Chapter 3

Two months later…

"Fuck," Khai muttered under his breath when he tipped the flowerpot to its side and felt around for the key to his cabin. "What the hell?" It wasn't there. Had it fallen off the edge of the porch and gotten lost in the dirt?

Ugh. He'd driven too far to get here tonight to deal with the missing key. He was tired and grumpy and needed sleep. He probably should have stopped halfway and gotten a hotel for the night instead of driving straight through, but he'd wanted to wake up tomorrow in his cabin, not some hotel room.

After trudging back to his truck with a faint limp, he rubbed his sore leg, leaned in the passenger side, popped the glove compartment, and shined the flashlight from his phone into the small space. He had too much junk jammed in there, but he was pretty sure the original key to the cabin was among the shit.

Unfortunately, there were six keys tossed in there, and Khai held them all in his palm before deciding which two were more likely to be to the cabin as opposed to spare car keys, boat keys, or Lord only knew what.

Frustrated, he trudged back to the cabin. The second key he tried worked, and he blessedly opened the door.

Khai felt along the wall from memory, found the light switch, and flipped it on. Before he managed to turn back toward the open space, someone screamed, nearly scaring him out of his mind.

Khai jerked his gaze toward the sound of the noise. His bed. A woman was sitting in his bed, clutching the covers to her front. Her eyes were wide. They were also the most gorgeous shade of green he'd ever seen. And her hair. Shit. How long was it? He couldn't see the end of it. It was draped all around her. Strawberry blond. More blond than strawberry.

Was she naked? He could see her bare shoulders. He shifted his gaze all around, looking for another person, thinking probably some teenage couple had broken into his cabin to fuck, which pissed him off. How old was the woman anyway?

"Are you alone?" he asked her.

She sucked in a breath and nodded, eyes still wide.

He shut the door and dropped his duffle bag on the floor. "What are you doing here?"

She cringed and scampered back several inches, dragging the covers with her. She looked scared out of her mind.

He held up both hands. "I'm not going to hurt you." Now that he'd eliminated the idea of two teenagers using his cabin as a love nest, some of the anger left his sails.

This woman looked traumatized, two seconds from a full-on panic attack. When she finally started breathing, she was panting.

He stepped closer, not wanting to scare her. Jesus, she was fucking gorgeous. Her skin was creamy white with a touch of pink on her cheeks. She had freckles on her shoulders, but not as many as he would expect from someone with hair her color.

"Can you tell me your name?" he asked, hoping to get her to speak.

She stared at him. He began to wonder if she even spoke English. Except she had nodded at his previous question.

He pointed at himself. "I'm Khai. Khai Dervis. This is my cabin." He glanced around. The place was spotless. Everything was exactly how he'd left it, except the layer of dust he'd expected was missing.

A deep inhale indicated the scent of fried food. Had she cooked? Fish? This situation was beyond bizarre.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry." Her first words were muttered under her breath as she rocked back and forth, hugging the covers.

Khai pulled out a kitchen chair and lowered to sitting, leaning his elbows on his knees so he wouldn't look as imposing. He wasn't a small man. He was six-three. He was also broad, covered in tattoos, had a crewcut, and was littered with scattered scars. He scared a lot of people, especially when he was frowning, and he did that a lot. It seemed like all he'd done since he'd been medically discharged from the Army was frown and scowl.

School your features, man, he told himself. You're scaring the fuck out of her. And why did he care? She was trespassing on his property. It would appear she'd moved into his cabin. Made herself at home. Cooked and cleaned even.

Another close look at her told him she needed compassion, not reprimanding. At least she spoke English. He sat up straight and rubbed the back of his neck. "Looks like you've been here a while. I've never seen the place this clean." He forced a smile, hoping she might relax.

"I'm sorry," she repeated, barely audibly. She also dipped her face down, letting her hair fall all around her, nearly hiding behind it.

"It's okay, love. Apparently, you needed a place to stay. It's okay." Why the hell did he call her love? It had slipped out. He'd never called anyone love. It wasn't a natural endearment that would ordinarily come out of his mouth.

