Cold Read online

  But my focus was otherwise occupied on the simple task of firewood, and I loved every minute of the escape it provided.

  Chop after chop, I worked until my muscles were hot and burning with fatigue and sweat dripped down my brow. My breath fogged out in front of me with each heavy exhale, and I kept at it until my body screamed its need for a break in the form of shaking hands and weak legs.

  Placing the sharp point of the ax to the ground, I leaned against the house and guzzled from the bottle of water I’d set on the windowsill when I’d first come outside.

  Eyes to the sky, I took in the view. Overcast and cloudy, it looked like a child had started to draw on it with a pencil, but then erased it away into smudged gray.

  Just as I set my water bottle back on the windowsill and grabbed my ax for round two, the sounds of wheels crunching across gravel caught my attention.

  The crunching grew closer until it stopped.

  Who in the hell is here?

  I furrowed my brow in confusion as I walked toward the side of the house and stopped dead in my tracks once I reached the driveway.

  Ivy.

  Fast as a whip, she hopped out of her rental car and slammed the door shut behind her with a hard smack and a clang.

  When her green gaze met mine, she glared so hard I thought, any second, she might light the yard on fire with the sheer force of it.

  “Levi Fox!” she yelled toward me and shook what looked like a big bouquet of flowers in her hands. “We need to talk! Right fucking now!”

  Madder than a hornet, she strode toward me, and I’d be a liar if I said I didn’t feel a sudden rush of pleasure spill into my veins. My heart pounded inside my chest as she stalked toward me, her boots pounding the ground with each determined step.

  Fuck, she was pissed.

  And hell if I didn’t love it.

  I’d only get worried if Ivy turned apathetic toward me.

  But, anger? Yeah. I’d take her anger any fucking day of the week.

  One minute, I’d been at the house, talking to Camilla about what Levi had said to her—not only last night when he’d dropped my drunk ass off, but also on set when I’d seen them chatting near the craft table—and the next I’d been calling production to get his home address under the pretense of having to ask him some movie-related questions.

  Apparently, he’d been making it a point to be sweet as pie to my sister.

  But not in the flirtatious, charming way he’d been at Grace’s birthday party when his intentions had been toxic and thoughtless. No. He’d been a gentleman by way of apology and open acceptance of the way his actions had affected her.

  And my sister had swallowed up his words like they were verses from the Bible.

  When she’d started using words like sincere and nice and kind and sweet in relation to Levi, the first inklings of irritation had started to creep into my pores and infect my otherwise relaxed mood.

  Sure, I’d been hungover as fuck, but after I’d managed some eggs and coffee, I was starting to perk up.

  Things were looking good.

  Until Camilla wouldn’t stop talking about Levi.

  Sensitive to her core and with a heart as big as the Pacific Ocean, my sister was a fucking softy, and oftentimes, felt everyone deserved a second chance.

  I, on the other hand, could hold grudges like it was my day job.

  And when it came to apologies, words generally meant shit to me.

  I was an “I have to see it to believe it” kind of girl.

  By the time my sister started suggesting I talk to Levi about what had happened, I was annoyed beyond comprehension and couldn’t stop staring at those stupid fucking roses that’d been delivered to me a few hours earlier.

  It was a blur after that.

  I’d gotten his address. Thrown on some clothes. And gotten in the car.

  Camilla thought I was going in a civil state of mind.

  But in reality, I was fuming, and civility wasn’t on my agenda in the slightest.

  And now, there he stood, looking as handsome as ever in jeans and a flannel that showed just enough muscle for every woman in America to do a double take. Like some sexy alpha-lumberjack lifted out of the pages of a romance novel.

  The fucking bastard.

  I hated how good he looked.

  With the stupid flowers in my hands, I strode toward him with a laser-sharp glare pointed directly at him.

  I wanted him to look scared as I stalked toward him, but if anything, he just looked smug.

  That only made me angrier.

