When the Woods Go Silent (Haret Chronicles: Dark Fae #1)

CHAPTER FOUR

R OSE

I’m stalling.

Usually, a night’s sleep and a sunny morning make it easy to shake off a bad day, but I feel myself finding reason after reason to stay upstairs in the apartment, locked away from the bookshop and the woods beyond.

The shadows have crept back beyond the tree line with the sun, and blue sky stretches above the trees. It’s a gorgeous day, but I’m still curled on the couch, lights dim, nursing a third mug of coffee.

My phone pings with a text from Ruby - a string of emojis and exclamation points, followed by a selfie with dozens of books spread out over her hotel bed, several piled three and four copies high.

Last day! Will I have enough room in my car?

A purple-streaked chunk of dark hair falls in her eyes, and her signature ruby-red lipstick shows off a huge grin, which makes me finally smile, too. I love seeing her so excited, and I tap out a quick reply. She’s probably posted the same picture and caption to the shop’s social media already, and her audience will love it. The way she obsesses over books can be a bit overwhelming in person, but it’s perfect for social media.

My thumbs hover over the phone for a few seconds as I debate whether to try and explain the weirdness of last night, but in the end, I chicken out. It’s too confusing to put in a text, and besides, I want Ruby focused on buying books for our shop, not wondering if she needs to come home early to check on everything.

Grumbling to myself about being a damn adult, I drain the coffee and head downstairs in my slippers. It’s the easiest commute I’ve ever had, right down the back stairs and into the hallway next to the bookstore office, where there’s another locked door with a keypad separating the shop from the apartment.

The office space is in the house’s original kitchen, painted a cheery yellow with old-fashioned lace valances over the windows. My desk is the broad oak table, and I love running my fingers over decades of wine stains and nicks from cutting knives.

I slip in and out of each room, the light veil of anxiety eventually lifting as the sunlight makes it obvious that nothing is disturbed or broken, and this is still the quaint bookshop we both fell in love with. The fear that gripped me last night fades to a memory, and the only tangible piece of weird are the slim red lines on my fingers, no worse than a paper cut today.

Then something on the checkout counter catches my eye.

I’m almost one hundred percent sure I didn’t leave any books there, but a single tattered paperback sits in the middle of the counter like it’s waiting to be noticed. I pick it up and flip through it, studying the cover - Spirits of Clearwater . It’s a collection of local folklore and ghost stories, and a little shiver spirals across my shoulders as I look at last night’s events from a different perspective.

I may not believe in magic like Ruby does, but I’m undecided about ghosts.

Placing the book carefully back where it was for now, I unlock the front doors and push them open wide with the determination to start fresh today. Even if there isn’t a spirit hiding in these rooms, the place could use some sweet spring air. Something scrapes along the wooden porch, and when I peer around the door, I find a small, cream-colored box that must have been waiting on the doorstep.

A delicate rose is drawn on the top in black pen, and the scent of honey and fruit swirls out when I pop open the lid. A beautiful pale pink tart is nestled inside, just big enough for two people to share. Candied rose petals decorate its glistening top, and the tart-sweet smell is mouth-watering.

Slanted handwriting on the inside of the lid reads, “Rose-rhubarb tart for Rose. Enjoy, pretty neighbor.”

I glance up and down the empty street, but the only person I see is our elderly neighbor, Charles, sweeping the sidewalk in front of his art shop. He’s unlikely to be leaving me random desserts. Then my brain remembers the man I met briefly outside the pop-up restaurant - Arlo. I grin, feeling a bit of excitement start to filter through the unease.

Of course, he must have left this for me. After all, I did tell him my name and where to find me. Something I would have never done in the city, but maybe it’s another sign that I really do feel safe here.

A grin spreads over my face at the idea of finding him later tonight, once my work is done. I can think of a few fun ways to show my appreciation for this sweet gift.

The day slides past quickly as I get busy, and the sun is just starting to sink toward the tree line when I check off the final thing on today’s to-do list. The main front room is as ready as it can be for now, while I wait for Ruby to return tomorrow with her trunk full of newly purchased books. It’s high time for the reward I promised myself for all my hard work.

After locking the shop, I make my way upstairs. I indulge in an everything shower and have a good-decisions salad with protein before diving into the luscious dessert that Arlo left for me. Sweet and sour flavors explode on my tongue in the perfect mix, and a moan I usually save for the bedroom escapes my lips.

