“What vital information?”

“That it’s the wrong way,” he repeats what he said in the beginning. But when I frown and swat my drenched bangs off my forehead, he goes on to explain, “To New York.” He tips his chin. “Through those trees that you were watching. Or trying to. So desperately.”

Lifting my chin, I say, “Oh, so am I supposed to believe that you suddenly care about how I get back to New York then?”

He takes in my belligerent stance before replying, “You don’t have to believe anything.” Then, shrugging, “But there’s nothing out there except for more trees. And some very wild bears.”

“Wild bears.”

“Yes.”

“You’re saying that there are wild bears behind your property.”

“From what I hear.”

I throw him a flat look. “You’re bluffing.”

His eyes — as dark as his hair and his clothes — flash. “Maybe.” Then, taking his hand out of his pocket, he pushes back his hair. “In fact, forget what I said. Wild bears or not, I encourage you to take your chances and wander through the strange woods at midnight. Like any responsible, badass person would do. You have my permission.”

“Your permission?”

“Absolutely.”

“I don’t need your stupid permission.”

“Actually, I think you do. I have a document in my study that says so.”

So there it is.

The reminder. Not that I ever forgot, but still. Of what he is to me.

This man.

Of dark hair and dark eyes.

With the broadest shoulders I’ve ever seen and the deepest voice I have ever heard. This man with a name that sounded so ancient and boring when I first heard it, but it made sense when I saw him.

When I saw his face, I knew why he was named something classic and vintage.

It’s because he is classic and vintage. It’s because every feature on his face, every line and angle, every plane and crest, is quintessential.

It’s because he’s the very definition of male beauty.

It’s insane actually.

How fucking beautiful he is. It’s unreal.

And I’ve been ignoring that, his masculine beauty, but now that he is here, I can’t.

He’s the kind of beautiful that once you set your eyes on him, you can’t take them off. You can’t look away. You have to stare. Probably because it’s so unreal and so you want to make sure that you’re not seeing things.

You want to make sure that his eyes are really that dark and gleaming. And his eyelashes are really that thick and curled, and dense like a forest. Not to mention his cheekbones. You want to make sure that they’re really that high and sharp, and how is it that they so fluidly slant and give way to the most perfectly formed jaw. All square and angled.

It’s all about the bone structure with him.

Graceful and arched.

And don’t even get me started on his mouth.

His mouth is so plush and curved at the ends. Not too much though. Not to an extent that might make his lips look feminine. But enough to cut through and balance out all the steep angles on his otherwise sharp face.

I don’t think I’ve ever seen a more beautiful man than him.

My new guardian.

On that note and at his casual reminder, I widen my feet. “Right. The document that says you’re my new guardian.”

His chin dips and his wet eyelashes flicker down to take in my stance. “The very one, yes.”

“Does it also say that you should ignore your ward for a whole week?”

He cocks his head to the side as he replies, “You know, I’m not really sure. I’m pretty new at this. Maybe I should give it another read. Maybe I’ll also stumble upon what to do with your ward when she spraypaints your wall and drinks your scotch.”

“That was scotch?”

“And steals your cigar.”

“Well, no need to read the document. I can tell you right here and right now that this is what happens when you ignore your new ward and that new ward is me.”

He studies me for a moment or two before saying, “Noted.” A long breath later, “So now that I’m fulfilling my guardian duties, what can I help you with?”

“I wanna go back to New York,” I blurt out without hesitation.

Ah, it feels so good to say that.

So good.

It took a week and a lot of waiting, a lot of being told, ‘he’s busy’ or ‘he’s at work’ or whatever the fuck, and one successfully pulled prank, but the words are out there. One step closer to my goal. Now all I have to do is convince him and then, I’m home free.

“New York,” he murmurs.

“Yes.” I nod before diving into my whole explanation. “Look, I’m sorry about the prank. I’m sorry that I put you through all that trouble. But the truth is that I don’t know you. I’d never even heard of you before a couple of weeks ago. And I’m sure that the same has been true for you as well. I don’t know what Charlie was thinking when she named you — your family — as my guardian. But I want to say that I’m grateful. For coming to my rescue, for bringing me into your home even though you didn’t know who I was. But you don’t have to. You don’t have to keep me here or take care of me or do any of the guardian duties. I know there’s a will and all the legal stuff but that’s why people have lawyers, right? My lawyer or Charlie’s lawyer — I’m sure you know him, Marty — is very good. I’m sure if we talk to him, he can find a way to deal with this. He can add a clause or an addendum or whatever they’re called. He can find a way to bring me back to New York, where I’ve lived my entire life, and you won’t have to take care of someone you had no idea existed before two weeks ago.”

Tags: Saffron A. Kent St. Mary's Rebels Romance
Source: readsnovelonline.net