Beautiful Distraction(13)

Mandy plants her feet into the ground, forcing me to face her. “Wait. What do you mean by weird? Like axe-wielding-in-the-hallway weird? Did you see blood splatters? Did you smell decay?”

“Just weird.” I tug at her arm again, but Mandy stands frozen to the spot. There’s no way I’ll get her to move without an answer. I sigh. “He doesn’t seem to like visitors, but he’s agreed to let us stay for three hours, until the storm’s over. Don’t expect him to be hospitable.”

“He must really be a loner, living out here, not liking guests,” Mandy says and finally moves from the spot.

“Hmm.” I’m glad she’s turned away from me and doesn’t catch my grimace. “He probably hasn’t seen anyone in ages.”

If only Mandy knew the truth.



***



After giving Mandy a short recollection of how I found the place—leaving out the six-foot-two guy with the hot body—she and I head straight for the porch light. My hands are aching from dragging her heavy suitcase behind, and damn—what the heck did she pack in there? A bookshelf?

“You could have left this in the car,” I mumble for the umpteenth time.

“Ava, we’ve gone over that. Remember?” Mandy says slowly.

Yeah, apparently she can’t leave her expensive Louis Vuitton travel bag in my old car ‘out in the open for everyone to see.’

As if someone would steal a heavy bag in the middle of nowhere.

But apparently she can’t wait for the rain to settle. In her words, “There’s important stuff in there I can’t possibly live a few hours without.”

I fight the need to roll my eyes and drag the heavy thing up the stairs as she stomps behind, minding her steps so her new shoes won’t be ruined.

It’s my fault, really.

When she dragged the thing out into the mud, I should have let her do the heavy lifting herself rather than silently offer to help in the hope the physical labor would help me get rid of my racing thoughts.

Actually, one racing thought centered around one particular question: He’s so frigging hot. Why the heck didn’t I go out with him?

It would only have been one drink. One drink that most likely would have ended with me in his bed, eager to find out if he’s as good in bed as he looks.

If given the chance again, would he want to settle things with me privately? Probably not, judging from the fact that he didn’t look particularly happy to see me. In fact, it’s safe to say he’d have preferred to leave me out in the cold if I didn’t beg.

Ignoring the cold feeling of regret, I discard the thought quickly, not quite able to get rid of the ‘what ifs’ at the back of my mind.

The wind blows stronger now, each gust bruising my body. For a moment, the fear that he’s changed his mind grabs a hold of me. But as I ascend the last step, I breathe out in relief.

The door to the house is now open, and a trail of light shimmers from inside. I can even smell the heady scent of wood burning in the fireplace. I imagine myself warming my hands on a hot cup of coffee while gazing dreamily at the glowing logs, the warmth slowly seeping into me after a long, tiring day.

“Should we knock?” Mandy peers at me before pushing the door open.

“Why do you bother asking?” I mutter, following her in.

What awaits me inside is Hot Guy’s scowl as he glimpses Mandy’s suitcase.

My eyes drink him in from head to toe, slowly brushing over his jeans and unbuttoned shirt to his rolled-up sleeves showing beautiful bronze skin and dark hair. In the porch light, he didn’t look bad standing there with half of him bathed in darkness. In the dim light falling in from the kitchen, however, he’s stunningly gorgeous. He’s all so intimately familiar—as though I’ve known him all my life instead of only a few minutes.

I squint and think back to the place where we first met without giving the impression that I’m staring.

His face has been a part of my daydreams for so long that I feel as though I’ve known him forever. Maybe not so much the face as the chest and bulging biceps. Everything about him feels way more familiar than it should be. The fact that in my mind I’ve had sex with him more times than I remember is both hot and embarrassing—and now it comes back to bite me in the ass because I can barely look at him without the telltale heat of a major blush rushing to my face.

“Can I have a word in private?” he asks no one in particular.

I assume he’s talking to me, so I drop Mandy’s suitcase and kick off my shoes, then shrug off the soaked jacket, hanging it up on a hook near the door. I turn to Mandy. “Wait here. I’ll be right back.”