“Fuck me,” I murmur, licking the back of the spoon. No wonder this restaurant has a cult following.

Barely managing to save some of the tart to share with Ruby, I head into my bedroom to choose an outfit. It takes me a while to find everything in the mess of half-unpacked boxes, but eventually I’m ready, dressed in a slinky but casual black top, jeans that show off my ass like a prize peach, and a wrap sweater that always slides off my bare shoulder.

I don’t try to hide or minimize my generous curves anymore. If a man doesn’t like it, he can go find someone with different genetics.

I’m feeling myself as I strut down the sidewalk, red curls flowing over one shoulder and the sensual echo of the rose petaled tart still on my tongue. I half wonder if there was an aphrodisiac ingredient in the dessert, and I wouldn’t even be mad about it.

When I pass the art shop, Charles pauses in trimming the shrubs and lifts his hand. “Hello there, Miss Rose. How’s the shop looking?” he calls, sounding every bit like the grandfather I never had.

“Almost ready,” I say, waving back. “Stop in sometime, if you like. We’re happy to have you.”

“Well, I would, but part of me hates to see it change. Of course, I don’t worry about what you ladies do, mind you. I just can’t help but love my memories best.”

I smile at him in sympathy. He’s told us before how much he misses William, the shop’s previous owner. They had coffee together most mornings before their shops opened, until William grew too sick to manage the bookstore and moved home with his son. I feel a little guilty that Ruby and I haven’t gotten to know him better, but maybe once we’re more settled we can work on that.

“Well now, I won’t keep you. Let me know if you need anything, and stay safe out there,” Charles warns, already turning back to his garden. I’m glad he doesn’t seem to be in the mood for small talk tonight, because I’m ready to have some fun.

But when I make it to the corner and locate the restaurant windows, they’re dark and empty. No crowds queued outside.

Damn it. Arlo did say they were only open a few nights here and there. I probably missed my chance last night. But I’m here and looking hot, so I knock on the door anyway. Footsteps echo inside, and a minute later, I’m pleased to hear the click of a lock turning. A tall man who isn’t Arlo opens the door and cocks his head at me. He’s unreasonably attractive too, in a dark and mysterious sort of way, and I wonder if hot servers aren’t also part of their business plan.

“Um, I’m looking for Arlo,” I say, forcing my voice down at the end so it doesn’t sound like a question.

“Huh,” the guy says, like he’s surprised. He stares at me just long enough for me to take a step backward, second-guessing if this was a good idea. “Yeah, he’s in the back.”

And the solid metal door closes in my face.

I blink at it, wondering if this is actually my cue to leave. The door opens again before I make any rash decisions, and I’m relieved to see Arlo standing there, just as I remember him from last night. His hair is lighter now that he’s backlit by the interior of the restaurant, and his eyes are an icy crystal blue, so pale they’re almost leached of color.

“Rose,” he says, giving me a sexy half smile as he leans an arm against the door frame above my head, his body blocking my view inside. “I was hoping to see you again.”

“Thanks for the tart,” I answer, and his lips hook up farther in a smile designed to melt panties and good intentions. “It was delicious.”

“Like its namesake, I’m sure,” he murmurs, and his eyes drop to my lips as though he can still see traces of the rose-flavored filling. If I’d thought he might be interested in me last night, I clearly hadn’t guessed the half of it. His eyes meet mine again, then flick back to my mouth before sliding appreciatively down my neck and lower.

I stand still and let him look, reveling in the heat that creeps from my core up to the tops of my breasts, then onto the apples of my cheeks. I may not have much luck with relationships, but flings?

Hell yes. Flings are my favorite.

I offer him a flirty smile. “So, are you busy? I didn’t think it through when you said you don’t open often.”

Arlo shakes his head and opens the door a little wider. “Come on back to the kitchen. We’re always testing new recipes. I’d love for you to taste one.”

I know what he said, but his words swirl as they enter my head, and somehow all I can hear is, “I’d love to taste you.”

The door closes behind me, and Arlo’s hand drops to my lower back as he guides me quickly inside, skipping the darkened dining area in favor of a black swinging door leading to the back.

His body is close to mine in the narrow hall, and he smells like sea salt and wood smoke. He’s a little short for a taller girl like me, but he has nice broad shoulders, perfect for holding on to while I’m straddling his lap. I smile to myself as we enter the kitchen, his fingers splayed even lower on my back now.

