Ruined by the Seal(9)

He snorted. "Well, I'm going into town." If he tapped out another God  damned email on his phone, he'd want to punch something. "Don't fucking  do anything while I'm gone."

She gapped at him. "Excuse me? I think that's what I'm supposed to say to you when I leave!"

"Like you'd ever leave!" He was yelling now, practically shaking from  the adrenaline suddenly coursing through his body. It wasn't strictly  speaking true. She'd left the day before, in fact. But logic and reason  eluded him whenever he fought with Cara. All the fucked-up chemistry  clouded his judgment. "You moved into the damn ballroom just so you  could keep an eye on me!"

"Because you're an intruder." She stomped down the stairs and right into  his space. "Because you're ruining everything, Mick Frasier." She  shoved her hands against his chest, and he grabbed her wrists to … not  stop her, exactly. Now that he had his hands on her, he wasn't pushing  her away.         

     



 

Maybe he should pull her closer.

That felt like a good idea, deep down inside. He could breathe her in  and maybe, if she got close enough, she'd fit into the ever-present achy  hollow in his chest.

She might not like him, and right now he didn't like anything, but he wanted her.

He wanted her so much it hurt.

And she was close enough that her legs brushed his, her elbows dug into  his chest, and he could see every glittering facet of her hazel eyes.

He let her go.

She fisted his t-shirt in her hands. "Let's get one thing clear. I don't  trust you. I only have to leave because there's no running water here."

He smirked, more than willing to goad her now that she had her hands on  him. "There's a perfectly good bathtub right beside my bedroom, sweet  cheeks."

Her nostrils flared as she narrowed her eyes. "You're a pig."

"Why? Because I'd rather imagine you sliding into a bubble bath than  harping at me about something completely out of my control?"

A wounded growl sounded in her throat and she slapped one hand flat against his chest.

"Hit me again," he said low, under his breath. "Punch me."

She balled her fist and bounced it too lightly against his pecs.

He wanted more. He grabbed her wrist and pressed her tightly clenched  fingers to his mid-section. "I'm not going anywhere, Cara. You're going  to have to try a hell of a lot harder than that."

"I'm not going to hit you," she whispered, her fist still pressed hard against his abs.

"Then kiss me."

That wasn't what he'd meant to say. But when she gasped and her gaze  flew back to his face, he couldn't regret it. Yes, he thought. Kiss me.  Punch me. Make me feel anything other than this empty fucking ache.

In the distance, thunder rumbled in warning.

Cara's lips parted and her eyes widened in shock. After last night, she  couldn't be surprised that he wanted her to kiss him, could she?

On the other hand, this was the second time in as many days that he'd  made his desire pretty fucking clear and she'd shot him down. So who was  the clueless idiot, really?

He needed to go into town. He dropped her wrist, ignoring the way she swayed slightly into him. "Never mind. I have to go."

"Mick … " she trailed off, her voice sliding into nothingness. Her eyes  darkened as she stared into his face. "Maybe after we hear something."

He laughed. "You're not going to want to have anything to do with me then."

She jutted her chin out as she crossed her arms and stepped back a step.  Two steps. Whatever moment they'd just shared was over. He could  practically hear the vault doors slam shut.

Screw her, then. He didn't need any extra drama. He shook his head. "You're a stubborn-"

"Don't," she said, unexpected steel making that one word solid. Vault, indeed. "Whatever you were going to say. Just … don't."

He frowned. "You think I'd call you a name?"

She looked down at the ground. "I think you'd do anything to throw me off-kilter."

The only way he wanted to disrupt her life was throwing her over his  shoulder and carrying her off to that stupid tent so he could get as far  under her skin as she was under his.

But his infatuation was clearly one-sided.

And stupid as fuck.

He snarled something that he'd meant to be a laugh but probably ended up sounding feral. Rude.

Right on target for her impression of him.

With a calm he definitely wasn't feeling for real, he turned and stalked as quickly as he could around the house.