  The instant I reached him, I gripped the vase in my hands, and with a hard slosh, I tossed the water and roses directly at his face. With a splash, the water soaked his skin and flannel shirt, while the roses fell around us unceremoniously like limp noodles.

  “Wow,” he muttered, and the slightest hint of a smirk lifted the corner of his mouth. “You brought me flowers?”

  If it was possible, my glare grew harsher, harder, until I could literally feel a vein in my forehead popping out to say hello.

  “No,” I spat. “I’m merely giving you your fucking flowers back. I don’t want them.”

  “What?” He wiped droplets of water off his face with the sleeve of his shirt. “Giving me my flowers back?”

  “Don’t play coy, Levi,” I said, and his brow furrowed. “And, for the love of God, don’t send me flowers again. Don’t text me again. In fact, don’t do anything related to me. Just leave me the fuck alone.”

  “I didn’t send you flowers.”

  Wait…what?

  “What?” Now it was my turn to be confused.

  “Those flowers,” he said and pointed to the flowers on the ground with a long, straight finger. “They were not from me.”

  “You didn’t send these?”

  “That would be a negative,” he said, and I hated how fucking amused he was by the whole thing. “Did they happen to come with a card?”

  “Yes.”

  “And did you happen to read it?”

  “Don’t be a sarcastic dick.” I shoved one harsh index finger into his chest. “And yes, I did look at it. They were signed by me.”

  He scrunched his nose. “You signed the card for the flowers that were delivered to you?”

  “Oh. My. God.” I wanted to scream and groan at the same time. “The card literally said ‘Love, Me,’” I explained and air quoted the mysterious signature with my fingers.

  His eyebrows drew together, and his lips pressed into a firm line. “Who the fuck is me supposed to be?”

  “I thought it was you.”

  He shook his head. “Definitely was not me.”

  So…what is he trying to say? He would never send me flowers?

  Irrationally, I hated how quickly he pushed off the thought like it was an abhorrent thing to send me flowers.

  And then, rationally, I hated myself for even thinking about Levi thinking about sending me flowers.

  Talk about a mindfuck.

  “So, I guess this means you’re feeling better after last night?” he asked and then followed it up with, “You’re welcome for making sure you got home safely, by the way.”

  Apparently, he took my lack of verbal response as an opening to rile me up.

  Which, it did.

  I didn’t need to thank him for shit.

  I didn’t ask him to come down to the bar and get me. If I’d have been sober, he sure as shit would’ve been the very last person I would’ve called for a ride home. Hell, I would rather hitch a ride from a goddamn cow than get inside Levi’s truck.

  “Pretty sure I didn’t ask you to pick me up,” I said through gritted teeth. “You chose that on your own.”

  “Well, considering you were three sheets to the wind and one beer away from possibly getting your tits out for the skeezy men of Cold, I’d say my presence and rescue were much needed.”

  “Fuck you!” I shouted before I could even process the words that were coming out of my mouth.

 
; “Oh, don’t worry, you made that pretty clear last night too,” he said, and I wanted to smack the smile right off of his cocky fucking face. “Pretty sure your exact words were something along the lines of wanting to fuck me but not feeling something for me.”

  “Boy, those words sure sound familiar,” I said, and sarcasm oozed from my voice.

  He laughed at that.

  And instantly, I saw red. Like, crimson and fire and hell and fury kind of red.

  Before I could stop myself, I dropped the vase to the grass, and with one hard, determined hand, I slapped him clear across the face.

  He didn’t react and I had the urge to do it again, but his strong fingers wrapped around my wrists before I could even lift my hand.

  When I attempted again with my free hand, he did the same thing until he had both of my hands pinned behind my back.

  “Pretty sure I’ve received enough of those from you to last a lifetime, sweetheart.”

  “Fuck you!” I screamed again. All of the pent-up anger had reached its breaking point, boiling and bubbling to the very tippy top. The fire and fury spilled out in the form of harsh words directed straight at him. “I hate you! I hate you! I fucking hate you, Levi Fox!”

