The Loner's Lady

I force some steel into my spine and sit up straighter. “Bottom line, we can handle this. He should be scared of us.”

“I’m going to let you believe that.”

“Thank you.”

Mason consults the GPS on his phone. “Okay, take your next right. That’ll be his driveway, if I remember correctly.”

Tiny nervous bubbles fizz in my stomach, but I don’t let my smile falter. However, it freezes onto my face when I see the sign at the bottom of the driveway. Trespass at your own risk. “He knows we’re coming, right?”

“Yes, I spoke to him this morning. It’s all good.” Mason laughs under his breath. “Although it was more like…I spoke, my father grunted.”

“Cool cool cool.”

We’re driving for a full two minutes up the long, winding driveway when the house comes into sight. “When you said cabin, I pictured a hut with a little chimney. It’s so much bigger than I was imagining.”

“We have our first plus!”

I accept his high five. “We do!”

My legs aren’t shaking at all when I hop out of the Jeep and stare up at the looming, two-story log home. A wind chime hangs from the second story overhang, tinkling in the late afternoon breeze. Beneath the overhang is a porch with a porch swing and a single chair. Beside it is a low, round stump with what appears to be a knife and wood shavings on top.

Trees surround us from all sides and it’s so quiet compared to the city, it takes my ears a few seconds to adjust to the gentle buzz of nature. A crunch of my boot on the earth, the chimes, a bird calling. That’s all there is.

Until the front door of the house slowly creaks open and John Thorne ducks beneath the frame to step out onto the porch—and blood starts to pound in my ears.

He’s lethal.

It’s the first thought that travels through my mind because it’s so obvious this man could flick a finger and topple mountains. It’s the way he carries his gigantic frame and incredible girth. How is he remaining contained inside that white T-shirt and jeans? The garments are stretched to their limit and seconds from ripping, I’m sure of it. My best friend’s father is at least six foot eight and every inch of him is rock hard and rippling. Barefoot. God, that intense glower. It makes me want to confess to crimes I haven’t committed just in case he’ll spare me. His hair is long and unruly, black with streaks of gray running and twisting in the unmanaged length.

My panties should not be growing damp.

My mouth shouldn’t be dry.

I don’t know what’s wrong with me, but my heart is pounding so hard, I can taste adrenaline on my tongue. What is happening here?

Men aren’t my thing. I’ve established that. Especially violent ones and this guy has definitely strangled people with his bare hands. Why are my nipples peaking eagerly, seeking friction from my tank top?

“Hey, Dad,” Mason calls, throwing me an elbow nudge. “Good to see you.” He gives John his back and widens his eyes at me. “This is my girlfriend, Lyssa.”

A black-gray eyebrow lifts. “Girlfriend.”

Oh no. His voice. It sounds like the deep rev of a boat motor and it should be a huge turnoff, but it makes me want to twist my hips and pull on my own hair.

One afternoon out of the city and I’ve lost it.

“Lyssa,” Mason hisses.

I shake myself. “S-sorry, yes. Yes, hello. I’m the girlfriend,” I say, breathily, trying to hide my puckered nipples by crossing my arms. “It’s so nice to finally meet you.”

John splits a sharp look between the two of us, then slowly turns on a heel and disappears into the house.

Laughing, Mason shakes me gently by the shoulders. “What the hell was that?”

I squeeze my eyes shut. “I don’t know!” Deep breath. “My flight or fight instinct woke up, but I’ve put it to bed. I’m good now! Promise.”

“Great, let’s go.”

As soon as my friend turns his back, I fan myself furiously, sensing my cheeks are bright red. Only to realize John is watching me from the front window.

This is going to be a long night.

CHAPTER TWO

John

Ain’t no way in hell that’s my son’s girlfriend.

I’ve known Mason was gay since he came for a visit during seventh grade. He left a school notebook behind with Tom Hiddleston’s name doodled all over the cover. If that wasn’t proof enough, I’d take one look at his Instagram feed and know. In the last year, he’s dated a personal trainer, a lawyer and a trust fund kid named Spalding. He might have deleted all evidence of these relationships after the break up, but not before I saw the posts.

I’ve spent my professional life with the army chasing down leads and hunting facts. Without the proper information, I wouldn’t be alive today. I make it my business to know everything, especially about my son, who I love. It’s not my fault he thinks I’m too old to work the internet.