Page 21 of Paw Inspiring (Paranormal Dating Agency #86)
TWENTY
D awn painted the mountains in watercolor hues as Meara navigated the winding road to her cabin. As she drove, her mind drifted to last night’s date—the warmth in Artek’s eyes across the candlelit table, the electricity of his kiss, the way his hands had framed her face with such gentle strength. The memory sent pleasant shivers down her spine.
She smiled, remembering Frenchy’s late-night inquisition. “Details, darling! I need every delicious moment. Did he growl? Please tell me there was growling.”
The cabin emerged through morning mist, its logs gleaming with dew. After weeks of preparation and yesterday’s perfect evening, she finally felt ready to make this her permanent home. Her car overflowed with art supplies, the essentials she’d need to start her new life here.
The serenity shattered when her key stuck in the front lock. Not the usual resistance of old hardware—this felt deliberate, wrong. After several attempts, the door swung open with an ominous creak.
“No.” The word escaped in a horrified whisper.
The living room looked like a battlefield. Electrical wires dangled from exposed outlets, their copper ends savagely severed. Cables snaked across hardwood floors, cut and frayed like wounded serpents. One corner bore aggressive spray paint in garish colors that made her artist’s soul cringe.
Her gaze caught on a crumpled paper amid scattered tools. Heart pounding, she picked it up:
LEAVE WHILE YOU CAN.
“Really?” She addressed the empty room, forcing humor she didn’t feel. “If you’re going to vandalize an artist’s space, at least show some creativity. And that color combination? Amateur hour.”
A familiar horn blast made her jump. Through the window, she spotted Frenchy’s convertible, its cherry-red paint gleaming in the morning light. He emerged like a fashion hurricane, somehow making cargo pants look couture, arms laden with bags.
“Honey, I brought reinforcements!” His voice carried through the door. “And by reinforcements, I mean—oh sweet mother of makeovers.” He froze in the doorway, taking in the destruction. “Who did this? The interior design police? Because even they wouldn’t be this tacky.”
Despite everything, Meara laughed. Trust Frenchy to make vandalism sound like a fashion faux pas.
“I brought an extra toolkit,” he continued, setting down his bags with uncharacteristic gentleness. “Though full disclosure: my mechanical expertise starts and ends with changing light bulbs. And even then, I usually call someone.”
“It’s the thought that counts.” Meara picked up a severed wire, studying the clean cut. “Though I don’t think any amount of DIY will fix this.”
“No, but my latest fling might help.” Frenchy began unpacking groceries with determined efficiency. “He’s a lawyer specializing in property disputes. And daddy dearest works in Land Management—he’d love to investigate this mess.” He paused, arranging muffins on a plate. “Speaking of investigations, don’t think you’re getting out of telling me more about your date. You clammed up way too fast. That good-bye kiss looked positively scandalous from where I was watching.”
Heat crept up Meara’s neck. “You were spying?”
“Darling, please. When a gorgeous bear shifter escorts my best friend home after their first date, it’s practically my duty to ensure proper romantic protocol is followed.” His eyes sparkled. “And based on how long you two lingered on the porch, I’d say protocol was very thoroughly followed.”
“We just...” Meara touched her lips, remembering the gentle press of Artek’s mouth, how his hands had cradled her face like she was precious. “It was nice.”
“Nice?” Frenchy’s eyebrows shot up. “Honey, watching paint dry is nice. That kiss had enough heat to trigger the smoke alarms. I thought he was going to?—”
The distinctive rumble of a powerful engine cut him off. Meara’s pulse quickened as a familiar black SUV appeared through the trees. Artek stepped out, and her breath caught. Even in casual clothes—jeans and a gray shirt that did sinful things to his shoulders—he moved with predatory grace. Their eyes met through the window, and the intensity of his gaze sent warmth pooling in her stomach.
“Well, well,” Frenchy stage-whispered. “Speaking of smoke alarms...”
“Shush.” But Meara couldn’t stop the smile tugging at her lips as she opened the door.
Artek’s expression darkened as he surveyed the vandalism. His nostrils flared slightly—scenting the air, she realized, searching for traces of the intruders. The thought of his bear’s protective instincts kicking in shouldn’t have been so appealing.
“The locks have been tampered with,” he said, voice low and controlled. His hand brushed her lower back as he moved past, sending tingles across her skin. “We’ll need to replace them all. And install a better interior system.”
“Good thing we know someone in the business,” Frenchy chimed in. “A tall, devastatingly handsome someone who clearly can’t keep his eyes off our resident artist.”
Meara grinned as Artek’s gaze found hers again. Something flickered in those hazel depths—concern mixed with possessive heat that made her breath hitch.
A truck rattled up the driveway, carrying what should have been her first delivery of the bigger art supplies. The driver looked distinctly uncomfortable as he approached.
“Ms. Adams? Almost didn’t make it. Got some weird calls saying to avoid this address.” He shuffled his feet. “Only came because it’s an official booking.”
Meara exchanged glances with Artek. The sabotage went beyond physical damage—someone really wanted to shut down her retreat before it began.
“I’ve invested too much in this place,” she said, squaring her shoulders. “In this dream. I’m not giving it up.”
While Frenchy supervised the delivery—making the driver reorganize boxes three times for optimal feng shui—Artek drew Meara aside to discuss security measures. The morning sun caught golden flecks in his eyes as he outlined camera placements and motion sensors.
“We’ll need coverage here,” he murmured, reaching past her to indicate a spot near the window. His chest brushed her back, and heat bloomed wherever they touched. His scent enveloped her—pine and mountain air and something wild that made her pulse race.
“Here too,” he continued, seemingly unaware of how his proximity affected her. But she caught the slight deepening of his voice, the way his hand lingered near her waist.
“Are you actually paying attention to any of this?” Frenchy stage-whispered. “Or are you too busy remembering last night’s kiss?”
Artek’s low chuckle rumbled through her, and she could have sworn his lips grazed her ear as he whispered, “Last night was just the beginning.”
Heat flooded her face, but before she could respond, he stepped back, all business again. “You should come to our Pumpkin Patch Jubilee this weekend. Meet my mother and sister properly, see the supportive side of the sleuth.”
Meara hesitated. After their date, the idea of meeting his family felt significant—another step toward something deeper. But curiosity won out, that and the warmth in his eyes as he waited for her answer.
“What do you do at a Pumpkin Patch Jubilee?”
“It’s when families come out to the Hessig farm to pick their decorating pumpkins for the season. There are prizes in several categories.” His lips curved. “I warn you, we take pumpkin painting very seriously.”
“Finally, a proper challenge for my artistic skills.” She grinned. “Though I expect you to win me a prize.”
“Is that so?” He stepped closer, voice dropping to a rumble that did inappropriate things to her insides. “And what prize did you have in mind?”
“Oh my god,” Frenchy interrupted, fanning himself with a paint swatch. “The sexual tension in here is thicker than oil paint. Should I leave? I feel like I should leave.”