Page 73 of Unexpected Entanglement

twenty-three

Seven days to the wedding

A figure moved under the guise of night. It moved with a purpose along the old barn and stopped to watch the back of the inn. Nothing made a peep but the crickets.

After pulling the bill of the dark green hat over its feature, the figure pulled a bolt cutter and broke the padlock. The figure pried open the door gently and checked out what was in store in the Bright Head Inn equipment barn.

There’s the beauty.

The figure approached the beautiful beast standing proud, all gleaming chrome and shiny leather. Too bad the motorcycle wouldn’t stay that way for long. The figure ran a gloved finger over the sexy line of the bike and snickered.

That Sullens guy will regret he’s ever set foot on this island.

Fiancé. I call bullshit. There isn’t a ring on Rowan’s finger. A man as rich as Chris Sullens could’ve whipped a ring out of his ass, yet our little miss Rowan Kelly wears none.

The figure pulled out a switchblade and pushed the button. The soft, sharp hiss when the blade released from the sheath made the figure giddy.

By morning, Mr. Sullens will realize Rowan Kelly and Bright Head are more trouble than he needs.

With the blade poised to slice through supple leather, the figure suddenly yelped in pain and stumbled back. The blade clattered as it hit the cement floor.

Fuck!

A large animal growled a few feet away.

That motherfucker clawed me!

The figure kicked at the creature but got air instead. And like a bad dream, two more humongous, hairy creatures ran in. The trio growled a menacing warning as they stalked the figure. Their eyes glowed eerily.

Shit.

If these monsters attacked, they could ruin everything. Glancing at the shiny motorcycle, the figure aborted the plan. It wasn’t worth getting caught.

The figure slowly got down to the ground and picked up the switchblade. Giving the fucking giant cats a wide berth, the figure backed out of the barn. Once outside, the figure turned and bolted toward the woods.

To be thwarted by cats.What a joke. The figure laughed derisively.

These late night excursions hadn’t panned out as planned.

Time to come up with Plan B.

twenty-four

Six days to the wedding

Rowan pushed the brewing button on the coffeemaker and headed down to the basement to start a load of laundry. She carefully went down the stairs with her booted foot. Her ankle didn’t hurt anymore, but the doctor told her to wear it, at least until tonight. And nurse Chris monitored her like a hawk.

The man didn’t miss a thing. She’d tried to casually “forget” about putting it on yesterday morning, and he’d called her on it. Rowan guessed that was his nature—he paid attention to every detail. She’d especially learned more about that side of him in the most pleasurable way on Friday, when he’d taken her into his bedroom and thoroughly studied her body. She still got goosebumps when she thought about it now.

Rowan had felt so liberated as she’d put aside every worry about the inn, their deception, her sister, or his last name. There had only been her and him and their immediate need for each other’s bodies. And nothing else. It’d been something she’d never done before.

It was only sex. But it was absolutely the blow-your-socks-off type of sex, and I should be good for the year.

Rowan chuckled to herself as she loaded the washing machine. In the last three years of her relationship with Richard, their sex life had slowly turned from the obligated once a weekto nonexistent. At some point, she wasn’t sure if she hadn’t cared for it anymore or if he’d just lost interest in her.

Chris was proof she was desirable. And she desired men. And boy, to rediscover that desire with a man like Chris Sullens was something else. Too bad they’d agreed on a one-day deal.

It’s for the best.

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