Harper’s [POV]
As we head back to the inn, I catch a head of icy-blonde hair through the slats of the gazebo. Dressed in all black, James stands out in the lively green of the garden. He’s looking down, but as I stare, his head snaps up to meet mine.
Beau stops and sighs. “I’m going to go ahead.” He takes the basket from me, and I frown. “My brother wants to talk to you.”
“Your brother?” I echo.
“Foster brother.”
“Oh,” I mumble. James doesn’t stop staring at me, and I bite my lip.
“I doubt he wants anything to do with me,” I say hesitantly. “I don’t think he’s a big fan of mine.”
Beau chuckles. “He’s just dramatic. He’s always been the most emotional out of all of us. You don’t have to talk to him, of course. But maybe he’s going to apologize for being an asshole to you.”
“You heard about that?” I ask.
“Yeah. Charlotte told me. Do you want to come with me, or maybe stay out here some more?” Beau asks.
I should walk away. I should break eye contact with the psychotic brother and follow the rational one inside.
But there’s a pull in my chest, and every instinct in me screams to go to him.
I intend to find out why.
“I’ll see you inside,” I murmur, and Beau heads down the stone path, away from the gazebo and back to the Inn. Wilson follows close behind him.
Damn it. Not even the cat for backup.
James’s icy eyes are a mixture of hypnotic and frightening. He stares at me expectantly as I make my way up the wooden steps of the gazebo, my gut churning with anxiety.
I should have gone with Beau.
What the hell am I doing?
James frightens me, but in a different way than Michael.
He’s frightening in a way that makes my stomach flip and my skin flush. Electricity flows through my veins, and my arms tingle as I catch his scent.
He stays seated, dressed in a black long-sleeved shirt and pants, a closed sketchbook in his lap.
He cocks an eyebrow at me expectantly.
“Are you enjoying your stay, Princess?” His voice is low, barely above a murmur. Princesslingers on his tongue a little too long, and his wicked smile is back.
My womb throbs, an embarrassing rush of pleasure warming my body.
This was a mistake. I glance back towards Beau, who has already disappeared from my sight.
“Sit.”
I swallow, my gaze turning back to James. The urge to obey him is powerful, and I shakily sit across from his massive frame, my heart pounding.
Danger danger danger!
He doesn’t move, though. He just stares, as he did the night before, his eyes searching mine.
“What are you drawing?” I blurt out, gesturing towards the sketchbook.
He doesn’t answer. Instead, his pupils widen, and he tilts his head curiously.
He’s looking at my scar again.
Damn it. If Beau had noticed my scar, he didn’t make a big deal out of it. But James looks at it like it’s the most interesting thing he’s ever seen.
I self-consciously duck my head, letting my hair hang to cover the pink skin.
“The scarred Princess,” he murmurs, “back from the dead.”
“What?”
“You don’t have to hide it, you know,” he continues. “It tells a story. All our scars tell stories.”
His scent wafts over me, the richness making my senses cloudy.
Even with a clear head, I wouldn’t understand what he’s saying.
“You don’t know me,” I insist. “This tells you nothing.” I move the lock of hair away from my face, exposing my mark, and his gaze softens.
“You’re right,” he says quietly. “I don’t, Harper.”
His sudden mood changes give me emotional whiplash.
Yet I can’t move from my spot in the gazebo. He’s a mystery, one I intend to solve. I have the urge to figure out who he is and what secrets he hides.
I long to know more about him, Beau, and Grey.
Besides, it’s not like I’ll ever see them again. I’m here for less than a week, and then…
“I’d like to get to know you,” he murmurs.
My body flushes with heat again, the warmth in my lower stomach flaring to life as my mouth turns dry.
His peppery scent intensifies, and my head spins with nothing but James, as his gaze burns into me.
I let my guard down just a small amount.
“That makes two of us,” I sigh. “I’m trying to figure out who I am again.”
“Again?” he asks carefully.
I swallow and my chest tightens.
He looks at me as if I’m the most important thing in the world to him, and it gives me the strength to continue.
“My memories are fuzzy before the car crash,” I whisper. “I don’t know who I was before that.”
“How so?” he asks, his eyes narrowing.
I take in a shaky breath, his scent making my head spin.
“You can tell me, Princess,” he whispers.
When did tears fill my eyes? Why am I pouring my heart out to a stranger?
Blinking back the embarrassing tears, I allow the awful truth to fall from my lips.
“I think my boyfriend was lying to me about who I was.”
James doesn’t blink. It’s disconcerting, and I panic as he clenches his hands into fists at his sides.
“Boyfriend?” He spits the word.
“Yes?” I say, confused. “Ex-boyfriend, now. He told me who I was before the accident. But I think he may have lied.”
The truth is vile.
I don’t know who I am.
James’s jaw ticks and his nostrils flare. “What did he tell you?”
His reaction frightens me. He’s just as unhinged as the night before.
I’ve made a mistake.
“Nothing really,” I whisper. “Just that I didn’t have a lot of friends. And that I liked to stay at home with him, watching television and movies. He made me out to be very boring, and I’m not sure I agree with him.”
Tears fill my vision again, and I’m moments away from sobbing.
There’s a beat of silence.
“How long were you with him?” he demands.
“What? Why?”
“How. Long. Were. You. With. Him?”
Is he jealous?
“Why do you want to know?” I choke out, confused.
His gaze is sinister. “Because,” he says slowly, “I need to know the best way to kill him.”
What the hell?
I’m up and out of the gazebo before I can think, racing down the stone pathway toward the Inn.
James laughs behind me.
I vow never to be alone with him again.