by Nicole Snow
“It’s all I’ve got, and we’re the only hotel in town.” He folds his arms on the counter and leans toward me. I catch a faint whiff of rum, but not enough to drive me back. “Listen. I’m not about to let a lady in distress and a little girl sleep in their dang car in a strange town. I’ll give you a discounted rate. Only charge you what I would for a single room. How’s that sound?”
I twist my lips. “Name your rate.”
“Sixty-five per night. How's that sound?”
I whistle softly. That’s really not bad at all.
Back in Seattle, sixty-five dollars a night wouldn’t even get you one of those cheap motels with the anonymously painted prints. More like the kind of place where people pay to live there by the week and police are in the parking lot every night. A place like this – half an entire duplex?
Yeah. I’d say we just lucked out when it comes to places to break down.
I look out the window, pretending to mull it over a little longer.
What do I have to lose?
The scenery’s nice, the atmosphere’s pretty, the lodgings are cheap...and I could use a little downtime somewhere quiet and relaxing to get past my Bitter Betty stage and move on with life.
Maybe it's meant to be.
I nod, imagining the next week. We’ll stay until the Mustang’s fixed, then onward to Billings.
“All right. Sold,” I say, digging in my purse for my wallet and my credit card. “Who’s in the other side of the duplex, by the way? Just so I won’t bother them.”
“Oh—him.” The way he says it is a half snort. Almost ominous, but he waves it off with a shake of his head. “Don’t worry, miss. He’ll keep to himself. He’s just a harmless grouch. Minds his own business 'cause that's all he ever minds. You probably won’t even see him.”
I arch a brow but pass my credit card across with a shrug.
Everybody’s got their own way of doing things, and I’m not one to judge. I’ll likely want to be left alone myself, minus the always entertaining company of my pint-sized sidekick.
“Is it too late to call the mechanic to at least get a quote?” I ask, watching him punch in my information on the keyboard behind the desk.
“Nah. I’ll ring him up for you while y'all get settled. I need your number anyway for the register.”
“Thanks.” I rattle off my number quickly, along with my old home address and billing zip code.
Technically, I guess right now I’m homeless. I wasted no time walking the hell out and breaking our lease after Eddy's two-timing escapades, but the old Seattle digits will do for now.
While my trusty attendant hums to himself, I turn around, taking in the room around me.
This place has a soft touch to it, little vases full of fresh-cut pink peonies everywhere, gauzy white curtains draped over the windows so the sunlight makes them glow as it streams in. The light gives the room a sort of quiet, muted radiance.
It’s nice. I’d like to paint the special way the light beams in, turning almost misty as it slants across the carpet. Whoever owns this place has an eye for comfort, and I throw a glance back at the front desk, suspecting it's not him.
Perfect timing. The old man’s done, printing out my receipt to sign, and pushing a key across the desk just as Tara comes out of the bathroom, moving in that prim, princess-like way that says she’s got her groove back with her bladder weighing a pound less, thank you very much.
I toss her a grin and turn to thank the old man, swiping the key and my card in exchange for a pen scribble.
“Thanks,” I say. “What’s your name?”
“Flynn,” he answers. “Flynn Bitters. At your service anytime.”
“Thanks, Mr. Bitters,” I say, lifting my hand in a wave. “Just have the mechanic give me a call. No need to rush, we can probably stay a few days.”
Tara looks up at me with wide eyes as we step outside into the brisk, warm summer afternoon. “We’re...staying here?”
“Just for a little while,” I answer. “Call it a mini-vacay until the car’s straightened out. We’ll soak up the sun, kick up our feet, maybe take in the sights and try some local food. This place looks fun.”
She wrinkles her nose. “I dunno, Auntie Hay. It’s so tiny...there wasn’t even a name on Google.”
“There was a name on the sign we passed,” I point out and grin. “My darling tagalong, welcome to the illustrious town of Heart’s Edge.”
The numbered duplex cabin we’ve been assigned to is actually around the back of the main plantation house, almost toward the far edge of the property.
Good. Plenty of privacy.
It’s one of the larger cottages, made of unfinished dark wood, maybe cedar or fir. Just looking at it screams it's modernly simplistic and sweetly rustic with its wooden siding and wraparound porch and tall floor-to-ceiling windows to the sides and back.
But what really gives it soul is the view. The whole unit looks out on a long slope leading down to a cliff with a stunning valley view rolling right up the foot of the mountains.
My heart does a somersault when I'm really able to stop and breathe and take it in.
There’s even a hot tub out back. I find it while we're scouting around the little porch, which is settled right in the middle. So, no question that the occupants of both sides either have to share or come up with some kind of scheduling agreement. There’s no one around, though, so once we’re tucked away and settled in, I might just take a little dip to get rid of the soreness from driving.
