Page 1 of Wicked William

Chapter One

William Duke

Through the front windowof my living room, I watch as a walking kaleidoscope of a woman approaches my doorstep. Her flowing skirts ripple around her ankles, sunlight reflecting off the numerous crystals she’s wearing. The scarf around her neck is Dr. Who-long with glitter and tassels. Her hair is a rich red, long and curly.

Her eyes sparkle with mischief.

I don’t much care for mischief.

I’m uneasy and intrigued at the same time as I open my front door.

“William Duke,” she says, her voice a soft, low timbre with a raspy edge. “I’ve been looking for you.”

She’s gorgeous but can’t be more than twenty years old. I don’t know where a woman that young gets a voice like that. Shouldn’t be allowed.

I stand in the doorway, my arms crossed over my chest and brow furrowed. It’s usually enough to send a person scurrying in the other direction. Doesn’t seem to faze the young hippie in front of me.

She’s hot as fuck. But too young for a man my age to notice her that way. But notice her I do.

I already know I don’t like her. Something about her tips me past grumpy and right into cantankerous. I’m already mad about the intrusion into my carefully ordered life, and I haven’t even heard why she’s here.

It’s not easy to have a carefully ordered life when you’re the middle Duke brother. I’ve spent my entire life trying to do damage control because of my brothers. Max, the oldest, is an idea man and always has been. The ideas are never well planned and got us into a lot of scrapes as kids. The problem is that I usually went along with them because our little brother, Dillon, idolized Max. Someone needed to look out for Dillon.

Max and his ideas are why the three of us moved back to Tempest, our hometown, last summer because Max had a grand plan to save the town. I left my thriving woodworking business in Los Angeles to go home again. Something we’d sworn we’d never do when they ran us out all those years ago.

It turned out all right, I suppose. Max has been appointed interim mayor and is getting married next week. Dillon is happy and engaged to his pregnant fiancée. And I’m happy as long as I’m working with my hands. After nine months of living in Tempest, my feet are on solid ground again.

But I have a bad feeling the woman on my stoop is going to pull the rug out from my feet on this solid ground I’ve found. She looks like trouble. Sounds like trouble. She even smells like trouble. Some herby tea scent that should be cozy but isn’t.

“Maisy Kincaid,” she says, extending a hand adorned with rings of various gemstones and bangles that tinkle like music on her wrists. “I had a vision, Mr. Duke. A vision that brought me here—to save your life.”

That’s a new one.

“Of course you did.” I pinch the bridge of my nose. “What kind of vision?” I ask, even though I have no interest in the answer.

“Um,” she sighs, running her fingers through her wild, untamed hair. “That’s where things getinteresting. I saw danger looming over you, but the details were...hazy. I just know I’m meant to be here, to protect you.”

The idea of this woman protecting me is laughable. I’m not a small man. And I’m not a man who backs down from a fight or needs someone to protect him. I’m no damsel in distress.

It should be laughable, but I don’t laugh. Instead, I narrow my eyes and study her. She seems earnest enough, but I spent enough time in LA with people who claim to have visions to know better.

Next she’ll pull out a deck of cards and need cash to lift the evil eye. Or something equally nonsensical.

“Listen, Ms. Kincaid,” I say, my voice low and even. “I appreciate your concern, but I don’t need protection. I can take care of myself.”

She tilts her head to the side, studying me intently. “Can you, though? Can any of us really take care of ourselves? Or do we all need a little help sometimes?”

No, no we don’t. “I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing, but I don’t have time for this.”

Her eyes flash with hurt before she quickly composes herself. “I understand your skepticism, Mr. Duke. But I assure you, this is no game. I’m here to help you, whether you believe it or not.”

I can’t deny that there’s something about this Maisy that draws me in. Her presence is magnetic, a stark contrast to the rigid orderliness that defines my life. A part of me wants to slam the door in her face, while another part wonders if there might be some truth to her words. And another part of me, my damn cock, has an opinion of its own and would very much like to get to know Maisy better.

She’s too young. Too flaky.Down, boy.

“Please, at least hear me out. Otherwise I’ll just camp out on your doorstep all night.”

I do not doubt this. She looks like the kind of crazy that would do that very thing.

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