Small hybrids or compact cars are parked in all the driveways except one. A stunning two-story home a few houses down has clearly been renovated, but the addition of the floor-to-ceiling windows doesn’t make it any less beautiful than the neighboring houses. If anything, I imagine the living areas glowing from the brilliant sunshine and warming the occupants all year round.
An enormous black SUV pickup in the drive towers over the adjacent cars. The flourishing rose bushes lined up like regimented soldiers along the paved pathway contrast the virile feel of the home.
My admiration continues when I look upward and marvel at the Spanish moss decorating the gigantic oak trees lining the road. The silver-gray strands sway gently in the wind, hanging like a trapeze, ready for her next trick. The soaring oaks arch over one another, the sunlight capable of breaking through only when the leaves dither in just the right way.
An undercurrent of enchantment is in the air, and when I turn, that magnetism amplifies tenfold when the lake comes into view. An unforeseen sense of déjà vu passes over me. My attention drifts to the towering oak across the lake. A well-loved wooden swing rocks lightly in the breeze. But that’s not what I’m fixated on. I’m spellbound by the red ribbon tied to the weathered rope. It looks…familiar.
“I have no doubt that the roof will cave in the moment a wind blows.” Stella’s judgment is a sudden, welcomed distraction.
My home is an olive-green lake house; it may not be the prettiest of the bunch, but I envision the possibilities. With a fresh coat of paint and some TLC, both inside and out, I can see myself building a life—a life I will remember—here. Clutching the straps of my backpack, I can’t wait to start.
However, all plans of moving forward are put on hold when a boisterous barking, followed by the wind being knocked from my sails, requires my undivided attention. Thanks to the wet ground and my bare feet, I lose my balance and end up very ungracefully tumbling onto my ass. The plush grass breaks my fall, but nothing protects me from the bouncing Golden Retriever who dives on top of me and assaults my face with his very affectionate tongue.
I can’t stop my laughter as he pins me down and smothers me with kisses. “Hey, boy. Are you the welcoming committee?” In response, he licks my cheeks like I’m his new chew toy.
Reaching for his furry face, I gently coax him backward so I can sit up. He grants me my freedom, but only because I allow him to sit on my lap.
“Oh, shoo, you big, ugly mutt! Shoo!”
In the midst of an eye roll, I’m curtly incapacitated of any movement when a voice that can only be compared to molten honey materializes out of thin air.
“Mutt? Now, that’s not nice. Empire, come here, boy.” The bouncy pooch, aka Empire, barks once.
His tone is husky, laden with sinful promise, and I’m suddenly left breathless for an entirely different reason. Unable to stop myself, I peer to the left and appreciate the tall, dark, and handsome guy standing only feet away. The first thing that strikes me is the penetrating clarity of his hooded blue eyes. Brought to life by the stirring of gray in their bottomless depths, they have the ability to lure one in and completely hypnotize—just as they’re doing right now.
His bravado suddenly dies when he sees me with my ass slathered in mud. I was hidden behind my mom, but now that I’m out in the open, he pauses, watching me closely.
A rigid, perplexed frown tugs at his pouty lips, and when they part slightly, I imagine they have the ability to whisper sweet nothings and vow empty promises to anyone within a hundred-mile radius. His face is chiseled and hard with a strong jawline. The peppered stubble only accentuates his cleft chin. His upturned nose enhances the air of arrogance radiating from his broad shoulders as he holds my curious gaze.
His light brown hair is mussed, kicked into a natural coif, the longer strands bowing forward lazily. The soft undercut is textured and groomed at the sides, but the style is far too long and wild to be labeled clean-cut.
But one would never mistake him for being anything but trouble because his hulking, muscular build combined with his rugged, rogue looks all point to the fact that this man is the epitome of what every bad boy strives to become when he grows up.
A close-fitting light gray V-neck and ripped blue jeans hug his taut body. A pair of motorcycle boots completes the brutish look.
Once I’ve perused him from head to toe—twice—I swallow past the lump lodged in my throat.
I’m rendered speechless because he’s eyeing me so openly, uncaring that my mother is about five seconds away from throttling him. Her sharp voice reminds me that we’re in a deadlock, which is highly inappropriate considering I don’t even know this handsome stranger’s name.
“I don’t care. Take him away this instant.” Even I cringe at her insolence and am disappointed that someone of her social standing doesn’t know better. The stranger doesn’t seem bothered in the slightest and brushes past her, sauntering toward me.
I instantly release Empire’s collar, afraid his owner will demand I unhand his dog and tell Stella and me to take the high road. I wouldn’t blame him if he did. The only thing is, I live here now, and I have a feeling he does too.
Empire runs toward him, happily wagging his tail when the stranger ruffles the fur on the back of his neck. I believe he will turn away now that he has his dog, but I thought wrong. He continues ambling toward me, never breaking eye contact.
When he’s a hair’s breadth away, he comes to a stop. His wide shoulders block out the sun, but the blaze ignites his shadow, bequeathing an ethereal glow. I blink once.
Now that he’s standing before me, I notice how incredibly tall he is. It could be, however, that he appears this way because I’m still sitting in the mud. Absolutely horrified, I attempt to arise, but a small gasp escapes me when he offers me his large hand.
I peer up at it and then back at him. I’m certain I resemble a cartoon character because a flicker of a smirk pulls at his curved lips as he examines me carefully.
Breaking from whatever this insanity is, I slap my palm into his because this is ridiculous. I’m behaving like a high school girl, smitten by her first crush. I’m a grown woman, and just because he’s stupidly handsome does not mean I have to go goo goo ga ga all of a sudden. I’m here to find my independence, and a man will only complicate my plans.
That theory is all good and well for roughly three seconds because the moment he encloses his hand around mine, a smolder begins to kindle, and I’m certain I’m running a fever. The tips of my ears ignite, followed by every part of my body.
A strangled wheeze squalls past the floodgates, and although it’s subtle, I know he heard me loud and clear. My cheeks blister, which doesn’t help with the current inferno raging out of control within.
What is the matter with me? I have no idea if this is how I would usually respond to an attractive stranger because I can’t remember. That thought is my saving grace—reminding me why I’m here—and I allow him to help me to my feet. The moment I stand, I feel dwarfed in his shadow. He’s tall. I’d say six-foot-three. My small stature of five-foot-four has me feeling dainty and delicate in his presence.
I meet those mesmerizing eyes and am instantly rooted to the spot.
“You’re dirty.”
“I-I’m what?” I ask in a squeak, fumbling over my words.
“Dirty,” he simply repeats.