Page 16 of Property of Anchor

“It’s not much,” I said.“But it’s a bed and a roof.”

Pearl smiled.“That’s all I need.A bed, food, and a place to paint.”

“You’ve got a whole haunted house ready for you to paint,” I said.

“Oh, Pearl paints a hell of a lot more than just houses,” Bert said.He nodded to her overstuffed bag.“I would bet my life that half of that is paint, paint brushes, and a few rolled-up canvases.”

Pearl shrugged.“I need something to do when we’re not working, and with the lake right there, I know I’m going to have some amazing sunsets to paint from the shore.”

I wasn’t surprised that Pearl was an artist.Just from the sketches she had shown me for her ideas for the haunted house, I could see how talented she was.

Lost came in then and grumbled under his breath about Bernice before dropping Pearl’s bag on the couch.

Bert clapped his hands together.“I say you unpack later and we get to work.All we’ve got is daylight, and it’s a burning.”

Lost turned and followed him out.

I glanced back at Pearl.“You good?”

We locked eyes.Her gaze was steady, lips parted slightly, like she had something she wanted to say but wasn’t sure if she should.

There was a charge in the air, the kind that raised hairs and stirred something low in the gut.

Before either of us could speak, the slam of Bernice’s cabin door broke the silence.

Pearl blinked and smiled.“Guess that means she’s ready.”

“Let’s go show the crew their canvas,” I said and motioned for her to follow me.

Pearl stepped through the door of the cabin, and I followed.Outside, the morning sun filtered through the trees, casting uneven shadows across the clearing between the two cabins.Gravel crunched beneath our boots as we stepped off the porch.

Bert was standing nearby with his arms crossed and watched us like a hawk.His eyes narrowed slightly, and I knew what that look was: protective dad mode still fully engaged.Couldn’t blame the guy.If she were mine, I wouldn’t want her alone on an island full of bikers either.

Pearl moved to his side, and together they started down the path toward the haunted house.She walked with an easy sway, completely unaware that her hips were swaying like some kind of damn test.My gaze drifted and locked on the perfect curve of her ass in those tight, paint-smeared jeans.She was more than a handful, more than most men could probably handle, and that drove me crazy in all the right ways.

“Shame,” Bernice muttered beside me.

I blinked, startled, as she appeared like a ghost at my elbow.I’d forgotten she was still standing there, arms folded over her chest, eyeing me like she could read my thoughts.Hell, maybe she could.

“Shame?”I asked.

“That you think no one notices where your eyes go,” she huffed.

I didn’t apologize.Just gave her a look that said I wasn’t ashamed, either.

“You always this judgey?”I asked.

“Only when a man thinks with the wrong head,” she replied.

I tried to hide the grin tugging at the corner of my mouth.She was sharp, I’d give her that.

I cleared my throat.“So… how long have you been painting?”

Bernice didn’t answer right away.She turned her head slowly, side-eyeing me like I’d just asked how old she was.

“Don’t try sweet-talking me, young buck,” she said dryly.“I’ve been around the block a few times before.”

I smirked and muttered under my breath, “I bet you have.”