Page 10 of His One True Wish

Before I did any heavy lifting, I wanted a hot cup of tea. A tasty, warm beverage would take the edge off of lugging boxes into the barn alone in the dark. I hoped the cabinet above the refrigerator was still stocked with liquor.

I threw my duffle in the corner and opened cupboards, looking for the tea kettle. It was right where I remembered, jammed between a spaghetti pot and a stack of orphaned glass lids.

Humming, I filled the kettle with water and turned on the gas stove. It hissed and sparked to life. The tall kitchen stool we used to reach high shelves was missing, so I improvised and used a chair to step onto the counter in just my socks.

I opened the cupboard and grinned at the sight of Gran’s well-stocked and not-so-secret bar.

“Let’s see, let’s see,” I muttered, running my hands over the bottles. “We’ve got vodka, no-thank-you. Gin,” I shivered. “Tastes like a hedge. What else do we have here? How about something yummy? Whiskey, whiskey, where are you my peaty Irish friend.”

There were more bottles than I remembered. I moved a big glass vodka bottle aside, looking for the familiar Jameson black label. Ah, there it was, right behind the Kahlúa. I reached deep into the cupboard and pulled the Irish Whiskey forward.

Someone behind me cleared their throat.

“Holy shit,” I shouted. I spun around, liquor bottles in both hands.

A half-naked man in a towel stood in the kitchen, holding a fire poker like a baseball bat.

I screamed and threw a bottle of whiskey at him.

“What the fuck!” he shouted, dodging the bottle as the dog ran into the kitchen, barking and jumping. The bottle nicked the corner of the island. Irish Whiskey exploded everywhere. The woodsy scent of the liquor was so strong.

“Careful of my dog!” he yelled.

“Your dog! What do you mean, your dog!”

Still holding the poker, the dog jumped, paws reaching for the man’s waist. “Cam! Down girl! Down!”

The dog barked and jumped one more time. Her paw hit his towel, unhooking it from his waist. The man’s towel dropped to the floor. He was completely naked.

“Oh, my God,” I screamed, turning away, but not before I saw all of him.

Tall, with broad shoulders and a beard, his dark hair looked wet and his skin glistened. Adrenaline pumped through my body, asstranger-danger was replaced with the realization that the man in my kitchen was not only naked, but he was also ridiculously hot. What was wrong with me? I wasn’t supposed to be admiring this guy’s washboard abs, but holy hell, how many were there above his enormous ...

I blinked.

“What are you doing in my gran’s house?” I shouted. I kept my gaze averted while also making it clear I had him in my sights. I held a plastic Kahlúa bottle in my hand, threatening to throw it.

“Your gran’s house,” he repeated, just as the tea kettle whistled.

Cam barked with displeasure.

“Oh, my God.” I covered my ears as the whistle morphed into a high, ear-piercing scream.

“No bark, Cam. No bark,” he said. The poker in one hand, he darted to the stove, moved the kettle to another burner, and turned off the gas.

“Truce!” he shouted, holding his free hand up in the air.

“What?” My breath came out in short bursts.

“Truce,” he said, his voice slow and calm. He didn’t break eye contact with me as he lowered the poker to the floor. His dark-green eyes reminded me of pine trees and the murky waters of Smoke River. He picked up his fallen bath towel and laid it on the pool of whiskey, moving it back and forth with his foot to clean up the mess. Both his hands were raised in the air.

“Put down the bottle,” he said, cocking his head to the side. “Please, you don’t want to scare the dog.”

“Please?” I repeated. I was frozen in place, but not by fear, by confusion. First the dog, and now an extremely hot naked man was cleaning the floor. I stood poised on the counter, ready to chuck another big bottle at him, but my fear dissipated as he continued to wipe up the mess of whiskey.

If he was going to grab me, wouldn’t he have done it already? He was clearly much taller than me, and his muscled arms were big and perfectly defined. He definitely lifted — or threw trees around for fun or something. All he would need to do is reach up with one of thosebig muscle-bound arms of his and grab me. I’d be up against his glistening chest in a hot second.

“I am going to need to grab a broom and the dustbin,” he said. He gave me a crooked smile and nodded at the broken glass next to his foot. “This is bad for feet and paws.”

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