Once we’ve finished snooping around outside, we step back up the porch stairs and try the key in the lock on the left side. It jiggles and...doesn't do anything.
No go. Weird.
Bitters must've told us the wrong number. He told us we were Cabin 31-A, not 31-B.
No big deal. I slip the key into the lock for 31-B on the right side, and it twists open immediately.
We step into a cozy space, full of light shining off soft wood tones, with furniture in dark, earthy, welcoming shades. It’s a little like Martha Stewart meets Mountain Home Magazine, and I’m loving the vibe.
My niece creeps in shyly behind me, peering around.
“We're fine. Looks newer in here than I would've guessed.” I flash Tara a disarming smile and dump my bag on the sofa. “Let’s check out the beds. This place looks big enough that we might even get separate bedrooms.”
“If we don’t,” she says chirpily, already heading toward the hall, “we can just act like it’s a sleepover!”
I can’t help watching her fondly as I follow.
She’s so resilient, so adaptable, putting the best face on everything. I miss when I was still that bright and optimistic and easily excited. But heck, maybe I can take a life lesson or two from a ten-year-old bumblebee.
Find the bright side to everything, appreciate new, and just move on.
But I'm too busy moving into the first bedroom off the hall to guess what's coming.
A big, rough hand grips my shoulder, spins me around, and the wall thumps hard against my back.
Holy –
Before I even have time to blink, there's a behemoth on me, a charging bull, appearing out of nowhere, walling me off in muscle and pine scent and dark, wily ink.
I'm too shocked to even scream.
So I yelp instead, my heart rocketing up the back of my throat, my pulse spiking.
Half a second later, I'm staring up into a grim, tight-locked, sharply handsome face and livid, hard blue eyes that bore into me as this giant of a man bears down.
He tightens his grip. Pins me to the wall with enough strength to make me feel like a gnat and enough body heat to make me feel like I’ve stepped into a furnace, burning off him in waves that touch me from head to toe.
“How the fuck did you get in here?” he demands, snarling low, a vibrating growl I can practically feel slamming into me. “Who sent you? Does Bress know? Is he coming?”
Holy hell.
This is new, and I'm frozen.
/> I’m not used to oversized men grabbing me and barking questions.
My brain can’t decide between panic and anger or whether this asshole is getting handsy with me.
It settles on deer in headlights. Or maybe possum. Yep, that’s me.
Trigger my fight or flight instinct, and I don’t do either.
I just lock up.
Don’t ever ask me to have your back in a bar fight. I’m useless.
Tara’s more useful, though, because as she comes out of the other bedroom and gets one look at us, she belts out a shriek that could lift roofs for the next mile.
The giant whips back, letting go of one of my shoulders and whirling toward her.
Then I guess I’m not so useless after all.
Because the very second it looks like he’s even thinking about going near Tara, everything in me fires up and I shove his other hand away roughly, glowering.
“Get your hands off me, you prick!” I snap.
He just blinks, dumbfounded, his massive fists suddenly hanging at his sides.
He’s tall – Redwood tall, to the point where I’m not quite sure how he fits in the hallway when his head is almost brushing the ceiling, his black hair a tangle just an inch away from the stucco.
His t-shirt looks more like something he painted on over thick, corded muscle with not an ounce of softness over chisels hard enough to cut someone. The blue fabric seems only subtly different from the texture of the tattoos snaking down his thick, bulging arms – a maze of patterns, stylized letters, and one simple one with the name Jenna etched in tiny script.
He drags a hand over his bearded face, the calluses on his palms audibly scraping against his stubble, still staring at Tara.
“Fuck. That,” he growls, “is a kid.”
“No shit, Sherlock,” I bite off. “And she’s with me. Stay away from her.”
He jerks back toward me.
Big mistake.
Without waiting around for another opportunity, I smash my purse across his bluntly handsome jaw, whipping it across his face hard enough to hopefully leave fucking alligator hide imprints in his swarthy skin.
He staggers back with a grunt. I dash past him, grabbing Tara’s hand and bolting for the door. “Come on!”
I should’ve known I wouldn’t get far. Goliath may be huge, but he moves like a cobra – lightning quick and lethal. We make it three steps back to the living room before he’s dodging around us, cutting us off, blocking the exit. Tara and I both draw up short, stumbling back.
“Move,” I growl, hefting my purse again threateningly.
Sure, it can't do much damage, but I doubt it’s fun eating a face full of leather.
Goliath folds his arms over his chest, squaring himself up and looking down at me sternly. “Not till I get some answers, lady,” he snarls.