He needed coffee, the internet, and a new supply of beer. All before the  storm rolled in, or his head exploded, whichever came first.





SEVEN





CARA STARED DUMBLY AS MICK TWISTED ON HIS HEEL AND DISAPPEARED.

Come back, she wanted to cry out. Come back and I'll kiss that  pissed-off look right off your face. But she'd screwed that up, pushing  him away for the second time.

She wouldn't get a third shot at a kiss. She knew that to her very core.

It was for the best, she told herself, but the way her body felt cleaved  in two, a raw tear right down her centre, she wasn't convinced.

Worse, she'd insulted him. It was a knee-jerk reaction to having been  treated poorly in the past, and when she thought about it, maybe in the  present, too. Every interaction she had with Mick set her past so-called  relationships with men in stark contrast.

No man had never commanded her to kiss him. Had never teased her or even  made her dinner. Never made her feel a fraction of the crazy roller  coaster of emotions that Mick had created in her.         

     



 

God, what a mess.

She stared out at the sea. It looked like this storm might blow past.  They'd get some rain, though, so painting was out. With a sigh, she  headed back inside. She triple-checked that the work orders were posted  outside each door, just in case anyone came by to work, then stuck a  note on the front door that she'd gone into town.

With any luck, she'd be back before Mick returned and he'd never be the wiser that she'd left.

A hot flush of anger flooded through her body. She did too leave. Just  because she was staking an active claim on the plantation didn't mean  that she was psychotic.

Maybe she would stay away for the afternoon. Show him that she didn't care.

What was the worst he could do in a few hours?

Well, he repaired the bathroom …

Right, so he fixed something. Where was the damage in that again?

There were too many voices in her head. "Stop it!" she said out loud,  which wasn't any less crazy. She tossed her book into her tent-another  sign of probable insanity-and grabbed her purse.

She needed to track down the lawyers in New York. And it was time for  her to confess her secret to her best friends, because she couldn't  figure this out on her own.











"THERE'S A GORGEOUS MAN ORDERING YOU TO KISS HIM AND YOU'RE HERE … WHY?" Arielle blinked at her.

"Because he's also a threat to my job." Cara groaned and took another long sip from her drink.

On the other side of the bar, Daphne clucked her tongue in that way she  did, warning a talking-to was about to happen. For once, Cara didn't  mind. Her friends could see the situation clearly, she hoped. She  definitely didn't have that ability right now. "You have to … " Daphne  trailed off, then rolled her lips together. "Do something."

"Wow. I wish I'd thought of that," Cara said, reaching for her glass  again. Drowning herself in the rum cocktail seemed wiser and wiser with  each passing second.

"Well give us a second." Arielle laughed. "We're still trying to process  the fact that you're hiding a sexy beast at the plantation."

"He's here in town somewhere," she muttered. "Maybe the internet cafe."

Arielle hopped off her stool. "Then I'm going-"

"Nope!" Daphne pointed to the vacated seat. "Sit your butt down. We are not spying on the man. Not until we have a plan."

Cara snorted. "That rhymes."

Daphne grabbed her drink. "And you're drunk."

"That's Arielle's fault." Cara had downed two of the cocktails in the  time it took Arielle to arrive at the resort where Daphne was working an  afternoon shift.

"Excuse me for not leaving school children unattended," Arielle snorted.  She taught history and social studies at the town's only high school.  "With storms threatening, I needed to make sure everyone left the  building before I rushed to a bar to drink with my friends. It's called  job security."

"They're teenagers. They can fend for themselves. And job security is  exactly the topic at hand." Cara sighed. "I'm only tipsy. Give that  back."

Daphne slid the glass back into her hand, and Arielle sat back down.

Daphne leaned both hands on the bar. "Okay, so the plantation might not  belong to the Historical Society after all. Let's assume that's the  case, and plan for worst case scenario. What are your options?"

Cara eyed her phone. She'd called the law offices in New York. If they'd  just call her back … right now … and tell her there was nothing to worry  about, they wouldn't need to have this conversation.