loo and then skidded to the exit of the parking lot  like she was a stunt driver in a movie. At the stop sign, her tires spun  out for a few seconds before they caught, but as soon as she got  traction, she cast him a fiery glare and pulled out of Hunter Cove.

What was she up to this fine, blustery, gray-skied, frigid Maine day?  Grocery shopping. She needed zero macaronis from Gentry Striker, and  yes, that was a metaphor for his dick, too. Even if his dick was  like … the biggest macaroni. A world record macaroni. Stop thinking about  how big it is.

Blaire was an independent woman who didn't need a protector and sure didn't need anything from the man watching her leave.

Project avoid-the-heck-out-of-Gentry-for-the-rest-of-the-week started right now, because Blaire didn't need a hero.

She could take care of herself just fine.





Chapter Seven




How did one even cook an artichoke? Blaire spun the spikey thing in her  hands. She would have to research. Or perhaps get mega-lazy and buy  canned artichokes for the pasta she planned on making tonight.

She was an acquisitions editor for a big publisher, so she had a stack  of manuscripts to read, a load of time on her hands, and a craving for  carbs like she hadn't felt in months. Her appetite had been crap back  home while stressing about work and Matt, but out here, she wanted to  enjoy cooking and eating again.

This was going to be way better than the TV dinners she ate at the  kitchen counter every night while staring pathetically at the two-person  table she and Matt used to eat all their meals at together.

Tables were for families and couples. She'd held onto that old table so  hard, but now she was considering selling it and replacing it with  something that she picked out, not bought at a garage sale with her ex.  Too many memories attached to it. Actually, there were too many memories  attached to everything in that house.

Maybe it was finally time to sell it and rent something. A place she could build brand new memories away from Matt.

He'd moved on. It was way past time she did the same.

Relief and sadness welled up inside of her as she settled the artichoke in her cart and rolled it toward the pasta aisle.

She smiled at a couple as she passed, but they only frowned back at her,  and the man snarled up his lip like a wild dog. Rude. The people in  this store were either friendly or gave her looks like she was a leper.  Now she was afraid to give anyone eye contact because the entire grocery  store was apparently a mixed bag of nuts.

Gentry fit right in around here.

Blaire gritted her teeth hard to punish herself. She'd sworn not to  think of Cheater-McGee while she was out and about running errands, but  her mind kept circling back around like a little glutton for punishment.

Bowtie pasta or fettuccine? She scrolled through the recipe on her  phone. She could do either. Blaire held up a bag of each and played  eeny-meeny-miny-mo.

"I don't have a girlfriend."

The voice right by her ear startled her so hard she dropped the bowties on the floor and yelped.

She spun, and there was the man of her imaginings himself, now dressed  in a green, threadbare V-neck sweater and sex-appeal. Her hormones were  fangirling, and it made her even angrier.

"Fiancé then," she said sarcastically as she bent to pick up the pasta.

Only he bent over at the same time and reached for it, knocking into her  shoulder. She went toppling backward. His strong arms gripped her  wrists in a blur and settled her upright again so fast it stole her  breath away.

He still held her wrists and was standing too close. He smelled like  that body spray and mint, as if he'd just brushed his teeth, and this  was the first time in her life she'd ever been jealous of a toothbrush.  She hated everything. Blaire wrenched her wrists away from him and  crossed her arms.

Gentry's eyebrow cocked up, and his lips curved slightly with a smile. "You're really cute when you're mad."

"I'm not cute. I'm a tornado. I'm an avalanche of fury."

Gentry pursed his lips, but he was doing a pretty crappy job of hiding his smile.

"Jerk," she muttered, tossing the fettuccini into her cart and motoring  away from him. Only Daddy Longlegs could apparently speed walk and  caught up with her in three strides. Obnoxious.

"Stalking is illegal, you know," she blurted out pertly.

"But you're so fun to stalk, Trouble. Jailtime would be worth it."

"Have you been arrested often?" she asked, lifting her chin and taking a  left toward the wall of freezers. She was definitely loading up on  pizza rolls.

"Have you?"

She tossed him an angry glare. "Of course not, I'm a good girl."                       
       
           



       

"I don't have a fiancé," he said low. I don't have a girl at all. I  don't really know why you thought that. If I had someone who was mine, I  wouldn't have been all over you last night. That's not me. It's not  really possible for someone like me to … you know … "

"Cheat?"

"Yeah. I'm a one-woman kind of guy. Or … " Gentry's frown deepened. "I was  really trying to be a zero-woman kind of guy. I'm shit at  relationships."

"You don't say."

Gentry cast a quick glance around and pulled the cart to a stop. In a  low voice, he murmured, "What are you angry about, Blaire? Explain it to  me, because I have to tell you, women are a complete mystery to me, and  you are the most confusing one of all."

She matched the low pitch of his voice because, apparently, they were  telling secrets by the milk case. "I was looking forward to breakfast  with you, Gentry. I thought maybe you were different than those guys who  fooled around with a girl and bolted, but then first thing this  morning, you throw attitude and cancel on me, and now I feel … I feel … "

"What?" he asked, looking utterly baffled. "Say it."

"I feel dirty and kind of cheap."

Gentry ran his hand over his head, pulling off his black winter hat, and  blew out the word, "Fuck." He paced off then back and squared up to her  even closer, trapped her in that bright green gaze. He lowered his  voice again. "You aren't dirty and you aren't cheap. Last night wasn't  just some screw-around for me, Blaire. It was scary. I'm not supposed to  be with someone like you."

"Someone like me?"

"It's so fucking complicated right now. So complicated, and I don't want  the hole I'm in to rub off on you, okay? I want you to have a good  vacation, a good week. I want you to have good memories of this place."  Good memories of me. The words were right there, unspoken but hanging in  the air between them anyway.

Blaire was stunned with the honesty in his eyes.

"I didn't get any sleep last night, and I was moody and pissed at the damn wolf-" Gentry's eyes went wide as he cut himself off.

"You heard it, too? Gentry, it was terrifying! Howling right at dawn  like that. I'll have nightmares for a week. I didn't even know there  were wolves around here."