Page 43 of Tragic (Lark Cove 3)

Why didn’t I own pepper spray? Or a gun? Not that I knew how to shoot either. But they were both sold at the sporting goods store in Kalispell. All I had to defend myself was my cast-iron skillet.

I sucked at being a Montanan. I’d left all of my self-preservation tendencies on the subway in New York. If I was about to be murdered and fed to a bear, I had no one but myself to blame.

I continued to crawl, making it past the bedroom and into the kitchen. I couldn’t reach for a knife without my murderer seeing me through the large front window.

The knock came again and curiosity overruled judgment. Carefully, I rose up on my knees and peeked past the table to the door. A lock of dark hair caught my eye first, followed by an arm of familiar, bulky muscles.

I sighed, breathing again as I slumped onto the wooden floor.

It was my sexy neighbor.

I pushed up off the floor, watching through the window as Kaine spotted me. His eyebrows came together, probably confused by what I’d been doing on the floor. I went right to the door, flipping the flimsy lock and opening up for him.

“You scared me,” I hissed.

He winced. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine. Come in.” It wasn’t like I’d be going back to sleep after that scare. My hand rubbed at my sternum, soothing my still-racing heart, as I stood back so he could climb the step.

He reached behind him and closed the door.

Then to my complete surprise, he pulled me into his arms. One of his hands pressed the back of my head so my cheek was resting against his heart. With the other, he trailed a light path up my bare arm.

He was dressed in his Carhartt pants and smelled like wood varnish. He’d probably just come from the shop.

I was in my pajamas, a thin tank top and silk sleep shorts with a ruffled edge. Both were a pink so pale they were nearly white.

“What are you doing here?” I murmured into his shirt as I wound my hands around those narrow hips and tucked them into the back pockets of his pants.

“Thought I’d see if you had any cake.”

I laughed. “I’m all out.”

“Damn. I need something sweet.” His arm left my hair, trailing down my back and to my ass. I didn’t have pockets for him to use, so instead he slipped those callused fingers into the waistband of my shorts and palmed my ass, skin to skin.

A shiver broke across my shoulders and I tipped my head back. The moment I did, he captured my mouth in a desperate kiss.

“Sweet,” he whispered against my lips before sweeping his tongue inside.

It had been only two days since the night in his shop and my magic cake. A part of me was glad that I wasn’t the only one getting addicted. I wasn’t the only one here aching for another taste.

The other part of me was disappointed because I’d been counting on Kaine to keep his distance.

If he came over every two days, I was going to get attached.

No. I wouldn’t let myself get attached to Kaine Reynolds. I wouldn’t let myself believe that I could heal his broken heart. Or that he could heal mine.

One more night didn’t mean this was love.

And next time, I’d go longer.

Two weeks later, I was perched on a stool at the Lark Cove Bar with a paper boat of peanuts by one hand and a seasonal wheat beer by the other. Thea and Jackson were both working behind the bar, and I was here to hang out with them and Willa.

“How much of a pain in the ass is it to clean up all these peanut shells?” I asked Thea as I shucked another and let the shell fall to the floor.

She shrugged. “It’s not so bad. At first, I tried to sweep them up all the time. I was so used to Manhattan bars where fingerprints anywhere were a capital offense. It made me twitchy to see them pile up. But then I got used to it, and now I just wait and sweep them up after closing.”

“I love it.” I popped the peanut into my mouth, crunching away. “It’s so . . . chill.”