Page 5 of Own Me, Outlaw
I turn to hide the smirk I didn't mean to let slip. Damn it. She's got a mouth on her, and it's doing things to my head that I can't afford.
"You can stay tonight," I say gruffly, the words coming out rougher than I intended. "Spare bedroom's down the hall."
Her eyes widen, and I catch the way her breath hitches. "Wait—you're not kicking me out?"
"It's dark. You'd never make it to the road on foot." I grab the kettle from the stove, needing something to do with my hands. "And you said your car's stuck?"
She nods slowly, teeth worrying her bottom lip. "I don't even know if it'll still be drivable once it’s pulled out of the ditch. It hydroplaned off the gravel and into some very aggressive bushes."
"Then you'll need help in the morning."
She shifts on the couch, adjusting the blanket, and I catch a glimpse of smooth skin where her sweatshirt has ridden up. My mouth goes dry.
"Why are you being nice about this?" she asks.
"No one ever accused me of being nice,” I growl. I grab a clean mug from the cabinet, focusing on the simple task of pouring hot water. "Look, you broke into my house and drank my tea. I'm just trying to make sure you don't die before I have the energy to properly yell at you."
She laughs.
The sound hits me square in the chest—bright and unexpected and warm enough to heat the entire cabin. It's the kind of laugh that could ruin a man if he let it, the kind that makes him want to hear it again and again until it becomes the soundtrack to his life.
"You always this grumpy?" she asks, and I can hear the smile in her voice.
"Only when strange women break into my cabin."
She hums, a low sound that goes straight to my gut. "Well then. Guess we're both off-script this weekend."
I watch her as she settles deeper into the couch cushions, still damp from the rain, and clearly still rattled but doing her best not to show it. The firelight catches in her hair, turning it to dark honey, and when she looks at me, I see something that makes my chest tighten.
Trust.
She shouldn't trust me. She shouldn't be here, shouldn't be looking at me like I'm something other than the man who spent six years behind bars. Like I'm someone worth knowing.
I sigh and run a hand through my damp hair. “You hungry?”
“I could eat.”
“I’ll warm up some food. You stay here. And don’t snoop. I live way out here for a reason: I like my privacy. Got it?”
She blinks up at me with big, innocent eyes. “Of course.”
Ireallyshould have kicked her out.
Chapter 4
Lark
Hetellsmenotto snoop.
So naturally, I snoop.
Not in acreepyway. I'm not rifling through drawers or sneaking around his bedroom like some stalker. I'm just… observing. Noticing. Trying to piece together the puzzle of a man who calls himself Outlaw but keeps his firewood stacked in perfect rows and his kitchen shelves labeled in neat block letters.
Because this cabin? It doesn’t look like the home of a creep or a criminal.
It's clean. Lived-in but not cluttered. The hardwood floors are swept, and the windows are spotless.
I run a fingertip along the spines of the books on the bookshelf. I read the titles with interest, pausing when I find something that seems out of place. What’s this?
