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Half a dozen men leveled their attention her way, sizing her up. Troy raised his glass, white wine sloshing within, and brought it to his mouth, downing the alcohol in one long swallow.

“Now there’s a young lady who knows how to negotiate.” Thad lightly pounded the table to a chorus of agreement from the rest of the men. Troy’s gaze never left Avery, and his lower lip bulged as he ran his tongue over his teeth. “I don’t suppose there’s a bottle of Screaming Eagle Reserve back there, eh?”

“I’ll go check.”

She all but ran into the kitchen, gripping the counter with her head hanging between her shoulders. The door swung closed behind her, muffling masculine voices as they continued to tell Mac how to run their camp.

Their camp.

When had this become their camp?

“It’s good to see you again, Miss Payne.” Troy filled the space behind her, the heat of his body blanketing her back. She hadn’t heard the door re-open, which meant he had slipped in silently behind her.

She raised her head, staring at their reflections in the window over the sink. He loomed close, filling the frame and cutting Avery off from the rest of the cabin. A sharp grin stretched across his face, hungry and predatory. A wolfish grin that was completely wiped clean by the time she whirled around.

“Mr. Wilkolak.”

“Thought I’d come and help you with the wine.” He didn’t move, keeping a distance that was firmly in that uncomfortable space of too close yet still respectful. “A good girl like you shouldn’t be expected to know her way around alcohol.”

The stink of his cologne tickled her nose. Avery licked her lips, throat tightening with the urge to vomit. Every cell in her body screamed at her to run, flee, hide, but if Troy were the monster, he would catch her, and God only knew what he would do then. “I think I can manage it.”

“Nonsense.” He eased away, sidling across the kitchen to the rolling island against the wall. Manicured fingers danced over bottles, circling the neck of one and lifting his chosen vintage. He held it out, examining the label. “The law of being a Southern gentleman, I’m afraid. What would your father think?”

“I’m not sure I can speak to my father’s thoughts.”

“Hm.” He set the bottle down and chose a second one. Though his attention was on the label, he cocked his head in a way that made Avery feel like a rabbit being watched out of the corner of a wolf’s eye. “Don’t take what they’re saying in there to heart.” The bottle clinked as he slid it back into place and chose a third. Avery edged across the kitchen, reaching for the doorknob. “It’s all business. The numbers, the bullying, talking your boss into a corner. All just business, you understand.”

“I do.” She spun and twisted the knob, easing the door open.

Troy’s hand slapped against the particle board, pressing the door closed. Her entire body flinched, breath catching in her chest as that broad, powerful figure again stepped too close. He’d moved so fast, and she hadn’t even heard him. He’d been across the kitchen; how had he moved so fast? She closed her eyes, willing her voice not to tremble. “Please let me leave.”

“In a moment,” Troy rumbled. “Need a little refresher.” His body was too warm, his musk and that scent too overpowering. Overwhelming. It snuck into her senses, wrapping around Avery’s mind until all she knew was terror. Her arm shook, hand still gripping the nob, and she bit her lips to keep a rising sob from escaping.

Troy leaned in close, ducking his head until it hovered above the crook of her neck.

And then he inhaled.

“What are you—”

“Only business, Elizabeth Avery Payne,” he exhaled, breath hot against her ear. “All of this is just business.”

21

Cricket

“We need to go.” The woven reed door crashed against the wattle-and-daub wall. Three sets of eyes landed on Cricket, all ears intent on her. Ramble’s father, Iver, was the first to recover, lurching to his feet. Though shorter than Bosk, his antlers were no less impressive, the tips falling a hair’s breadth short of scraping the ceiling.

“Cricket, where have you been?”

“No time.” She slashed a hand through the air and held it out toward Ramble. “I need the keys.”

“The keys?” Her cousin blinked and shook their head. Iver cast them a wary look while their mother, Coni, frowned. “For what?”

“The truck. Charlie won’t drive me all the way to Elkwater.” She swept her hand in the air, gesturing for Ramble to hurry up. “We’ve got to go. The Georgia Men are there and they—”

“Oh, Gods.” Iver rolled his eyes and dropped to the ground, settling heavily on his knees. Pine straw and dust whoofed up in a cloud around him. “Coni, go tell Bosk his crazy daughter is at it again.”

“Dad!” Ramble glared at their father and stood.