Travis (Pelion Lake 1)

“Accosting you? I’m not accosting you!” I’d only demanded answers from her twice before when I’d left for work and caught sight of her in the hallway, and both times she’d stealthily evaded me by slipping into a room and flipping the lock.

She was obviously practiced at dodging, likely due to leaving a slew of deeply unsatisfied customers in her wake.

I stood in front of her, reaching out, grabbing her hands and closing my eyes. “Tell me what you see,” I demanded.

“I see a man who’s wearing a donkey thimble.”

“Forget the donkey thimble,” I said, flustered, gripping tighter.

“Honestly, it will be difficult to forget that.”

I opened my eyes, giving her a glare. Her shoulders lifted and fell in a long-suffering sigh. “I gave you two paths,” she said, pulling her hands from mine, picking up her bag and heading toward the front door.

I followed. “They’re the same!”

She turned suddenly and I came up short. “I will clarify one thing for you,” she said, squinting as though trying to put whatever she was about to say in just the right words. “One of the two paths holds deep regret.”

My mouth set. “Wow, so much clearer. Which path will I choose?”

She laughed shortly, turning again and moving away. “Consider it carefully!” she sang over her shoulder, opening the door.

“You’re a quack, you know that?” I called.

She laughed merrily. “Aren’t we all, Chief Hale?” And then the door smacked shut behind her.

I returned to my room where I decided to pace.

I’d never really been a pacer though. Instead, I sank down on the bed. Truthfully, I felt like running away from here whether my house was ready to be inhabited again or not. I scrubbed a hand over my face, realizing I was still wearing the thimble. I removed it with more aggression than was necessary, and tossed it on to the bedside table. It landed perfectly right side up with a soft click, the inane donkey grinning crookedly at me.

My shoulders fell and that instinct to run away intensified. But I’d never run from anything. Ever.

There was a soft knock at my door. I startled, standing quickly and rushing to it, my heart flying in my chest. I pulled it open and Haven stood there, looking shy and a bit uncertain. A breath gusted from my lips.

She’d come to me.

“I wasn’t sure . . . well, I wasn’t sure whether I should knock on your door. That is whether . . . you might want company tonight.” Her cheeks flushed and my heart soared higher to know exactly what sort of company she meant. “Well, so”—she raised the picture I hadn’t noticed she was holding in her hand—“I asked Grandma for her advice.”

I opened the door wider so she could enter, and then closed it behind her. “So that’s what my life has come to. The picture of a dead old lady now stands between me and a night of . . . benefits.” Happiness expanded. She was here.

Haven laughed, considering the photo. “It’s not such a terrible fate. She looks stuffy, but she’s actually very forward-thinking.”

“Grandma likes sex?”

“Very much so.”

My lip quirked as she stepped closer. “This conversation is killing the mood,” I said, even as my body responded to her proximity.

She placed the photo down on the dresser directly to her left, stepping even closer, her gaze sliding down my body. “All evidence to the contrary,” she whispered, reaching down and running her palm over my groin.

I hissed, clenching my eyes momentarily in pleasure. And pain. Knowing that in some way, that was always going to be my reaction to her. “Haven . . .” I uttered raggedly.

Her gaze met mine and she watched me for a moment, the way she looked at all suffering things: with tenderness.

I weaved my hands into her miraculous hair, bringing my lips to hers, tasting her sweetness.

She broke from my lips, dragging her mouth down my throat and nipping softly at my skin. I groaned as she reached under my shirt, running her fingers over my stomach, and splaying her palms over my pecs. Surely she could feel my heart, its tempo swift and erratic. She looked up and met my gaze and for a moment an expression that looked very much like fear flitted through her eyes. Or perhaps it was just my own, reflected in her expression. I was scared. I’d never felt this way.

“Take this off,” she said, her voice whispery and thin. I did as I was told, lifting my shirt over my head and tossing it on the floor, arousal ratcheting higher and subduing the emotional turmoil I’d been experiencing since that moment at the fair. Hell, maybe since the moment I’d first laid eyes on her.

She brought her palm to my chest again, kneading the muscles softly, and using her fingernails to feather over my skin, her gaze focused on the movement of her hands. I groaned again. “That feels nice.”