CHAPTER TWO
That had to be one of the worst dates of her life.
Charlotte tried not to let the frustration of the night get to her as she went to her bedroom to don a robe before going back to the kitchen. She took out ingredients from her cupboards, intent on baking some gooey brownies and drinking wine for the rest of the night.
The evening had started pretty well. George had been nice and well-educated, and they got along well chatting over dinner. But then he started to hint about after dinner, and maybe she’d have considered it—if he had allowed the first date to stay as it was and asked her out for a second one.
But no. Nice George turned into persistent George as he insisted that she needed to come to his apartment and see his new stereo. Then persistent George began to turn into desperate George as he then insisted to take her home, where he proceeded to give her a kiss before inviting himself inside for coffee.
No, thank you.
And that had to be the most unrequited kiss ever.
She was done with men for now. None of the guys in town were just worth it anymore—though, if she was to be more honest with herself, perhaps the problem lay with her. It seemed like she couldn’t feel anything with any of the guys she’d gone out with, no matter how charming or handsome or well-mannered they were. The kiss with George didn’t even feel good—it felt like she was kissing her brother, and Lord knew that wasn’t exciting at all.
As for sex? Charlotte opened a package of chocolate chips almost viciously. It wasn’t anything home to write about, either.
She was about to measure all the ingredients when the ding on her bell sounded. She groaned.
Oh, lord. Did George come back?
He so was gonna get an ear full.
Charlotte left the kitchen and stalked towards the front door, glancing down to pull her robe tighter around her. She pasted another polite smile on her face and opened her mouth at the same time, intent on driving him away.
“George, you really ought to go home, I’m really lacking sleep and…”
Her voice trailed off when she finally absorbed the sight in front of her.
It was a man she didn’t know—a vision of a man, to be exact, with a body that looked hard and unrelenting and a face that was equal parts gorgeous and striking. Muscles were obvious on the thighs encased in blue jeans, and under the plain white shirt he wore. There were also tattoos there, swirling just underneath his short sleeves, and it made her itch to touch.
What a visual, appealing body.
Then Charlotte got to perusing his face again, where she was treated to the sight of a firm, sensuous mouth, a well-defined jaw, a head of black hair, and eyes that were a deep, smoky gray.
Oh, God. And she thought he was George. And she—
“You really ought to buy some curtains.”
Charlotte blinked, her thoughts interrupted.
“I’m sorry?”
It was then that she noticed that his eyes were doing the same perusal as well—only the way he did his felt like he was undressing her with his eyes, and her body reacted almost like...it liked it. Heat shot in her stomach, unbidden.
“You’re proudly displaying all your assets to all the perverts out there.”
His words registered. Her eyes flew back up to meet his, and she finally realized that there was a hint of irritation there.
“My assets?” she echoed.
He did that eye perusal again until she couldn’t mistake his words. Her interest turned to outrage in the span of a second.
“You were looking at me undress?” she spat out.
One side of his mouth slid up in a sardonic smile. “Sweetheart, you were just begging me to look.”
Of all the rude, pigheaded things to say.
The outrage increased, making Charlotte lift her chin and scoff at him indignantly. “I didn’t expect there to be a pervert watching me. I live alone here…”
Her voice trailed off. She did live alone here, with her only nearby neighbor being the forest, a family who were on vacation, and an empty house beside hers. Her stance grew rigid in a defensive pose, and she ran through her mind all the things she had in her house that she could use to hit him. God, her gun was in the drawer in her room.
For some reason, the man seemed to read what she was thinking about. She heard a soft curse come from him, the irritability in his tone increasing.
“I’m not a serial killer,” he ground out. “I’m not a rapist, either.”
“I never said—”
“Erik O’Riley.”
He held out a hand. She glanced at the house to her right, where she noticed that the light on the front porch was now turned on.
Mortification filled her.
“Your sheriff is John Malone. I’m good friends with him.”
“I know that,” she said, her mouth dry. It was the sheriff himself who told her and the other family before they left for vacation that he was having a friend of his stay at the house next door for the summer—something about the man needing to be away from the city for a while.
Feeling guilty all of a sudden, Charlotte took the hand he offered and shook it. “Charlotte Brandt.”
And wished she hadn’t.
The moment their hands touched, the heat in her belly spread. Electricity traveled through her fingers, a jolt that took whatever breath she had left out of her body. Her breasts tingled out of her own accord, and she saw his eyes darken from gray to an almost black color.
“Then you know you can’t undress like that anymore,” he murmured.
“Fine,” she said, breathless. She removed her hand from his grip, scalded. “Curtains.”
“And be mindful of your neighbors. Others might have the decency to be embarrassed about it…but I always look, Miss Brandt.”
With that scathing remark, he nodded his head once. Charlotte gaped for a second before her eyes narrowed.
“Gentlemen wouldn’t look, Mr. O’Riley,” she shot back.
“I’m not a gentleman.”
“That’s pretty obvious.”
“And lock your doors at night,” he said tightly.
Then he was stalking away from her driveway without so much as a goodbye. Suddenly furious, Charlotte slammed the door before she could start ogling his ass and make an idiot out of herself.
Her heart was beating so fast, and she had to put a hand over it to calm herself down.
Great. She wasn’t attracted to boring, perfectly nice men, but she was off the charts over a rude one.
No can do.
Charlotte locked her door, as he oh-so-arrogantly instructed.
Then she stalked towards the kitchen, intent on baking brownies and forgetting about arrogant jerks.
*****
The sound on her front door woke Charlotte up in the middle of the night—pounding sounds, so loud that she could hear them through her own bedroom. She stumbled out of bed immediately, pausing only to rummage blindly in the dark for her gun before tiptoeing towards the living room. She didn’t dare turn any light on to gain some advantage.
Who on earth would be at her house at this time of the night?
She had her hand on the knob, about to call out to ask who it was when instincts kicked in and stopped her from saying anything. An ominous feeling settled in her chest, heavy and making breathing difficult.
There was something out there, her instincts screamed. Something dark and dangerous.
She took one more step forward, as quiet as a mouse.
Charlotte froze when scratching sounds started. It was faint, and it only lasted a few seconds. Then it was followed by the sound of footsteps crunching on her gravel—not necessarily announcing itself, but not bothering to be all discreet about it either.
More scratching near her kitchen. Her blood went cold as she inched towards it, her hand trembling as she furiously tried to think if she locked it—if she closed the second door or just let the glass door stand—
She arrived in the kitchen.
Locked.
More scratching. It was fainter now, almost as if…taunting her.
Human? A wolf? But there were no wolves around here usually.
Charlotte stayed where she was, frozen in place as she listened. Her body was trembling, but her hand was steady, ready to pull the trigger at any second.
The scratching stopped, leaving a menacing silence in the air.
Gravel crunched. Footsteps retreated.
But Charlotte didn’t open the door. Instead, she stayed near the couch and kept her senses on alert, searching her mind for what it could be. Her first suspect was Erik, but it didn’t stick.
Humans simply didn’t scratch doors like that.
She was going to have to guard herself tonight and report to the sheriff early tomorrow.
Then maybe, just maybe, find out more about this Erik O’Riley.