Romance Rules for Werewolves (Charming Cove, #3)(34)

When the silence lengthened, I decided to cut my losses and change the subject. “Um, thanks for dinner. It was delicious.” I stood. “I’ll do the dishes.”

“I’ve got it, don’t worry.”

“I insist.” I grabbed his plate and hurried away. I washed up as quickly as possible, then headed for the stairs. “Early morning for me. Um, thanks again for dinner.”

And I scurried away like the awkward little mouse I was.





Chapter

Fourteen





Rafe



The next morning, Isobel was gone when I woke. Even before I opened my eyes, I could sense that she wasn’t nearby. Werewolves had better senses than other supernaturals, and mine seemed to be extra sensitive where she was concerned. We were also some of the few supernaturals who had fated mates, and the fact that my soul came alive whenever she was nearby made me pretty damned certain she was mine.

Which was all kinds of bad news.

Despite what it sounded like, a fated mate wasn’t a sure thing. Rather, they were the person most perfect for you in the entire world. That didn’t mean things would work out or that they wouldn’t blow up your life. In fact, the pressure created by that kind of expectation often had negative consequences on a relationship—especially when the mate wasn’t a wolf.

Still, I’d spent the night tossing and turning with dreams of her, just like I’d spent every other night since she’d arrived. The kiss had been a mistake, but I couldn’t get it out of my mind. I was doing a piss-poor job of avoiding her, if last night was any indication.

I’d made her dinner, for fate’s sake. That had been a terrible idea. Cooking for her was the exact opposite of maintaining my distance, something I desperately needed to do. The last relationship I’d had with a witch had ended horrifically, and I couldn’t afford for that to happen again.

Logically, I knew it was prejudiced and possibly irrational, but I’d lost so much to a witch. And that relationship had just been proof of my terrible judgment. I couldn’t trust myself when it came to women, that was clear enough.

I needed to get her out of my house as quickly as possible. Her solicitor still didn’t have an answer, and I’d contacted mine as well. He was coming up blank, too. It made no damned sense.

Which left me with only one option.

I rose, and after getting ready for the day, I headed up the hill toward Lavender House. It was still early, and the pale morning light did nothing to enhance my confidence that we would actually fix the house up in time. It was a wreck, with a roof that looked more like a suggestion than an actual structural feature, not to mention the windows and front garden. The inside was probably even worse.

I was nearly to the porch when Isobel walked outside, her curls wrapped in a bandanna and a flush across her cheeks. She was so beautiful that she took my breath away, and I stopped dead in my tracks.

Surprise flashed on her face. “Rafe? What are you doing here?”

“I thought about what you said, and if it will get you out of my place sooner, then I’m here to help.”

Hurt flashed in her eyes, and guilt tugged at me. I hadn’t wanted to hurt her, but I didn’t know how to fix it.

She smiled before I could figure it out and said in a cheerful voice, “Excellent. I could use all the help I can get. Come inside.”

She turned and headed through the door. I followed her, careful to keep my eyes off the jeans that clung to her curves. Staring at her arse was absolutely against the rules.

As soon as I entered the foyer, the scent of rotten eggs washed over me.

“Sorry about that,” she said. “The house is ornery. It’s got a personality, and it doesn’t like being in such a terrible state. I’m hoping that fixing it up will calm it down.”

She was right about the state of the place. The foyer was bare, unfinished wood and walls that needed some serious attention. And that was before I even looked at the broken windows.

“I’ve already ordered replacement windows,” she said, “though I’ve no idea how to install them. Yet.”

The confidence in her voice made me smile.

“Do you think you could work on the kitchen?” she asked. “And the bathrooms? They need cabinets, and a boat builder sounds like just the person for the job.”

“I can do that.”

“Excellent. I’ll be around. Shout if you need me.” She turned and headed into another part of the house.

I found the kitchen, which was an empty shell except for the old appliances that had probably been too big for her to lift. I’d have to get those out of there.

It was a nice space, with a view overlooking the green hills behind the house and a large fireplace on one wall. I spent the morning measuring and making plans for the cabinets in the kitchen and all bathrooms, then went in search of Isobel to confirm they were what she wanted.

I found her in the living room, standing on a footstool as she tried to pry a piece of rotten trim off the top of the wall. She jerked it hard, and it came away faster than she expected, because she stumbled.

I reacted on instinct, rushing forward and catching her before she landed on the ground.

“Ooof,” she said.

She felt warm and perfect in my arms as I lowered her to the floor. She turned, gazing up at me, her luminous gray eyes impossible to look away from. “Thank you.”