  “No, you don’t,” he retorted, and his voice dropped to a near whisper. “You’re mad at me. And you have every right to be. But you don’t hate me.”

  I jerked my hands away from his hold and stepped back to put some much-needed distance between us. But instead of space, I put on a clumsy display. My goddamn boot caught on that stupid fucking vase, and before I knew it, I was practically in the air, and my ass was headed for a crash landing on the grass.

  Quick as lightning, Levi was there, pulling me into his arms before I hit the ground.

  Eyes wide and lungs panting, I stared up at him.

  And those fucking midnight-blue eyes of his looked down at me. I hated those eyes. Hated them so much that I couldn’t seem to stop looking into them.

  They were so painfully beautiful, they urged a hitch in my breath and a quickened thump-thump-thump of my heart.

  And then, without thinking, and defying all rational thought, I just…kissed him.

  A-fucking-gain.

  I moaned and he moaned, and before I knew it, our kiss turned deep and hard and unrelenting. Our mouths were hot and greedy, and our lips and tongues danced that oh so familiar rhythm we always seemed to fall into.

  I savored the feel of his soft, full lips and the way they expertly worked against mine. I savored the way his strong arms held me against his chest and the way I felt so safe inside his embrace.

  He felt so good. Tasted so good. And I just savored our kiss. Too long. Not long enough. I had no idea how much time had passed.

  But, eventually, the remnants of our reality started to creep into my brain, and once cognizance found its way inside, I wrenched myself away from him.

  I scrubbed a hand down my face, once, twice, three times, before I finally found the strength to look up to meet his midnight-blue gaze.

  God, what the fuck was wrong with me? Why was I so fucking drawn to him that my brain turned stupid whenever I got too close?

  I needed help. And possibly therapy.

  “This can’t keep happening, Levi.”

  “I disagree,” he retorted. “Shit like this doesn’t just keep happening by chance.”

  “Well, I can tell you with certainty, that was the last fucking time.”

  He quirked a questioning brow, and I could literally hear him inside my head saying, Are you so sure about that, sweetheart?

  Yes. Goddammit. I was sure.

  That was the last fucking time.

  “This, us, no fucking more,” I all but yelled directly into his face. “I’m done. We are done.”

  He didn’t respond, just kept looking at me, so I added to it. “Do not call me. Do not text me. Just leave me alone, okay?”

  “And what about at work?” he asked. “What should I do there?”

  “Stay the fuck out of my way.”

  “And if you need something from me? Need to ask me something about Grace?”

  God, he was infuriating.

  I had to leave before I smacked him again.

  “Just leave me the fuck alone!” I screamed. The end of my sentence was punctuated by passion and frustration, and the heavens saw fit to cry.

  One drop turned into two, and two turned into a hundred. It was just above freezing outside, a goddamn heat wave for Montana, and as a result, snow turned to rain. It didn’t come on slow with a gentle lull, but rather, ramped up the way Levi and I often did into conversation. From zero to full roar in an instant, the clouds let loose and coated both of us in liquid.

  But the wicked need to yell in his face didn’t melt as a result, and he made no move to retreat.

  Instead, we stood panting and poised, ready to go another round.

  Mascara streaking her cheeks along with the tracks of the rain, Ivy stood her ground in the torrential downpour and faced me down.

  She was beauty and agony and fury all in one; but she wasn’t apathetic.

  Just like the arguments of our past, the viciousness of her words and the passion of her yell were rooted in something. I knew.

  Since the moment we’d met, when I’d been screaming at her, I’d been doing it to keep myself from saying and doing the things I didn’t want to admit. I’d been scared of what could have been in the future, and I’d been scared to confront my past.

  She didn’t trust me, now more than ever, and her reasons were clear.

  But the reasons for me to fight it were even clearer.

