Page 33 of Tragic (Lark Cove 3)

The night after our dinner, I’d come down to the shop and worked until sunrise with the smell of her still lingering on my skin. Since then, every time I’d gone to the shop, I’d start to work only to find myself lost in thought hours later, holding a tool that I hadn’t actually used.

Why her?

Answering that question was like an unsolvable puzzle.

Any man on earth would say Piper Campbell was breathtakingly beautiful. The sex was incredible. When I’d orgasmed the other night, it had been my first out-of-body experience.

But besides the intense physical attraction with Piper, there was something else about her I couldn’t put my finger on.

She didn’t ask about my past, and I didn’t ask about hers. And even though we didn’t know much about one another, the undercurrent between us was familiar. My mother would have called us kindred spirits.

Or maybe we were both just needy. Piper ached for my touch as much as I craved hers.

It had been three years since I’d touched another person. Three years of no handshakes. No hugs. No nothing.

For three years, I’d avoided all physical contact because I never wanted to forget the last person I’d held in my arms. I didn’t want to forget how her little body had rested against my chest. How her weight had felt in my arms.

I still felt her. I still felt that ghost.

But I felt Piper now too.

And that scared the hell out of me.

Another door landed in the Dumpster across the way and I pushed off the couch. There’d be no work in the shop today, so instead, I decided to do something I’d put off for too long.

Clean.

It had been over a month since I’d done any kind of tidying up in the cabin. It was an old place that would always have a slight hint of must, and most days, I didn’t care. But after eating dinner in Piper’s Airstream, I’d taken a more critical eye to my own home.

Her camper was brand-new with top-of-the-line finishes. She kept it spotless with gleaming countertops and crumb-free floors. I wasn’t sure if she kept it that way because it was her boss’s rig or if it was just her—probably her.

I’d caught a glimpse of her closet the other night while we’d been lying in her bed, recovering from the third or fourth orgasm—I’d lost count after the second had nearly left me blind. Everything in Piper’s closet was either folded or hung, the wardrobe color coordinated and the hangers evenly spaced.

When she ate, she set her fork down pristinely on the edge of her plate between bites. She dabbed the corner of her mouth with her napkin, not wiped, then gently returned it on her lap. Her glass of wine was sipped, then placed right back on its coaster.

Aside from sex with me, Piper didn’t seem like the type of woman to act on whims and impulses. She was so orderly and proper. So . . . restrained.

Was that how people acted in the city? Was that how she’d been raised to behave? Or had she learned those habits from practice?

Whatever the answers, they all added to her allure.

Even her movements were a mystery, one I was already trying to solve. Why did she tuck her hair behind her left ear but not her right? Why did she absently rub the small scar at the top of her hand? Why did her stare make me want to stay inside of her bubble and never leave?

Why her?

“Fuck if I know,” I muttered to the empty room.

I stood, taking my cereal bowl to the sink. I set it down without rinsing it out and turned away. But not two steps out of the kitchen, I sighed and turned back.

My conscience, something that sounded a lot like my mother’s voice, told me to do the damn dishes. Usually, I left them until every single piece I owned was dirty and I had no other choice but to wash.

I went back and rinsed out my cereal bowl of the leftover milk, then put it in the dishwasher. I did the same with the plates and utensils I’d stacked up over the last two days. When the sink was clear, I towel dried my hands and surveyed the cabin.

When had I become such a slob?

A visible layer of dust coated the television. Dust bunnies were breeding like, well, rabbits in every corner. As I took a deep breath, I smelled the foul odor coming from the refrigerator.

I’d been playing a little game these last two weeks, opening the fridge door as quickly as possible, retrieving my target with a lightning-fast strike before slamming the door closed and trapping the smell inside.