He’s clearly playing the game, and I’m no blushing virgin.

I’m relieved to find the kitchen empty, with no sign of the rude dark-haired guy who answered the door. Something simmers on the stove in a deep pot, and spices and fresh herbs are strewn across the stainless steel counters.

“Is this one of those farm-to-table places? Menu changes with the seasons?” I ask, taking a few steps down the line and scanning the neatly labeled glass jars of different types of flours and sugars.

“Something like that. My brothers each have a specialty. Mine is...”

“Dessert,” I fill in, as he gestures toward the thick wooden block where a silky ball of dough is resting in a covered glass bowl. “So the other guy I saw is your brother?”

“In a way. We don’t worry much about blood relations when we define our family.”

I nod, thinking of Ruby and how much we might have in common with Arlo. Maybe... maybe I could be brave and let this become more than a fling, if we get along. Opening the bookstore in Clearwater could be a fresh start in more than one way, as long as I can manage to let go of my past disappointments in men.

“Want a taste?” Arlo asks, dipping a clean spoon into the simmering pot on the stove. It comes out steaming, coated in a deep blue glaze.

“Blueberry?” I guess as he holds it out to me. His eyes are almost colorless in the bright kitchen.

“And lemon. A few unexpected ingredients. Trade secrets.” The corner of his lips edge up in a dare.

Of course, I take it, letting him rest the spoon on my tongue after it cools. My eyes slide closed in pleasure as the sauce pools in my mouth, rich and spicy, sweet and swirled with sour. Immediately, I want another taste.

“Wow,” I breathe, wondering if I should be embarrassed by the intensity of my reaction to something as simple as blueberry sauce. But this man has a way with flavor that deserves this kind of appreciation.

“I love your reactions,” Arlo says softly, touching his mouth to the spoon where my lips just were. My eyes widen as he seems to read my mind. “It’s powerful, you know. To let others see your pleasure.”

I swallow hard at the rasp in his voice, already imagining the moans I could pull from that throat. “It’s powerful to be able to create that pleasure.” I nod at the stove, but we both know we’ve stopped talking about food. His eyes hold mine, something between a question and a dare sparking there. A shadow of the sauce coats his bottom lip, and I reach up to wipe it clean.

He catches my wrist in mid-air, my breath stalling out as he strokes the inside of my wrist with his thumb. I was anticipating a little more teasing conversation, looking forward to the subtle power play of flirting with a stranger. But it’s been too long since I took a man home, and my body is already clamoring to skip the games.

“Rose, I certainly don’t expect anything... physical... between us. Not so soon. But...” He lets the idea hang in the space between us, giving me the match to light the fire if I want to.

And I absolutely want to, even if it only burns for a night.

“Is this where you say, ‘here for a good time, not a long time’?” I tease, sliding a few inches closer while I pretend to waver.

“Time is on my side, Rose, and it’s always good.” He holds my gaze for a long moment before letting his pale eyes drift slowly down to my lips, then lower. His gaze snags on the swell of my breasts, and his body sways gently toward mine, barely a hand’s width between us now.

I ignore the familiar twist of disappointment that comes from being right about a guy’s intentions, reminding myself that I don’t need a long time from any guy. Choosing to live in the moment instead, I close the distance between us and cup my hand around Arlo’s neck, pulling our bodies together as I gaze up at him.

His eyes flash brighter under my touch, like summer heat lightning, before his lips crash down over mine, wasting no time at all on the gentle parts.

Fuck, he’s a good kisser, even without the teasing buildup that I usually prefer first.

Our tongues tangle as his hands slide down my arms, settling at my hips and squeezing. I loop both wrists around his neck, my fingers tangling in his soft blond waves as he tugs me tight against his body. He pivots us to press me against the counter, and his mouth wanders as he nuzzles my chin to the side. I think he breathes my name into my neck, but I don’t have a chance to answer before his lips seal over mine again.

It’s as though he’s starving, and I’m the first thing he’s tasted in years.

I’m seeing his power to create pleasure, close and personal. Letting a moan rumble in my throat as I grind against him, I let him see the power he requested from me. I show him how much I’m enjoying this, and it opens a new frenzy of need between us.

“Your body... fuck, your taste,” he hisses, and a grin spreads across my lips at the way I’ve made such a gorgeous man so weak for me. Of course, men are always weak for sex and a sure thing.

