Romance Rules for Werewolves (Charming Cove, #3)(9)

I glared at him, and he glared back. This was getting off to a great start. “I’ll send your paperwork to my grandmother’s solicitor and we’ll see what he says.”

“Why should I trust him?”

I groaned. “I don’t know. He’s a solicitor, and he looks trustworthy. You can get your own, if you want.” I was confident that I owned the house, so I didn’t care what he did. I just wanted to get this process started so that I could get him out of there.

“What’s his name?” he asked.

“Malcolm Ludlow.”

He pulled his phone out of his pocket and typed in something that I couldn’t see. His gaze scanned over the screen, and then he met my gaze. “He looks legit enough. Let’s see what he has to say, and then we’ll discuss.”

“You mean if you don’t like what he says, we’ll send it to your guy.”

“Or an entirely new solicitor. But I have copies of the deed, and there’s no harm in letting your guy have a look, especially since you’ll be paying his bill.”

I glared at him but nodded. “Fine. Anything to get this over with.”

He pushed the deed across the table toward me, and I took it.

“Where will you go while we sort this out?” he asked.

“Upstairs.”

“You want to live here?” He grimaced.

“Yes. I need a place to stay while I fix up Lavender House, and since I own this place, I’ll be staying upstairs. You’re clearly not using it unless you’re a horrific housekeeper with creepy taste in knickknacks.”

“I’m not.” His gaze flicked to the windows, as if looking toward the ramshackle old house on the hill. An incredulous expression crossed his face. “You’re going to fix up that place?”

“Yes.” I infused my voice with confidence, though I wasn’t loving the skepticism in his.

“Good luck.”

“Where will you stay?” I asked, looking around at the workshop. “Surely you don’t live here.”

“I do.” He nodded toward a door. “That’s a bedroom.”

I looked at it, then glanced around the kitchen, which I only now realized seemed lived-in. Not messy, but there was a teacup on the counter next to the kettle and a box of biscuits near the refrigerator that was partially open.

“Why don’t you live in the flat upstairs if you really own this building?”

“You’ve seen that place,” he said. “Too much stuff. I’m fine down here.”

That was strange. Wouldn’t he just clean it out? Before I could ask, he said, his voice gruff, “You can stay until we sort this out, but keep to your part of the building.”

“Likewise.” I shot him a glare, about to turn around, then realized that I had no idea what to call him. “What’s your name?”

“Rafe.”

“Just Rafe? Like Madonna?”

“Just Rafe.” He didn’t so much as twitch at my joke.

“All right, then, Just Rafe. I’m Isobel Whitwell. Not nice to meet you.”

That made him smile, but it wasn’t a particularly friendly one. “Not nice to meet you, too.”

I scowled at him, then frowned. “Hang on. You’re a supernatural.”

“You’re only just noticing?”

“I was a bit distracted to start.” Now that I’d solidified that I wasn’t going to be murdered and I still had a place to live, the adrenaline had faded enough to allow me to notice that he had a magical signature. It smelled like the forest and glowed like the pale light of the moon. “Shifter?”

“Werewolf. And you’re a witch.”

“I am.”

“Well, witch, stay in your part of the boathouse.”

“Gladly.” I shot him one last glare, then turned and went up to the flat. Maybe if I asked her nicely, Poa would pee on his shoes while he wasn’t looking.





Chapter

Five





Rafe



I stared at the witch as she stalked away, her hips swaying. I averted my gaze. I shouldn’t be staring at her, no matter how beautiful she was. She’d stunned me when she’d walked back downstairs after cleaning the streaks of black makeup off her face, and it took everything I had to shove my wolf back inside.

It recognized something in her, and that was a problem. It didn’t matter that she was perfection, with her pale hair and luminous gray eyes. She couldn’t be here. I’d worked too hard to find the quiet peace that this place afforded me. I needed it too badly.

I closed my eyes and pinched the bridge of my nose, but all I could see was the outline of her lush curves. I groaned, annoyed with myself. As long as she lived upstairs, I shouldn’t be having pervy thoughts about her. I shouldn’t be having them about her ever, but it was much worse while she was alone and under my roof.

I didn’t know what kind of witch she was, but if she was the kind that could read minds, I didn’t want her to see something in my head that would make her uncomfortable. But she was going to drive me crazy, that was clear enough. She was too beautiful, for one. She had skin like cream, with pale pink lips and…

Nope. I couldn’t let my mind go there.