items.
Thank fuck. So, this is how it is to shop for yourself? What a nightmare. I pull out my phone, depress the buttons on the keypad. When my driver comes on the line I tell him, "I need a few things delivered to the cabin." I give him the list.
Arms full of shopping bags—I had to leave the shopping cart behind at the store—I step out and stalk toward the Volkswagen. Of course, she’s nowhere to be seen. Where the fuck is she?
I place the bags next to the car, look around. A familiar figure in tight jeans, coat buttoned to show off those curves, catches my eye. She’s talking to the man from the store—Hunter. What the fuck! My feet eat up the distance between us.
She reaches up, pats him on the shoulder, and a hot sensation stabs in my chest. I lengthen my strides, reach them. "Get away from her."
Hunter looks between us and frowns. "I didn’t mean any harm."
"Of course, you didn’t," she interjects.
I glare at her.
She pales.
"Go to the car."
She frowns.
"Now."
"But," she pouts, "I was only…"
I bend my knees, thrust my face into hers. "Do it," I command.
She opens her mouth, then seems to change her mind. Turning, she stalks off.
Thank fuck.
Can't let her out of my sight; got to keep her safe from anything untoward, and that includes strange men sniffing about her.
Hunter glances after her, "Everything okay?" He frowns.
"Shut the fuck up." I growl at him.
He turns to me, "You’re Weston?"
I stiffen.
"Dr Weston Kincaid, I presume?"
"How the fuck do you know my name?"
"I’m a friend of Damian’s."
"Hmph," I glare at him. "And you know him, how?"
"Our fathers are good friends."
"What are you doing here?"
"The same thing as you, I assume."
I frown.
He chuckles, "I am home for the holidays. I am also the MP for the area."
"Right." I roll my shoulders, "That why you were here? Campaigning?"
"Among other things." He smiles, "Anything you need." He holds out his hand, I ignore it.
"Stay away from her."
"You got it." He keeps his hand extended, "Take it, you never know when you might need help."
I ignore his hand while I stare at his face and something clicks, "You’re Hunter Whittington?"
He tilts his head.
"You’re standing for the upcoming elections."
A genuine smile splits his face, "Whew." He mock mops his brow. "My PR isn’t that bad then."
I jerk my chin. So, he’s a well-known politician, albeit one who’s being tipped to be the next Prime Minister. We’ll see.
I turn to leave.
"Make sure you stock up for the next few days."
"Why's that?" I ask.
"The weather," he says. "There’s a cold spell coming on."
15
Amelie
"Cold spell, is that what they’re calling it? More like, the Beast from the East," I grumble.
The wind whistles through the gaps in the shutters. I shiver, pull the shawl around my shoulders tighter. I’m sprawled out on a cushion, near the fireplace. Sir Grumpy Dickface here, had hauled in wood from the woodshed… Yep, this place has a freakin’ designated space where the wood blocks are stocked. All chopped by minions before the onset of winter. To my surprise, Alphahole here, had hauled enough wood in on his own—broken finger notwithstanding—and without protest. Okay, so maybe that’s unfair.
He’d helped me with my luggage, hadn’t balked about carrying the bags of groceries to the car and then to the house... He’d even ridden, without complaint, in the cramped passenger seat. Unlike the journey through the grocery shop, which had been interesting. In fact, I’d been half-expecting that he’d have called his own driver to ferry us to the village, but he hadn’t. Huh?
I shoot a sideways glance at the stony-faced man reading Harry Potter, Max at his feet. His hair is tousled—a perpetual just-rolled-out-of-bed look, which suits him too bloody well. He’d changed into a Henley and jeans, with soft moccasins on his feet, when we’d gotten home. Dinner had been…without incident… Actually, he hadn’t said a word. And that had been…a relief…or not. Maybe I prefer his alphaholish behavior…to this lack of communication which…seems uncharacteristic.
I clear my throat, then glance toward him. His head is bent over the book. He raises his cigar to take a puff. The scent of cloves and pinewood deepens.
I’d wanted to buy a Christmas Tree but I hadn’t raised it with him… Well, given how he’d blown his fuse at my talking with Hunter… It had been cute, actually, that fit of jealousy he’d exhibited. Not that he’d admit to it. He had nothing to be jealous of, of course, but it had