Page 21 of Beyond the Cottage

She looked him over disdainfully. “You’re a squatter who dresses like a bum, so I’ll use my imagination where your expenses are concerned. Really, though, I think you’re just a cold bastard who gets off on it.”

She believed he sold pixie dust because he enjoyed it? Because itexcitedhim? She had no idea what he was actually working toward, but hell if there was any point in telling her.

“Miss Hacker, you don’t actually know anything about me.”

“I know you’re intelligent, and you’re obviously resourceful. Why don’t you apply your education to a legitimate science career?”

“Because I’mnoteducated. Not formally. It isn’t easy for swamp trash like me to pay for university.”

She snorted. “I think that’s an excuse. It’s easier to blame the world than take responsibility for what you are.”

“WhatIam?” He stood, towering over her. “I wouldn’t say you’re well-positioned to judge the life choices of others, pixie. My associate informed me he found you stumbling around bars and brothels, piss drunk and barely coherent.”

“At least I wasn’t hurting anybody. And getting drunk is better than worshiping money at the expense of basic decency.”

Hedidn’tworship money. Like the dust farm, it was a means to an end. And those who disregarded money’s necessity had usually never needed to worry about it.

“I’d hardly expect you to understand,” he said. “But I’ll remind you, not everyone grows up in the luxury of a pixie colony.”

“Believe it or not, asshole, growing up with wealth doesn’t promise an easy life. Besides, you should know better than anyone that not all pixies are rich.”

“Your perspective on hardship is relative. I doubt you’ve spent a single day concerned about your survival.”

Emotion burst across her face. It disappeared before Ansel could name it, but he recognized it. Somehow, he knew with absolute certainty he’d spoken in error.

Shehadsurvived something.

Miss Hacker lifted her chin. “You don’t know anything about me, either.”

No, but I want to.

The thought startled him, and he retreated, putting space between them.

He hadn’t been careful. His nonsensical, counterfeit emotions indicated her dust was already replenishing. While there was no avoiding a degree of proximity to her, he played with fire by indulging in personal conversation.

The less he knew about her, the better.

“Time to go back,” he said.

Blocking the path, she approached. He backed away, and she followed, stalking him. Her expression sent warning bells clattering around his brain.

Which was fucking ridiculous.

Ansel put a hand on his hip and tried to look menacing, for once. “Isaid—”

Her cuffed wrists lifted. She curled her fingers into his waistband and viciously yanked, making him stumble to her by the hips.

Eyes wide, she breathed, “I don’t want to go yet.”

Chapter 8

Lab Coat braced his hands on Gretta’s shoulders, and when she peeked up at him, his dark eyes flickered with confusion. To clarify things, she pressed her breasts against his ribs.

“What are you doing?” he rasped. He lowered his hands to her upper arms, squeezing them. He didn’t push her away.

Keeping her eyes on his, she slid her fingers along his waistband until she felt buttons. She flipped open the top one and gripped the outer placket, undoing the rest with one swipe. He reached for her wrists, but she was too fast.

A quick tug, and his pants landed around his ankles. A hard shove, and his ass planted in the dirt.

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