She blew out a breath, not meeting his gaze. At least her panic was subsiding.

"If you don't tell me your name, I'm going to call you Goldie."

Her brow was furrowed when she lifted her face.

He smiled. "You know, from Goldilocks. Someone's been sleeping in my bed, and she's still there."

Finally, she gave him the slightest smile. It lit up her face. It lit up the room. He desperately wanted to see it again.

It had been a damn long time since he'd been with a woman. He hadn't been on a single date since he'd returned to U.S. soil two years ago, and he certainly hadn't been sleeping with women while he'd been focused on his deployment.

He lifted a brow. "Name, love?"

She swallowed. "T- T- T-…Grace."

He chuckled. "I'm going to assume your real name starts with a T, but you're afraid to tell me what it is, so you'd like me to call you Grace."

She bit her lip, not responding.

He sighed. "I can call you Grace if that's what you'd like. You can even keep your secrets. For now." He reached down to untie his boot and tug it off before doing the same to the other.

After a quick glance at his sofa, he ran a hand down his face. Apparently, he would be sleeping on the couch tonight. He needed sleep more than he needed answers. This woman was harmless. She was scared out of her mind for one thing. She was obviously squatting in his cabin for a reason. Either she was homeless, or she was hiding from an abusive boyfriend—something of that nature.

He pushed to his feet, wincing at the twinge in his calf, and shuffled toward the bathroom. After closing the door, he pissed, brushed his teeth, and splashed water on his face.

When he turned around, he paused, uncertain what he was looking at. Something was hanging in his shower. Several things, actually. Taking a step closer, he realized three of his T-shirts were draped over the glass door. His laundry detergent sat next to the toilet. She'd apparently worn his shirts, washed them, and hung them to dry.

What kind of trouble was this girl in? Whatever it was, she wasn't a slob. He had a very tidy squatter on his hands.

Khai returned to the main room to find Grace in exactly the same spot where he'd left her. He approached slowly, pointing toward one of the pillows on his bed. "I'll sleep on the sofa, but may I use one of the pillows?"

She glanced at the pillow and then back at him. "You're going to sleep on the sofa?" she whispered incredulously.

"Yes. It's the middle of the night. I drove a long way to get here. I'm too tired to ask you more questions tonight. Promise me you won't stab me in my sleep?" He gave her a crooked smile as he reached for the pillow.

She gasped. "I was more worried you would stab me in my sleep. I'm the one trespassing."

"Well, it's your lucky day. I've never stabbed anyone to death for the crime of sleeping."

Her eyes went wide, and she licked her full pink lips. "Have you stabbed anyone for any other crime?"

He winced, pulled up the sleeve of his T-shirt, and pointed toward the tattoo on his biceps. "I was in the Army, deployed three times. So, unfortunately, yes, I have stabbed some people. None of them were women. All of them were threatening my life."

Khai had never told a single human any of that. Not a civilian anyway. He wasn't sure why he felt like he could or should share something so violent and descriptive, but it seemed Grace needed honesty, so he gave it to her.

Khai backed up toward the sofa. As badly as he wanted to climb into his nice warm bed and sleep for ten hours, instead, he was going to keep his damn jeans on and catch some Zs on the sofa.

"I can't take your bed," she murmured.

He fluffed the pillow and dropped it onto the end of the couch. "You already did," he pointed out.

"But, I mean now. Now that you're here."

He smiled at her. "Love, my mother raised me to be a gentleman, and a gentleman would never sleep in his bed and put a woman on the couch. You're fine. Go back to sleep. We'll talk more in the morning."

She slid onto her back, pulling the covers up to her chin. "Thank you," she whispered.

"You're welcome." Khai flipped off the overhead light, dropped onto his back on the couch, and took several deep breaths. What the fuck was going on here? Was he crazy? Should he have called the police or interrogated her until she talked?

However, neither of those options felt right. Grace—if that was even her name—needed compassion, not police. And Khai needed sleep. Perhaps he was far too trusting, but he was too tired to think any harder. He closed his eyes and let blessed sleep take him under.