3. Hannah

Chapter 3

Hannah

T elling myself I was focused on fixing up the B&B and getting it running, that I wasn’t interested in a new relationship, especially after finding my ex in bed with my best friend, was one thing.

Reylor drawling about how amazing he was in my ear was another.

Let alone his use of sweetheart .

I wasn’t a nickname kind of girl. Him calling me something many would find patronizing shouldn’t make my skin tingle.

Yet it did.

Because I wasn’t interested in a repeat of the static shock thing I’d experienced when we touched in the reception area, I put a few feet between us.

“Ride with me?” he drawled, his heated gaze traveling down my front.

My body responded with more tingles.

Why, oh, why couldn’t I keep my face from overheating? He wasn’t talking about any other riding than inside his truck.

“Sure,” I said. I could walk. I should walk. But we were talking a mile or so here. Driving, he’d reach my place within minutes, while it would take me fifteen to catch up.

Time was money, and I was sure his clock was ticking.

Reminding myself of that made it easier to ignore the heavy look in his eyes and his raspy voice—somewhat.

With a pressed-on smile, I walked across the road with him and over to a bright red truck.

“Pretty,” I said as he opened the passenger door.

“Dragons love sparkly things. Brightly colored things.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Now why was I considering painting my bedroom red? I preferred neutral colors. Pale green. Light gray. Nothing splashy that made me—or my home—stand out.

Before I could step onto the running board, he scooped me up and plunked me in the passenger seat.

“There you go, sweetheart,” he said.

He shut the door before I could sputter and tell him I was perfectly capable of climbing into a truck on my own.

Before I could remind him not to call me sweetheart.

I swore he winked as he strolled around the front of the truck and climbed inside the driver’s seat.

Reaching across me, he grabbed the seatbelt and buckled me in.

“Sorry,” I muttered, feeling foolish. I never drove without putting on my belt. Instead of taking care of it like I should, I’d sat here, feeling stunned and overwhelmed by this guy already.

This was a business relationship. He wasn’t asking me out. Even if he was, I’d turn him down.

Right?!

Fortunately, I didn’t have to decide as he started his truck and, with a rumble, pulled it out onto Main Street, following my directions to Blakemore House.

He parked in the driveway and shut off the engine. “Good bones,” he said, studying my new acquisition.

“I love it,” I gushed, overcome all over again by the heady feeling I’d experienced when I drove from Boston to check out the place. A realtor friend of my father’s had mentioned it was going on the market soon, tipping me off because she knew I was looking for something like this. I’d rushed here that very day and made an offer before I stepped through the front door on my way out. My offer was accepted, and here I was, the proud owner of a potentially haunted B&B.

“Do you think the building being haunted could be turned into an asset rather than a handicap?” I asked, nibbling on my thumbnail.

“It might if the ghost is friendly.” He flashed me another smile, and I didn’t like the way his gaze smoldered as it traveled across my face because it made me want to simper.

I unbuckled before he could do it for me and shoved open the door, sliding out of the seat to land squarely on the ground.

Meeting up with him in front of the truck, I swept my hand toward the left side of the building. “This way. I use the back entrance most of the time.” Partly because a few porch floorboards needed replacing. Also because the front door needed to be sanded and re-stained. I’d already done a lot of work on the back of the building.

I led him down the path with meticulously pruned and weeded flower beds on each side, gesturing to them with pride as we passed. “I redid these in one afternoon. My dad always said I had a way with plants.”

“They look wonderful. So colorful.” He tilted his head to gaze up at the three-story structure that had been built like a square block. “Such a gorgeous building. I can see why you’re excited. It’ll make a perfect B&B.”

“The piece de resistance,” I said grandly when we stopped at the end of the path, waiting for his reaction to the view of the ocean gleaming in the distance. I grinned as his eyes widened.

“Wow,” he said. “Wow.”

I loved that he wasn’t pretending.

“So beautiful,” he added.

I eagerly led him across the stone patio I’d scheduled to weed this weekend. I’d placed a few pieces of wicker furniture out here already, though just a chair for me, a few for guests, plus a table where I set my morning coffee. The cute basket with a soft pillow was for Max, though he scorned it, preferring to lie beneath my chair on the stones. Wasn’t that just like a cat to be ornery about things like that?

I’d set up the rest of the wicker furniture I’d purchased when I was closer to receiving guests.

Speaking of Max. He took this moment to saunter out of the overgrown bushes on our right—another upcoming project.

“Hey, kitty.” Reylor squatted down and held out his hand toward my lion-in-a-housecat’s body.

“Watch out.” I scooted between them. “Max is picky about people.” Me too. Everything, actually.

“Animals love me.”

Max paused with his spiked tail twitching, his attention focused on Reylor, who continued to hold his hand out like bait.

