Page 20 of Savior
Resisting the urge to growl, I block her path as she tries to move around me to gather Grandma Rose’s cleared plate. “I won’t promise to leave her alone because I plan on keeping a close eye on her.”
“I’m sure you do.”
I ignore her twinkling eyes and knowing smile. “The first time I see something suspicious, she’s gone.”
Aunt Diane’s smile fades, and I remember why the younger, more belligerent teenage version of me used to cower in her presence. “Don’t threaten me, Logan Elias. She’s a sweet girl looking to find her roots. You, of all people, know well enough about needing a place to feel safe. If you go interrogating her, you’ll scare her for no good reason other than to soothe your male ego. So you’re gonna leave her alone, you hear?”
The tone is a familiar one and I know I’ve reached the point where she won’t bend an inch more. “I’ll leave her alone,” I say and pull her into a hug, knowing it will break down some of her resistance.
She wraps her own arms around me for a second and then pushes me away. “I’ve got guests to feed so you stop with all this nonsense and get.”
I kiss her forehead and her smile softens. Turning to Grandma Rose, I give her another kiss and her knowing eyes flash up at me. She grins, and I just shake my head. Why I thought it was a good plan to go up against them both, I’ll never know. Dealing with women, especially if there’s more than one of them, requires a great deal more intestinal fortitude than I possess.
“You remember what I said, Logan. Don’t you cause her any trouble,” Aunt Diane calls out behind me.
I lift a hand because we both know causing trouble is what I do best.
Piper
Idon’t wantto be that person. I’m not that person.
This is a new start, a new me, and the new me isn’t confrontational and doesn’t believe in stirring up drama. Especially not with a brand new neighbor who I haven’t even met yet. That would be a hell of an impression. Since Diane is my boss and this is her place, I want the first impressions with my neighbors to be good ones.
Besides, I am too damn tired to move let alone tromp across our yards to confront the man who thinks that the middle of the night is the perfect time to revving his motorcycle.
Great, now I sound like my mother.
Really, it’s none of my business. Who needs sleep anyway? Certainly not me after deep cleaning the house all day and helping Diane at the B&B. She kept telling me to get settled in first, but I couldn’t stand the emptiness of the bungalow—no matter how cute and quaint it is—so I spent the afternoon and evening hours helping to check in new guests, planning outings, and cleaning up after check outs.
It’s just a new house, that’s all. A new place. It always takes a while to get settled somewhere new. To learn all the sounds and idiosyncrasies.
Including new, inconsiderate neighbors who drive ridiculously loud motorcycles at two in the morning.
Old me would have asked for a ride...I don’t want to speculate which type of ride that would have been, but suffice it to say, old me wouldn’t have hesitated either way.
New me is all about the hesitation.
Sometimes, I don’t like it at all, but what am I gonna do?
The motorcycle revs for what seems the hundredth time right outside my window, and I choke back a scream. Then, the guy laughs, and I give up my plan to be the nice, understanding neighbor.
I throw back the sheets and put my feet to the cool wood floor. Without the intense heat from the sun, the air is distinctly chilly, so I add a robe atop my shorts and tank top that serve as my pajamas. I belt it loosely as I slip my feet into flip-flops and head for the door without giving myself a chance to second-guess my decision.
Shadows blanket the space between my bedroom door and the living room. For a moment, I hesitate, contemplating the length of the hall. My fingers grip the wood frame and a shiver that has nothing to do with the temperature wracks my body. Then, the motorcycle revs again, breaking me from the moment and allowing me to shake off the fear as it’s replaced again by annoyance.
I open the front door out onto the modest porch and squint against the bright light from the naked bulb above my head. When my eyes adjust to the darkness, I’m able to discern a shadowy figure standing beside a massive chromed out beast of a machine.
“Excuse me!” I yell, but my voice is down out as he punches the gas.
Gritting my teeth, I start down the porch steps and cross the white-gravel drive. He doesn’t look up until I’m nearly standing right next to him, and when he does my words of protest whither into nothing as our eyes meet.
Without a change in his expression, the man unfolds himself from the seat of the motorcycle and comes to stand at his full height in front of me. I immediately take a preemptive step back just to look at him without straining my neck. I know I’m not ridiculously, but I’ve never felt as physically small as I do standing in front of this massive man.
He’s six foot and change with broad, formidable shoulders, slim hips and thick, muscular thighs. But even though every female part of me recognizes his raw masculinity, it’s his eyes that give me pause.
I’ve never seen such a beautiful color, and I’d spent many days when I lived in Miami and then in Jacksonville staring at the ever-changing color of the ocean. They’re blue-green—almost jewel-colored. They are framed by long, thick lashes that stand out against the caramel tone of his skin.
It would almost be unsettling if the rest of his features didn’t soften the stunning effect with rough edges. The dark slash of his brows and the distinct line of his jaw from a Roman nose and full, enticing lips, which are currently pulled into a frown.