“Answers to what? I just walked in here, and you started throwing me around like a freaking ping pong ball!”
“Yeah. You walked into my suite so—”
“Correction: it’s our suite,” I fling back, my face hot with frustration, brandishing the key like a tiny dagger. “Bought and paid for. I don’t know what the hell you’re doing in here. Maybe you should be the one giving some answers.”
Before I can even pull back, he yanks the key out of my hand.
Son of a—
“God damn.” He swears, peering at the key, then scrubs one hand over his face with a tired groan. When he looks at me again, he actually looks apologetic, his sky-blue eyes darkening to a simmering liquid cobalt. “Flynn gave you the wrong key. Sorry.” His jaw tightens. “Move along. I’ll get this straightened out.”
I bite my lip. I really don’t like being ordered around like this.
But I also don’t want to be standing in the middle of the Incredibly Pissed Off Hulk's living space.
Reluctantly, I drag myself outside as he throws the door open for us, Tara trailing in my wake.
God. I really hope he prefers keeping to himself. Because the thought of spending a few days bumping into this jackass again just put a major damper on my idea of a relaxing mini-vacation.
But as he steps out onto the porch, slams the door, and locks it, I can’t help lingering on the tight taper of his body as he walks away.
Why is it always the hot ones with personalities like an acid bath?
Even if he’s a jackass, he’s nice to look at.
Those jeans love his hips too much, and they seem pretty fond of his thighs, too.
His shoulders roll as he lopes with that kind of powerful strength that says half of it comes from learning to carry and manage his own massive bulk.
And his ink...Lord have mercy. We're talking tattoos so wild, so intense, so intricate they call to my artist's soul like a raging fire lures every moth.
I only got a few good looks at his scowling face, and it wasn't half bad either.
Midnight-blue eyes. Trimmed beard. Hair just a little too dark and thick, joining with his beard to form a rough halo of explosive testosterone around his face.
So there’s something about that.
Something I like.
Maybe it's because Eddy was nothing like him, skinny and refined and boy pretty.
Maybe it's because Eddy hid his rotten personality too well, while Mr. Goliath wears his asshole badge on his sleeve.
Maybe it's because I'm still just trying to decipher what the hell even happened.
See? I am picking up Tara’s habits, looking at the bright side.
Tara frowns, draping herself against the porch railing, watching him go. “He was kind of a butt, wasn't he, Auntie Hay?”
“Swear jar,” I remind her and sigh, leaning next to her. “I think he’s our new neighbor for the next few days.”
“Where’s he going?”
“I guess,” I say, “he’s going to swap our key.”
I can't shake that gnawing feeling as we stand around a little longer.
Please, just this once, let something go right.
Please just let the key swap be the end of my drama with this caveman and his temper tantrums.
Want to read more? Get No Perfect Hero HERE!
About Nicole Snow
Nicole Snow is a Wall Street Journal and USA Today bestselling author. She found her love of writing by hashing out love scenes on lunch breaks and plotting her great escape from boardrooms. Her work roared onto the indie romance scene in 2014 with her Grizzlies MC series.
Since then Snow aims for the very best in growly, heart-of-gold alpha heroes, unbelievable suspense, and swoon storms aplenty.
Already hooked on her stuff? Sign up for her newsletter here for exclusive offers and more from your favorite characters!
Follow her on Bookbub here for new release updates.
Her website is nicolesnowbooks.com
Got a question or comment on her work? Reach her anytime at [email protected]
Thanks for reading. And please remember to leave an honest review! Nothing helps an author more.
More Books by Nicole
Heroes of Heart’s Edge Books
No Perfect Hero
No Good Doctor
Enguard Protectors Books
Still Not Over You
Still Not Into You
Still Not Yours
Still Not Love
Stand Alone Novels
Accidental Hero
Accidental Romeo
Accidental Protector
Accidental Knight
Cinderella Undone
Man Enough
Surprise Daddy
Prince With Benefits
Marry Me Again
Love Scars
Recklessly His
Stepbrother UnSEALed
Stepbrother Charming
Baby Fever Books
Baby Fever Bride
Baby Fever Promise
Baby Fever Secrets
Only Pretend Books
Fiance on Paper
One Night Bride
Grizzlies MC Books
Outlaw’s Kiss
Outlaw’s Obsession
Outlaw’s Bride
Outlaw’s Vow
Deadly Pistols MC Books
Never Love an Outlaw
Never Kiss an Outlaw
Never Have an Outlaw’s Baby
Never Wed an Outlaw
Prairie Devils MC Books
Outlaw Kind of Love
Nomad Kind of Love
Savage Kind of Love
Wicked Kind of Love
Bitter Kind of Love