“Truly,” I said. “He’s been known to bite and scratch when he—"

Max swished around me, smacking me with his tail as he passed. He leaped onto Reylor’s bent legs and proceeded to place his front paws on Reylor’s chest. Then he bumped his nose on Reylor’s chin and started purring.

“Like I said.” Reylor gazed up at me with humor sparkling in his eyes. “Animals like me. Cute B&B owners too.”

If he could win Max over that easily, my heart was in grave danger.

Should I chide him for saying something like that? Tell him I was in town to start a business, not a relationship? Shout that once-bitten, I was at least three times shy?

“Aren’t you a cutie?” Reylor crooned.

If only I wasn’t picturing us lounging in my bed while he said the same thing to me.

Max purred louder and rubbed his face on Reylor’s, his tail doing a lazy sway that said he’d found a new human to adore.

“He’s—”

On cue, Max’s head snapped up along with his tail. He hissed and leaped off Reylor’s legs and snarled his way back into the bushes.

“Well.” Reylor straightened.

“There you are,” someone called out from the side of the building. “I hear voices. You won’t be avoiding me now.”

Please, could I avoid her?

Evelyn’s gaze met mine from the end of the path, and the woman about five years older than my thirty hurried over to stand in front of me—tower in front of me, actually, since she was five-ten or so even without her boots and me only five-four in heels. “You didn’t return my text messages,” she said with a huff, her fists spiking into her hips. “I’m quite put-out, I’ll have you know. It’s rude.”

“I’m busy.”

“Never too busy for me.”

“Reylor Crandish?” I struggled to keep a pleasant expression on my face. “This is Evelyn Blakemore. Reylor is Monsters, PI’s latest hire.”

Her breath caught, and her face paled. “PI?”

“Former detective,” Reylor said with a suave bow. “You could say I’m semi-retired.”

He appeared to be only a few years older than me. Kinda early for retirement, but what did I know?

“I’m Evelyn Blakemore of the Blakemore Inn Group, I might add,” she said with a sniff. Her lavender eyes slid toward Reylor and widened when she got over her snit long enough to actually check him out. “Oh,” she breathed. “Aren’t you the very devil himself.”

Yes, he was cute. He also wasn’t wearing a wedding band, something I’d noticed quite quickly. But that didn’t mean he was available.

She continued to gape at him, me forgotten.

Reylor coughed, and his lips twitched before smoothing. “Dragon shifter, actually. No demon blood unless you know something I don’t.”

“Excuse me?” she said.

“I’m a dragon shifter.”

“Oh.” She sputtered for a moment, perhaps not knowing what to say to that. As far as I knew, he was the only dragon shifter in town. Orcs and yetis were much more common. “I’m Evie to my friends.” She delicately held her hand out his way. Her eyelashes fluttered fast enough she might be able to use them to lift off the ground. Then she could soar over the path along the side of the house and keep flying all the way into town. “My grandfather owned Blakemore House and this,” her sweet smile faded fast when she turned her sharp gaze my way, “this interloper refuses to sell it to me. Me! If anyone should be opening an exclusive inn here, it’s Blakemore Group. I’ll have you know that the Blakemores, my side of the family, that is,” she simpered, “have run an exquisite chain of inns for many generations. Surely, you’ve heard of the Blakemore Inn Group?”

While his gaze shot from me to her, then back to me, Reylor scratched the back of his neck. “No, I haven’t.”

Her snort rang out. “I’m the acquisitions manager. This woman,” her finger poked toward me, “refuses to relinquish this property to those who should justly own it.”

As she’d already told me at least ten times. If nothing else, she was persistent. “I bought it from the estate.”

“Without my consent.”

“The realtor, the bank, and the lawyers didn’t mention your name during the closing. I bought it from your aunt, actually. Justin’s daughter.”

“And my father is his deceased son. I was out of the country when it happened. By the time I saw the email, you’d snatched it up. Sell it to me. I’ll give you a tidy profit, and you can walk away and find a new place to fix up for your quaint B&B.”

“I’m not selling,” I said firmly, pointing to the path. “I’ve told you that more than once. Please leave. We have things to do.”

Evelyn snarled, though her face smoothed when she looked Reylor’s way. “Perhaps you can talk some sense into this silly woman.”

Reylor’s brow narrowed, and the irritation in his amber eyes reminded me why villagers ran when a dragon swooped overhead. And we’d thought all that shooting flames stuff was fiction. “I believe you’ve been asked to leave the property,” he bit out. “As a licensed law enforcement officer, I’ll be happy to escort you to the sidewalk if you . . . can’t find your way.” Smoke, literal smoke, curled from his nostrils.

“Well,” she grumbled, pivoting on her heel. “You haven’t heard the last of me.”

With that, she stalked back down the side path. The growl of her engine reached us not long after, followed by a squeal of tires.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“Not your problem.” He continued to glare in that direction. “Evelyn Blakemore?”

“Yes, that’s her name.”

“She’s just taken the number one spot on my suspect list.”