Page 312 of Hate Mates

Chris steps closer, jabbing a finger into my chest. "You think you can boss me around, just because you don't like how I do things?" Her accent thickens when she's angry, and damn if it doesn't make my head swim.

"I'm trying to keep you alive," I snap.

"I don't need your help!" she fires back.

I should let it go, but she's right there—breath warm against my skin, lips inches from mine. And suddenly, I'm not thinking about the damn goat anymore.

Her chest rises and falls with quick, furious breaths. "I've taken care of myself for a long time,mon cher," she spits, voice sharp as a blade. "I don't need some self-righteous cowboy telling me what I can and can't do."

"You think this is about control?" I lower my voice. "This is about not wanting to see you laid out in a hospital bed—or worse."

Her lips press together, and for the first time, I see it. Not anger. Not defiance. Fear. Not of me, but of something else.

"Whoo-hoooo!"Eli's voice shatters the moment. He rounds the barn, camera in hand, grinning like an idiot.

Chris stumbles back, arms wrapping around herself like armor. "Merci beaucoup pour ton aide," she mutters, before shaking her head. Then, quieter, "Thank you so much for your help. I—I have to go." She turns and practically runs into the house.

I glare at Eli. "You aresucha prick." I shove his shoulder as I pass.

"What did I do?"

I don't bother looking back, until he yelps in pain. I turn just in time to see Eli rubbing his ass, backing away from Emmanuel.

Maybe that goat isn't as dumb as I thought.

Walking back into my house, I'm greeted by a grinning Brandon and Patrick. I groan, before hanging up my hat and sinking into my recliner.

"So, you and Christiane, huh?" Brandon walks over and sits on the couch, stretching his arms across the back like he owns the place.

"It's not like that," I mutter, rubbing a hand down my face.

Patrick snorts. "It isn't surprising, brother. The sparks have been flying since you two met."

"Yeah, right," I scoff. "More like we've been at each other's throats since day one."

Brandon wags his brows. "And yet, here you are, defending her honor, helping her out, looking all moody when someone else so much as glances her way."

I glare at him. "I don't look moody."

Patrick smirks. "You do. Like a bull ready to charge. It's entertaining, honestly."

I lean back, sighing. "Look, I don't know what you two are getting at, but Christiane and I are not a thing. She's stubborn, frustrating, and way too sure of herself."

Brandon chuckles. "And yet, you like her."

I hesitate, my jaw tightening. Do I? I don't know what to call it; this constant push and pull between us, the way she gets under my skin. But despite saying I don’t want her here, on the land that should be mine, the idea of her leaving Willow Glen, of someone else winning her over, sits like a rock in my gut.

Patrick shakes his head with a knowing smile. "You're in trouble, Adam."

I sigh again, staring up at the ceiling. Yeah. Maybe I am.

FIVE

Christiane

Istorm up the porch steps, my boots hitting the wood with sharp, angry thuds. The door flies open as I shove it with more force than necessary, slamming it against the wall, before I kick it shut behind me.

My hands tremble, but whether from anger or the biting wind outside, I don't know.

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