But Arlo has a wild spark in his eye, and his jerky, hurried movements betray his need. In this moment, my power trumps his.

I’ve slept with men who spoke plenty of pretty words but seemed to be doing a workout routine in their minds when it came to fucking - memorized movements designed to get a specific result for themselves, not for me.

This is not like that. He is desperate for me, and I feel like a goddess being worshiped.

Yet... even as he tugs me into the empty dining area, where lounges and low tables are nothing more than bulky shadows beneath darkly glittering chandeliers... the sudden, exaggerated sensuality of it all feels a little unreal, like I’ve had too much wine and jumped to the middle of one of my romance novels. It feels more like a story we’re both telling, rather than a reality we’re living.

There’s something oddly false about it all, and the fact that I can even think this clearly shows me where my head is. Damn it, I hope I’m not outgrowing the fling phase.

Then Arlo backs me into a low chaise, pressing me onto my back and kneeling between my knees like a supplicant before a queen. I tell my head to clear every one of those thoughts - I’m determined to let this be fun.

“Let me see this pretty Rose open for me,” he says, his hands gripping my knees and pulling them apart. It’s kind of a cheesy line, and I bite my lip to keep from giggling. He should have to work harder than this, right? But then he cups my pussy over the denim of my jeans, rubbing along the seam as he lifts my shirt and kisses his way up to my breasts.

“You’re goddamn beautiful,” he murmurs, just before sinking his teeth gently into the soft underside of my breast, teasing me through the lacy fabric.

I arch under the sensation, suddenly feeling way too much fabric in the way. Who cares about his words - I came here for something else. Arlo begins to undo my jeans and I shimmy my hips to help. I don’t care if this leads to anything more than a single night. I’m here, and it’s clear he knows what he’s doing. I want these orgasms.

“I’d say I don’t usually do things like this, but I refuse to lie and let you get too cocky.” I grin up at him as my jeans drop to the floor, and he leans in to taste my neck. “Don’t assume you’re special.”

“Challenge accepted.” He fixes me in his icy blue gaze, one eyebrow quirked. A beat of silence builds the tension between us, then he dips his head and sucks one nipple back into his mouth, his teeth grazing the tight bud.

“More,” I demand, needing it immediately. We haven’t signed up for slow burn. His hands roam freely over my body, cupping my thighs, squeezing my ass, measuring the fullness of my breasts. I tug at his hair and explore his toned arms and the dips of his abs beneath his thin t-shirt.

“Let me taste you,” he rasps, and a resounding “yes” echoes through my body. “Where do you want my mouth?”

I’m not shy, and there’s a reason my jeans are in a heap on the restaurant floor.

But before I can yank him where I want him most, the door to the kitchen bursts open and the rude guy from before strides into the dining area, his face hard and blank.

“Not tonight, Arlo,” he barks out. “Problems with one of the suppliers. I need your help.” He crosses his arms over his chest and leans against the wall, his eyes glinting as he boldly takes in my half-dressed self, sprawled over the chaise. I hear Arlo force out an exasperated curse as he stands, somewhat blocking the view of me as I begin to scramble back into my clothing.

I don’t know what I expect from him, but I’m still surprised when his shoulders slump and he nods to the guy.

“Shit. Look, Rose, I know I’ll have to beg myself back in your good graces for this, but I have to go.”

Arlo does sound regretful, but it’s also clear he’s leaving with this asshole and our rendezvous is over. I narrow my eyes at the two of them as I slide into my ankle boots, less than pleased at the way I suddenly feel like a different sort of supplier.

I guess I have no room to talk, though. I moved as fast as he did, demanding the same supply of pleasure. Still, it feels shitty.

“Why are you having business meetings at this time of night?” I snip, fluffing my curls and giving Arlo the sort of look that tells him he’s going to have to do more than beg if he wants to continue this another night. There were a dozen better ways to handle this without making me feel insignificant.

“Time zones,” the dark-haired asshole sneers, like that should matter in a local restaurant business.

“Look, maybe...” Arlo begins halfheartedly, but I only offer him a saccharine smile before turning to the door. My pride is up, and if I try to say another word, it will be one I regret.

It’s better to just leave now and let him do the chasing. If he’s still interested, he’ll think of a good way to apologize. And if I’m still interested, I’ll manage to keep my feelings out of it.