Page 30 of Her Wild Coast Refuge

Dawson’s holding a cut glass tumbler half-full of amber liquid and ice.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” I lie, setting the plate and napkins on the bar. They look distressed, and I think I’m making it worse.

Dawson steps closer, filling my senses with the sharp scent of whiskey mixed with his exotic cologne and the heat from his body.

My pulse thumps lower, faster, harder.

I stand there breathing, not looking at him. I’m afraid if I do, he’ll know the feelings sparking to life inside me.

“That’s very kind of you,” Dawson says, his voice deep and rich. Sensual.

I don’t know what’s going on or why the energy between us is so intense, or why it’s making me tremble. Is it because Dawson James has visited my dreams since I was fourteen? Or is it because he’s powerful, and a mystery I’m desperate to unravel?

I risk a glance at Quinn. “Everything okay up here?”

He sets his drink on the edge of the bar, his deep brown eyes hungry.

Dawson releases a slow sigh, the warmth from his breath like a soft caress on my neck.

“Nothing we can’t handle,” Quinn says, watching me.

“Good,” I manage, my voice high and feeble. “Do you…need anything else?”

Dawson makes a sound in the back of his throat, so low I barely hear it. I want to ask him what it means. Why I’m breathing so fast. Why there’s a pulsing, needy heat building between my thighs. Why I can’t move.

“No,” Quinn says. “That’s all for now.”

I brush past Dawson and give Quinn a brisk nod before continuing into the hallway. I feel eyes on me, but I don’t turn around. The door closes as I reach the stairway.

The sudden heat spreads to my core and I’m practically panting by the time I get to the kitchen. I gulp down a glass of water from the tap.

What in the hell was that?

To distract myself, I get working on the dinner’s final touches. But my thoughts are like a williwaw gusting over the mountains. I jostle the carton of eggs and two roll out before I can catch them. Each hits the floor,smack, smack. While I’m spinning for a paper towel, I crack my shin on the cupboard door I accidentally left open.

Somehow, I get my shit together and clean up my mess.

Footsteps sound on the hardwood floor. It’s Quinn.

“You okay?”

I stand with my shin throbbing and an eggy paper towel mess in my hands. At that moment, a strand of hair slips into my eyes. “Yeah, why?”

His gaze narrows.

I puff the strand of hair out of my face, but it just falls back.

To my surprise, Quinn steps close and with a soft brush of his fingers, tucks it behind my ear. My breath rises and falls faster in my chest.

Standing this close to him after whatever happened upstairs and the way he just touched me is probably not a good idea. We agreed no kissing, but that pact feels futile right now.

Quinn takes the paper towels from me and drops them in the trash below the sink. “Dawson can be intense.”

“Was he mad?” I ask while he washes his hands in the big sink.

He shakes his head. “Agitated might be a better term.”

“Why? Something go wrong in your meeting?”

---