Shattered Trust (Colorado Trust 4)

Justin mounted the wooden porch steps of Marley’s log home, his stomach knotted tight. He knocked hard to be heard over the music blasting from the open window and prepared himself to eat crow. Suddenly all went quiet. He knocked again.

The door flew open. He had a five second vision of Marley with free-flowing hair, wearing a sexy sweater and—

“Too soon,” she declared and slammed the door in his face.

Music blared to life, twice as loud as before. He pounded on the wood. When he received no response, he paced to the end of the porch. Running a hand through his hair, he blew out a breath and fisted his hands on his hips, debating his next move.

His gaze narrowed on the door before he strode over and grasped the knob. It swung open without resistance. He really should yell at her for not locking it again.

His gaze swept the room, locating her reaching into the closet. Alarm shot through him and he sprang forward to grab her from behind. Pulling her back with his arms crossed over her front, he pinned her against his chest. She struggled against his iron hold.

“You aren’t going to need anything you’ve got in there,” he warned against her ear.

“Let me go!”

“I can’t believe you were going for your gun.”

She stilled and twisted to look at him over her shoulder. “Paranoid much? I was hanging up my jacket.”

He looked down and, indeed, saw a jean jacket lying on the floor at her feet. Damn, he couldn’t catch a break with her, could he? His shoulders relaxed slightly.

Her heat seeped into him, especially where his right forearm snugged under her breasts. Taking a deep breath to counter a surge of awareness, he unintentionally drew in her scent. She smelled good—as fresh as line-dried sheets. And he could feel the erratic beat of her heart. Desire urged him to turn her around and cover her mouth with his.

He dropped his arms and stepped back. “I didn’t see the jacket.”

She scooped it off the floor with a defiant look at him before reaching for a hanger. Her head tilted toward the shelf above her, and when she faced him again, he was taken aback to catch the tail end of a smile.

“I don’t recall inviting you in.” Her voice ran as cold as a mountain stream overflowing with spring runoff, and he forgot the brief flash of humor.

“I knocked.”

“And I didn’t answer.” She put her hands on her hips. “You know, you seem like a smart guy.”

The glimpse of her navel through the bottom half of her knitted sweater drew his attention, but he forced his gaze up. “You should lock your door.”

“You should wait for an invitation.”

“I don’t have all day.”

“Then go away.”

“Not until you hear me out.”

“Better clear your schedule.” She stalked past him, jabbed a finger to turn off the stereo, and exited via the sliding doors in the back.

He followed her onto the patio, reminding himself to keep his cool and get through this apology…and the obvious groveling she intended for him to do. He needed her to take the job so he could get the hell out of there before he did something foolish. He needed her for her design.

She faced him with her green eyes blazing.

He wanted her for her.

“You,” she said, “are a lying son-of-a-bitch.”

She certainly knew how to start a conversation. Maybe she’d met his mom and knew what she was talking about?

“You,” he replied, “are right.”

She open