Page 9 of Wild Valentine
At least the GPS is still working.
The driveway is narrow and I take it slow. If anyone was coming the other way, I’d be toast. Suddenly the towering trees open up, and I slow down as a cabin comes into view.
It looks like something from a postcard. Wooden slats perfectly joined with the second story roof, which is slanted in perfect eaves. A porch runs around the edge, and comfortable looking outdoor furniture gives it a homely look. I wonder who lives there and what kind of life it would be to have place like this as your permanent home.
But it’s not the main cabin I’m staying in.
To the left is a short drive that leads to a smaller cabin, and this is what I pull up in front of. It’s just as cute, a smaller version of the main house.
I cut the engine and lean over the steering wheel to admire my home for the next three days. At least if I can’t get Marcus to talk, I’ll still get a relaxing break.
I get out of the car, shivering in the cool mountain air. My heels catch on pine needles, and one spike picks up a leaf. I carry it for a few steps before pulling it off. That never happens in New York.
I’m staring at the instructions on my phone from Andreas when there’s a familiar voice behind me.
“Who gave you my address?”
I give a squeak of surprise, and my phone drops to the ground. I spin around to find Marcus; his jacket is open, his shirt clinging relentlessly to his muscular chest. There’s a layer of perspiration that shows the outlines of his nipples. He must have been chopping wood or some other extremely masculine, mountain man type activity. My pulse races and my thighs clench together to contain the pull I feel down there.
My mouth drops open and closed like a fish’s before I drag my eyes up to his face.
His eyebrows are knit together, and his eyes flash dangerously.
“I’m staying here,” I manage to get out as I bend down to retrieve my phone.
The screen is cracked, which is the last thing I need. I hope like hell it still works, because I can’t afford to replace my phone anytime soon.
His brows furrow in confusion. “Then who the fuck is Andreas?”
My stomach drops to the floor. He thinks I’m stalking him, and this isn’t going to be good for my story. So much for giving him space.
“Andreas is my assistant. Well, technically Scott’s, but…”
His eyes narrow at the mention of Scott. “He found out I have an Airbnb. That son of a bitch.”
I’ve heard Scott called worse, but in this case, I don’t think it was intentional.
“No. Andreas booked this; Scott had nothing to do with it.”
He rubs his beard and looks like he doesn’t believe me. “This is harassment.”
I hold my hands up, suddenly panicked. If I come back with no story, that’s one thing, but no story and a lawsuit? I can’t let that happen.
“I didn’t know this was your place, I swear. Andreas booked it for me. He thought the cabin looked cute. Like a hallmark movie.”
I’m babbling, but it seems to work, Marcus keeps his eyebrows pushed together, but it’s more of a curious, what the heck is this babbling woman doing on my property look than anger.
“I’m really sorry. I know how it looks, but I won’t harass you anymore. I’ll go straight back to New York if that’s what you want. But I’m cold and sweaty all at once, and I’ve been up since four, and I’d really just love a hot shower before I go.”
He shakes his head slowly, and the anger’s gone out of him.
“Your boss is an asshole.”
“Yup.” I nod in agreement. Marcus isn’t the first person to say those words to me.
“I won’t do your story, so stop asking. But I won’t kick you out either. If you want to stay, you can. It looks like you need a vacation.”
He squints at me and I turn away, embarrassed. Is it that obvious that I’ve barely been sleeping? That the worry over Mom and the stress about the bills has me biting my nails down and tossing and turning all night.
