Chapter 8: Don’t You Dare Touch That

Maeve – One week later

It had been a week since the storm that marked Aaron’s arrival at the castle. His presence was like the storm itself, electric, undoing the carefully crafted routines of everyone who called the stone fortress their home.

I noticed the change in Ernest first. His usually dry monologues during dinner became lively and animated with Aaron in battendance, the two men talking gaily with their heads bent toward each other, laughing and whispering like a couple of old friends while I played with my fork on the other end of the table, not included in their conversation.

Gemma too was changed. She had spent most of her time marching around the castle, ordering the staff around with an iron fist and managing the daily schedule I could never seem to follow. With Aaron around, however, Gemma seemed to cling to my side, her face always drawn with lines of suspicion as she watched Aaron through the corner of her eye.

But when I asked her about it, she only shrugged, her mouth pursed in a tight line. I could only assume it was out of concern for me. Gemma had always been fiercely protective of me, our relationship mimicking that of an older and younger sister.

On the seventh night of Aaron’s stay, I walked into the dining hall to find it changed, the long table taken apart and replaced by a smaller round table, four chairs fitting snuggling around a modest assortment of food and wine.

And there they were all three of them, Gemma beckoning me to come sit beside her as she took a seat next to Ernest, whose cheeks pinkened as he glanced shyly at Gemma.

Seriously? I thought as I watched Gemma give him a knowing, almost secretive glance, her mouth wide in a beaming smile.

Oh, Goddess, you’ve got to be kidding me.

Aaron sat to my left, smiling at me as he sat down. I watched as they conversed over steaming plates of prime rib and mashed potatoes, my mouth feeling dry with a mingled sense of shock and excitement.

I had been avoiding Aaron like the plague all week, angered by our fight in the field outside the castle and embarrassed by the fact I had broken down and crawled into his bed the day after the storm. I hated people seeing me hurt. I had always been able to play it off, straining my mouth in a fake smile and moving on like nothing had happened.

But Aaron made that impossible. Something about him forced people to let their guard down. I found the wall I had built around my heart falling away piece by piece, finally allowing myself to accept my fate. I watched as Ernest and Gemma fell under his spell, his unexplainable gravitational pull.

I hated him. I wanted him.

***

It was early afternoon, the sun beating down on the garden as I walked through the rows of yellow poppies and gardenias, the smell of lilac and honeysuckle thick in the humid air. I settled into a lounge chair in the upper garden, a wide white umbrella shading me from the sun.

Gemma had ordered new clothes for me from town, several linen sets of wide leg pants with matching shirts and a few airy dresses. I ran my hands over the fabric of the linen pants and top I was wearing, thankful for how cool the fabric kept my skin.

No more sunburns for me this summer, I thought as I put on a wide-brim hat, settling down against the lounge chair and opening up a book

But then I heard Aaron’s voice carried on the soft breeze, his voice cracking with laughter and effort. I looked down at the lower garden, scanning the long beds of flowers until I spotted two men standing near a pile of blackened tree branches.

There he was, shirtless, his bronzed skin gleaming in the unforgiving sunlight.

He was kneeling with his back toward me, his hands gripping a chain that he and the gardener had wrapped around the stump of the felled tree, one of the large ornamental mountain ash that had been split in two and charred by the lightning during the storm.

He rose to his feet, yanking on the chain to check its integrity. The muscles in his arms and shoulders flexed as he raised his hand and motioned to the gardener, who was fastening the other end of the chain to a small tractor.

He had one of those bodies built by necessary force and years of careful practice, not the lean, chiseled look that was so popular with the warriors of the pack. Aaron was built. Powerful. A real beefcake.

He turned, noticing me standing with my mouth half open as I watched him from my perch on the lawn. I quickly closed my mouth; thankful he was too far away to see the vibrant blush that had risen on my chest and neck. He arched his brow at me, and I scowled, looking away and pretending to be invested in the book on my lap.

The tractor started up with a low, choking rumble and I watched as the gardener steered it forward, the chain whipping into a tight line and ripping the tree stump out of the ground. Aaron was striking the roots with a hatchet as they erupted from the earth, every muscle in his arms and back rigid with effort. Iswallowed hard, struggling to keep my attention fixated on my book.

A great snapping sound echoed through the garden as the stump came loose. Aaron raised his arms in triumph, hooting with glee as the gardener glanced round and gave him a wide smile.

I bit my lip, sinking a lower in my lounge chair and resting the book on my lap.

“Maeve!”

I didn’t answer as I dramatically turned a page.

“MAEVE!”

“What, Aaron?” I looked up over the edge of my book to see him motioning toward the tree stump, his mouth stretched in an almost delirious smile.copy right hot novel pub