Page 5 of Star-Crossed
Cypress Forrester would be here within the hour…
The one and only man with whom she’d not had to fake her orgasm.
TWO
Abatement
REDUCTION IN HAZARD, EITHER BY TREATMENT OF TREE OF REMOVAL OF TARGET.
Cypress was cursed.
He had first begun to suspect this in childhood. The suspicion had deepened into a solid hypothesis in his teenage years. In college, it had been confirmed once and for all with an event so bizarre and catastrophic, it derailed his entire life.
Far from the all-star NFL running back the entire town had once believed he’d become, Cy had sprinted his way into an athletic scholarship only to have fate sack him all the way back to Townsend Harbor. Back into his family’s tree service business.
Until this exact moment, he’d made a kind of tentative peace with it.
Peace that was abruptly shattered when a familiar pair of sea-green eyes glared out at him from the front window of Star-Crossed metaphysical boutique.
A powerful wave of déjà vu rocked Cy back on his battered work boots as the midnight-blue velvet curtains jerked closed.
This wasn’t the first time he’d been on the receiving end of Lyra McKendrick’s ocular wrath.
She had stared him down every time fate saw fit to fuck with him by shoving her into his path.
He’d heard of someone undressing you with their eyes, but usually that stopped when the skin layer had been reached. The look Lyra wielded could peel the flesh from a weaker man’s bones.
And Cy had earned it.
Had earned it in ways he tried really hardnotto think about as he stood on the front porch, waiting. He’d already had enough trouble keeping his mind in check just after hearing her voice on the phone.
Seven years, and still that throaty purr reached right for his cock.
Which was weird, considering Lyra had sounded like having to call him to come look at the mammoth ash tree in the shop’s small yard was right up there with chewing glass.
Her words had been polite enough. It was thewayshe said them that madeThank yousound likeFuck all the way off and sit on a drill bit when you get there.
Cy cast a wary look down at his utility belt, which held several drill bits in varying sizes.
No thanks.
He knocked on the thick wooden door a second time, setting the wreath of witch bells jingling.
Hearing the floorboards creak on the other side of the door, he stepped back quickly, wincing as the sudden movement sent a searing flash of nerve pain through his left leg.
He shifted his weight, allowing himself to mentally dick-punch his orthopedic surgeon, who had assured him the pain would gradually lessen over time.
Five fucking years ago.
The door swung open, and Cy experienced a moment of profound disorientation at seeing Lyra’s face beaming a broad smile at him.
Because she wasn’t Lyra, but her twin sister, Gemma. A fact that her colorful hand-knit sweater vest and plaid skirt would have given away, even if the noticeable lack of a homicidal glare hadn’t.
“Hey, Cy!” she said. “So good to see you!”
“Hey, Gemma. How’s it—Christ.”
Having visited Star-Crossed at least once a month for the last several years, Cy was used to the place’s distinctive aroma as part of the greeting.
