Page 51 of Never Fall for an Angel

So, I didn’t dream it . . . June was helping Christian.

Traitor.

“Oh, hello,” the man greets, an underlying Irish accent cloaking his voice. “You must be Mila.”

I clear my throat, glancing nervously between them.

“Um . . . hello.”

“Oh, Rudy, she’s obviously terrified. Poor thing looks sickly.”

Okay, now that was rude.

June steps up in front of Rudy, her smile gentle despite her crude assessment.

“Hi, dear. I know I said my name was June, but I’m Paulina. I’m happy to see you made it okay.”

As if I had a choice.

“This is Rudy, the caretaker of this island and a good friend of mine.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Rudy says, holding out his hand. I don’t take it. After a moment of uncomfortable silence, Paulina elbows him, and he drops it back to his side. It’s then I notice the cloth sacks behind them filled with groceries and toiletries.

“It’s okay,” Paulina says. “You don’t need to be afraid of us. We’re here to help.”

As the kidnappee in this situation, I’ve got to say, it’s pretty hard to believe her.

“’Bout time someone fixed this old heap up,” Rudy grumbles, looking up at the awning above him. “I’ve been waiting for the Pacific to wash this place away for years, but it refuses to die.”

“Stop it, you’ll scare her,” Paulina scolds, reaching out to pat my hand. Instinctively, I jump back.

“Careful,” a voice sounds behind me, and prickling awareness slips up the back of my neck. “That one bites.”

Oh, great. His royal asshole has arrived.

“Christian,” Paulina smiles.

I back up to move out of the way, unfortunately running right into the very naked, verywetchest of Christian.

I jump when I collide with him, my gaze latching onto the tattoo on his chest and the single water droplet that slips overtop the ink, all the way down to the towel wrapped dangerously low around his hips.

What do they call those lines in men’s hips? The ones that make women go feral?

When my gaze rakes over the hard lines of his abs, slipping up his chest and finally meeting his piercing stare trained on mine, my mouth runs dry.

“Put some clothes on,” Paulina orders, hauling her bags into the house and passing Christian like she sees well-defined six packs rippling with tattoos and water daily. “You’ll catch a cold.”

“It’s fifty degrees out,” Christian retorts, shutting the door behind Rudy when he enters and follows Paulina to the kitchen table. I keep my distance and try not to stare at his butt underneath the towel when he steps over to join them.

“All the more reason to get that roof fixed,” Rudy grunts, removing things from the bags. At least the cottage is outfitted with a fridge, even if it does look like it stepped right out of the nineteenth century. “Winter will be here before you know it.”

“The boy just got here, Rudy,” Paulina says, handing off items to Rudy to put away. “And judging by the state ofthatone, he’s been busy.”

Standing in a pair of Christian’s giant sweats and one of his T-shirts, cuts and bruises on my face, and a sprained ankle, I’m sure she’s right. I blush at her measurement of me, wrapping my arms around my chest as if I can shield myself from her meticulous gaze.

—And maybe hide the fact that my nipples are hard as diamonds.

Clearly, it doesn’t do much to help my case when all three people in the room lock eyes with me in my newfound rooted spot in the corner by the door.

---