  I’d spent weeks being gentle with her, trying to tiptoe around the wide circle of space I’d thought she’d needed. But gentle wasn’t how we’d started. We hadn’t eased into each other’s hearts. No. We’d gotten under each other’s skin, inside one another’s souls because we’d fought our way there.

  And that was exactly what I needed to do now.

  I needed to fight. For her. For us.

  “Go ahead,” I told her. “Scream this fucking place down. There’s no one out here to hear you anyway.”

  My house was secluded the way Grace’s old property was, only more so, thanks to the wealth of my father and his desire to flaunt it. He’d wanted more property, more influence, a bigger house—anything he could wield over someone else.

  Water clung to Ivy’s shirt and forced it tight against her skin, the heat of her body steaming into the cold surrounding air. She was shivering and drenched, but this—this argument with me—was important enough to ignore it.

  “Is that a threat, Levi?” she challenged, turning the line of my jaw harder. She was instigating, poking at my weakness by suggesting I was the kind of man who would use all of this space and privacy to take advantage, I knew, but that didn’t stop it from smarting.

  “I don’t know,” I shouted back over the roar of the sheeting rain and wind. “Sure seems like you’ve decided it is.”

  She charged, closing the remaining distance between us and shoving me in the shoulder. I rocked, but by and large, her push wasn’t enough to make me move.

  “Don’t you dare,” she gritted, pointing an angry finger right in my face, “turn this back on me.”

  I grabbed her finger quickly, forcing it down and hooking an arm around her hips.

  She was too easy to move, her weight far lighter than that fucker of a producer pretended it was, as I tossed her over my shoulder and clamped an arm across her legs.

  “Hey! Put me down!”

  I ignored the yells easily, so she kicked and fought instead. Tenderness pooled under the violence of her fists on my back, and the toes of her boots connected more than once with my thighs, but I didn’t slow.

  Across the drive and through my door, I listened as she railed against every angle of my character she could manage.

  Apparently, I was a bastard with no respect for women, an egomaniac with no regard for others, and a sadist with no sense to move
on from these arguments between us.

  She swore up and down that she was different, that she’d moved on from this twisted thing between us, and it was time for me to do the same.

  When I made it to the second floor and down the hall to my room, I turned on the tap to the shower and dumped her in, fully clothed, before the water even began to warm.

  Montana weather in the dead of winter was frigid at best, but add an unexpected rain shower into the mix and it might as well have been a recipe for frost bite.

  Not only did Ivy need to warm up, she needed to calm the fuck down. Her panting, erratic breaths and the thrumming, hard pulse at her neck were evidence of her current chaotic state.

  “Just get over it!” she yelled, raw and ragged, her voice tiring from all the yelling even if she wasn’t. I turned my back on her, intent to leave her to it, but she didn’t want to be left to herself. She wanted a battle, and she wanted it with me.

  “Me and you aren’t a thing. We’re nothing. You’re nothing.”

  The insulting word froze me for a fraction of a second, and then…I wasn’t frozen at all.

  In three short steps, I crossed the ornate tile back to her, stepped under the spray and trapped her against the shower wall.

  The tile was cold, and the raining water steady as I pushed my body closer to hers and put my hands to the wall at the sides of her head.

  She shook in the small space—whether it was from the cold or the closeness was anyone’s guess.

  “Oh yeah?” I asked, my voice low and deep.

  “Yeah,” she spat back, testing my limits and daring me to be the one to give in to the misplaced sexual tension.

  We fought as a means to fuck when the other person wasn’t willing to give in. So seemingly opposite, but so obviously established in the same thing—passion.

  I smiled and embraced the feelings of uncertainty and hope—thrived in the same mess that’d sent me running in the first place. The difference in then and now was so finite in its simplicity.

  This angry, desperate version of Ivy was a mirror of me, held up for my scrutiny as I studied the reflection and learned what I looked like from the outside.

  She was teaching me perspective. And in the end, when she finally understood the symmetry of our journey to one another, she would comprehend true empathy.