Page 8 of Scarred Bride

At the front door, Heath glides a key into the lock. Shouldering his way in, he drops the bags and pulls his weapon.

Ice crystals form in my veins as he makes a sweep of the house. I envision bullets zinging around the walls and bodies hitting the floor.

In seconds, Heath returns and tucks the weapon back into the front of his jeans. His stare is blank to all emotion. Who can blame him for not wanting to be here?

“Stay here. I’ll get the rest of the things from the truck,” he says.

As he walks past me, I inhale a deep gulp of air.

Not because I’m starved for oxygen or have been holding my breath.

I do it out of habit. And I still love the way he smells.

Tears sting at the backs of my eyes, but I will not cry. The Heath I knew years ago didn’t shed a tear, and this hardened man I see before me nowreallywon’t.

I pick up the bags he dropped in the entrance and turn to look around the cabin. If the outside resembles a movie set, the inside is ten times more so. I’m so shocked at the cozy plaid chairs, the leather sofa complete with cuddly chenille throw blankets and fat pillows that I can hardly grasp the light wood walls or the big stone fireplace already laid with firewood.

When I wander into the small but quaint kitchen with more of the same rustic country charm, I can’t help but compare it to the sleek sexy kitchen back at Heath’s condo. The old-fashioned stove looks like it’s never been cooked on.

“What do you think?” His question has me spinning to face him. “Does it look like a good place to hide from the Stepanovs?”

Slowly, I nod. “It’s beautiful and cozy. Do you bring your women here to cook for you? Or do you operate out of this cabin like your dad did out of the autobody shop?”

Too late, I realize what I’ve said. Heath’s eyes narrow. “I caution you to watch what you say to me, Serenity.” His tone is deep, dark, gritty. It sends a shiver of lust between my legs.

Suddenly, he takes a step toward me. I back up, my spine hitting the quartz counter, and crane my neck all the way back to look at him.

“Understand?” His whisper is a rough lash against my senses. His eyes deepen from the pale blue of worn denim to a tumultuous sea.

I give a jerky nod in return.

He reaches around me and plunks one of the bags of food on the counter. Then steps back. “Put this shit away. I’ve gotta make some calls.”

I blink at the command. “Did you just tell me to be the little woman and play an archaic domestic role?” I spout off before I think.

He stops in his tracks and slowly pivots his head to pierce me in his glare. “I told you to do something that needs to be done while I take care of the businessyoudragged me into.”

Gulping, I shrink against the counter. There are no words for how I feel about his treatment.

Like I deserve it because of what my father did to his family.

That Heath is right—I dragged him into this mess, and now it’s up to me to listen to him.

After he leaves the room, I hear a door close in some other part of the big cabin. I start loading food into the refrigerator and the cupboards. When I’m finished, I pull out the coffeemaker and brew a pot just to keep my hands busy. I don’t want coffee—I’m jittery enough. And I have no idea if Heath will drink it, but performing the small, menial task calms me.

With nothing else to distract myself from the insanity of the evening rolling through my mind on loop, I drift throughout the cabin, drinking in the charm. In some other life, I’d deserve to spend time in a place like this, with a husband coming in from outdoors, his arms filled with wood for the fire. I’d step up to him and dust the snow off the shoulders of his plaid coat. He’d laugh and look into my eyes before kissing me on the lips.

“Serenity.”

My fantasy vanishes and I realize Heath called my name.

Turning, I meet his eyes.

“We need to talk.”

Fear works through me again, edging out any calm I managed to gain over the past few minutes. On stiff, wooden legs I walk to the sofa and sink onto the plush cushion.

I never thought Heath would fit into such a rustic setting like this, but when he takes the plaid chair, he looks totally at ease. He outstretches one long leg and leans back to study me.

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