You Drive Me Crazy (The Blackwells of Crystal Lake 2)

They weren’t at a dance surrounded by hundreds of people. They were here, in Wyatt Blackwell’s cabin. Alone. With no one for miles.

She could tell herself that it didn’t matter. That she didn’t like Wyatt anyway, but she knew that was a lie. She didn’t know what it was she felt for him, but the dislike and resentment were no longer at the top of the list.

He wasn’t at all who or what she thought he’d be. And, weirdly enough, she kind of wanted to know more. But right now, in this moment, in this small dark room with the heat of the fireplace on her cheeks, all she really wanted was his arms around her.

They made their way over to the sofa, and as if reading her mind, Wyatt pulled Regan down and tucked her into his embrace. She settled back against him, aware of his body, of his strength and maleness. She felt warm and safe, and after a few seconds, she relaxed and closed her eyes. She emptied her mind and just enjoyed the feeling of being touched. Of being connected to something other than her dog or her job.

Regan didn’t say a word and neither did Wyatt. By the time the fire burned itself out, they were both asleep.

Chapter 7

Wyatt woke with a start. The fire had long since died, and he could see his breath in the air. But he wasn’t cold. In fact, with the soft warm body cuddled up against him, he was about as far from cold as he was from China.

He angled his neck and looked toward the kitchen. The glow from the clock over the stove told him it was just after three in the morning. The wind whistled, and the cabin shuddered against a ferocious push, as strong gusts rolled up from the lake. If he wasn’t mistaken, the sound of ice pellets pinged against the windows.

Carefully, Wyatt slipped out from under Regan, and a quick look out the front window told him he was better off waiting until morning to take his guest home. There were definite signs of freezing rain. Until it stopped and the roads were sanded and salted, it wasn’t a good idea for anyone to be out in that.

His gaze landed on Regan once more, and he crossed

back to her side. She was curled into the corner of the sofa, her arms pillowing her head as she slept. Her long dark hair covered all her features except that delectable mouth, and it was open slightly as she exhaled. He was going to kiss that mouth if it was the last thing he did.

Mentally giving himself a shake, Wyatt considered his options. He could leave her here with a blanket and pillow, but it would be freezing by morning, and that wouldn’t do.

Before he could think better of it, Wyatt gently gathered her into his arms and headed to the bedroom. It was small—barely fit the queen bed and antique dresser—but he managed to get Regan into bed without waking her up. She immediately curled onto her side, and with deft fingers, he unlaced her boots and removed them. A smile touched his face, and his fingers lingered.

Pink Hello Kitty socks.

Slowly, his gaze traveled upward, and an unmistakable shot of desire rolled through him. Her hips were perfectly rounded, her ass begged for his touch, and that mouth….

“Jesus, get a grip,” he muttered. He was acting like a damn fifteen-year-old kid, ogling the hot chick. He reached for the comforter and made sure she was tucked in. With one last look, Wyatt stepped out of the room and closed the door.

He wanted nothing more than to climb in beside her, but that would be more than a little presumptuous, and he sure as hell didn’t want to scare her off, not when he’d made some headway into breaking through all that ice. He was pretty damn sure Regan Thorne wasn’t the kind of woman who would take kindly to waking up in bed with him. He grinned.

At least, not yet.

Wyatt shed his boots and shirt and grabbed an extra quilt from the cupboard beside the bathroom. It wasn’t nearly thick enough, and kind of itchy, for that matter, but it was all he had. He settled onto the sofa just as another gust of wind hit the window. He liked storms—always had—and he closed his eyes, listening to the wind and ice. A memory of his mom crawling into bed beside him as a wicked storm came up from the lake rolled through his mind.

It was bittersweet and, as always, accompanied by guilt and pain and a bunch of other shit he didn’t want to deal with. With some effort, Wyatt pushed it all aside and eventually drifted off.

The next time he woke, the sun was shining, the wind had stopped howling, and a pair of soft green eyes looked down at him. Regan’s hair was tousled with that just-rolled-out-of-bed look. It was sexy as hell, and he wouldn’t mind seeing more of it.

Maybe minus the clothes.

“Hey,” he said sitting up, rubbing his hands across bleary eyes. He winced and swore under his breath. His neck was tight and sore, and the muscles in his back protested the lack of a mattress. His collarbone throbbed like a son of a bitch, and he had to wonder if he’d fractured the damn thing instead of bruising it.

“Good morning.” Regan spoke hesitantly and shoved her hands in the back pockets of her jeans. Her pink socks stared up at him, and he couldn’t help but smile.

“You really have a thing for Hello Kitty.”

She followed his gaze and moved her toes. “Guilty.”

He was silent for a few moments, that memory that had been digging around his brain since November now stirring.

“You have a tattoo. I remember.”

“I…” Her head jerked in surprise, and she took a step back. “How do you know that?”

He slowly got to his feet, eyes not leaving hers. “It was prom, and we were dancing. A slow song…” He frowned, searching his mind.