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“Restrictions?” I caught Marcus watching me intently from the corner of my eye. “What does that mean?”

“You’ll need to speak with the lawyer who handled the inheritance. Mr. James Morrison. His office is actually just down on Pine Street. I have his number and—”

I scrambled to pull up my notes app, nearly dropping my phone in the process. Marcus steadied it with one hand, his touch lingering longer than necessary.

“Go ahead,” I said weakly, typing as Linda rattled off the contact information.

“I’m really sorry about this,” she added. “These old properties sometimes have unusual provisions…”

After I hung up, I slumped against the nearest storefront. “Well, that’s just perfect.”

“Problem?” Marcus’ voice was gentle, but something in his eyes…

“The cottage. Apparently, I can’t sell it. Something about clauses and restrictions and lawyers, oh my.” I ran a hand through my hair. “You wouldn’t happen to know a James Morrison, would you?”

Marcus’ lips curved into a small smile. “As a matter of fact, I do. One of the best property lawyers in the state.”

“Of course you do.” I let my head thunk back against the brick wall. “Is he at least legitimate? Not some small-town hack who’s going to tell me I need to sacrifice a goat under the full moon to break the property curse?”

That earned me a low chuckle. “He’s entirely legitimate. Harvard Law, thirty years of experience. He handles most of the Stone Industries legal work.”

“Great. Fantastic. Another Stone connection.” I closed my eyes. “I don’t suppose you know what kind of clause would prevent someone from selling their own property?”

“Several possibilities.” His voice was closer now. “Would you like me to accompany you to his office?”

I opened my eyes to find him watching me with that intense expression again. I should say no. This was exactly the kind of situation Mom always warned me about—accepting help from strangers, especially powerful ones who looked at me like… like that.

But I felt small and lost and overwhelmed, and Marcus… Marcus felt safe, even though he shouldn’t. Even though everything about him screamed danger.

“Please,” I whispered, hating how vulnerable I sounded. “If you don’t mind?”

Something softened in his expression. “Not at all.” He offered his arm, an oddly old-fashioned gesture that should have seemed ridiculous but somehow wasn’t. “Shall we?”

I took his arm, trying to ignore how right it felt. How my scar warmed at the contact. How my body relaxed into his strength like it had found its home.

I was so screwed.

Chapter 6

The rain was coming down harder now, drumming against the covered walkway above us.

“My car is just around the corner. Let me drive you.”

“I have my own car—”

“Which is parked in the opposite direction from the lawyer’s office.” His tone was gentle but firm, like he was used to people simply agreeing with him. “And you don’t know where you’re going.”

I opened my mouth to argue, then closed it. He had a point. “Fine. But I’m perfectly capable of following directions.”

“I’m sure you are.” His smile held a hint of heat that made my scar tingle. “But I’d prefer to drive you myself.”

The word ‘myself’ carried a weight I wasn’t ready to examine.

His car, because of course, was a sleek black Mercedes that probably cost more than my entire college education, student loans included. It looked completely out of place among the town’s practical trucks and SUVs, all gleaming wet curves and predatory grace. Like its owner, it managed to be both beautiful and vaguely threatening.

“Very CEO,” I commented as he opened the passenger door for me—who even did that anymore? The interior was allblack leather and brushed metal, with that new car smell that somehow managed to mix with Marcus’ subtle cologne. “Though I have to say, it’s a bit different from Caleb’s mountain man mobile.”

“I have a truck as well,” Marcus said, sliding into the driver’s seat. The engine purred to life under his touch, and why did that sound so suggestive in my head? “And a Jeep. Several, actually.”

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