Page 39 of Debt of My Soul

My jaw falls open.

Crap.

I turn the bath water off and rush into the kitchen, my braid whipping me in the back as I slide to a stop.

Damn it. I left my basket of oranges on the ground at the farmer’s market. I told myself I was going to set them down to give my aching arms a rest while I waited for River to come back, but I must have forgotten to grab them.

After digging around for an apple instead, I pad back to my bathroom, stripping off the jean shorts and white tank top I wore today. White wasn’t the best idea as I purchased and sampled berries. Dark red and blue juice is splattered across the shirt, and I toss it into the ever-growing pile of laundry I haven’t tackled. It’s the one area of the house that hasn’t been finished yet, so I’ve been slacking on it lately.

I wash up and take ten minutes to relax before climbing out, slide on a pair of overalls, and redo my braid. Long hair during renovations has been a pain, so I’ve been keeping it tied up most of the time.

A knock sounds at the door, and my pulse skips at the sudden noise—I’m not expecting anyone. I toss the ChapStick I was applying into the top drawer and dart past the box in the hallway from Michigan I have yet to open.

The front door is original to the house and there’s no peephole, so I throw open the door to find Adam.

His dark hair is combed back, not the typical tousled look he sports when he’s working and running his hands through it. A light green V-neck hugs his lean build and in his hand is?—

What?

He’s holding my crate of oranges. The ones I’d left at the market.

“Hey! These were just sitting at your front door. Did you leave them outside?”

Did I leave them outside?

No. “I didn’t. I left them at the market by accident.”

“Oh, well, River must have dropped them off for you,” Adam says, moving past me with the crate and into the kitchen to set it down on the island.

More tingling blazes up my spine, and I shiver despite the unbearable heat. I peer both ways down the dirt road, over the hayfields that ebb and flow across the flat country terrain. But it’s then I hear it. Over the clinking of ice into a glass from behind me. Over the wind hitting the new chime I purchased last week. Over the rustling oak leaves in the front yard.

Faint and in the distance.

The rumble of a motorcycle.

Chapter 17

Liam

Ihate oranges. I’ve hated them since I can remember, but seeing the way Fleur picked out each sphere. The way she cradled the bright fruit in her hand before deeming it satisfactory for her crate—made me want it.

Why I’m compelled to draw the vile fruit is beyond me.

In fact, I hate blondes. Blondes with braids. Braids I want to wrap around my fist and yank. Yank that perfect tan body to me.

I tried to ignore her when River first approached. Pretended not to notice her until it became glaringly obvious and then … then I lost the battle.

Hell.

I’d watched Fleur from the time she twirled around and ran from me.

Good. I’d thought.

But I made it all of two steps before seeking out her long braid, loose and hanging down her back. That mouth. Her attitude.

Stupid and reckless.

She doesn’t understand who she’s dealing with. And I’m positive Adam hasn’t told her—won’t tell her. His own self-preservation, or maybe his pride, won’t let him.

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