“Hello,” I called out loudly at the screen door. “Anybody home?” I cleared my throat and knocked again.

                Ok, so maybe I wouldn’t have to face him. Maybe he wasn’t home and I could just leave the canned goods on the porch. Crime for stolen pickled vegetables had to be low around here right? Or maybe my aunt’s mushy fruit was as good as gold….

                Whatever. Worth the risk.

                I would just leave it on front of the door with a note explaining what it was for: fixed gate in the dead of night, you weirdo. Or something like that.

                I turned on my heel and then let out the highest pitched scream I was capable of.

                “Ah!” I screamed again, and then shook my head and stumbled back into the screen door. “Holy shit!”

                “Cami?” Stockton asked behind a mask of dirt and grime.

                “You scared the hell out of me!” I shouted, the irony of my comment not lost on me. “You can’t just sneak up on people like that! You have to warn them if you’re going to stalk around in your best impression of Rambo!”

                “Rambo?” he repeated, not at all amused with my terror.

                My heart was pounding in my chest and my skin tingled with adrenaline. It wasn’t just that he had somehow snuck up behind me, but that he was head to toe covered in streaks of black dirt. He was terrifying.

 And sexy as hell.

                Wait, where did that come from?

                “You look like you’re getting ready for a SWAT mission. Why are you so dirty?” I gasped out, trying to catch my breath.

                He stared down at me, even though he was on the ground and I was up a few steps on his porch. He was obviously annoyed, but he answered, “I was working. You do know what working is, don’t you?”

                His tone and question irritated me beyond the fear that he was the Sasquatch of the Appalachian Mountains here to feast on my poor helpless, virgin body.

                Ok, maybe slightly less than virgin body.

                “I know what work is,” I sniffed. “I worked all day.” I crossed my arms and tried not to take in his sweaty, god-like body. He was all rippling muscle and taught, perfect definition. His face was streaked with black grime, but he was probably the only human being on earth where it actually enhanced the strong lines of his face and full perfect lips that were pressed into a firm line of disapproval. His eyes flashed with annoyance, but their light green color was brilliant against his dirty, sweaty face. He was shirtless underneath worn, denim overalls and if my brain had been able to register anything beyond how f-ing delicious he looked I probably would have been able to come up with some kind of country cliché. Rivulets of sweat ran from his perfectly chiseled neck down his defined chest and awe-inspiring arms. And from the view I had I could see that even though one arm was curiously larger than the other, there was absolutely no physical deformity on this man. He was perfect. I swallowed roughly in an attempt to disguise my embarrassing desire.

                “Wow,” he drawled, not affected at all by me, “One whole day of work. That has to be some kind of record.”

                I quickly snapped out of my lusty haze and sent him a death glare, “What is your problem? You don’t even know me.”

                “I don’t need to know you. I know you’re type and I’m not buying whatever you’re selling,” he shot back angrily.

                I snorted at that and looked away. I had to. His striking body was distracting me from how pissed off I was at the ugly things falling out of his mouth. “Oh, you know my type? You mean, girls from outside your little hollow? You know a lot about girls that live in actual civilization with things like running water and cell phone service?” I laughed derisively to hammer in my point. “You don’t know anything about me. Or my type. You’re just like everyone else around here, you’re afraid of something different. I’m not going to apologize for my blonde hair or tanned skin. I live by something called an ocean. Do you know what that is? If you need help I can pull out my phone, it has something called the internet on it and I can show you a picture. It’s kind of like a lake, but a whole lot bigger and it tastes like salt.” I narrowed my eyes and turned back to face him, daring him to meet my glare.

                To my surprise he did, boldly. His mint green eyes bore into mine with a fierceness I had never seen in real life. My breathing faltered when I realized I didn’t know if he was going to yell at me or kiss me. Something intensified the air between us, like electricity and raw, primitive energy.

                “You got quite a mouth on you, duchess,” he said slowly, but with no less heat. “Is that why you’re down here? Trying to get all that sass out of you?”

                He was perceptive, I could give him that. “Actually, I like my mouth just how it is.”

                His eyes flared with something powerful, something I was almost afraid of. I swallowed again, and hugged my arms tighter to my body. I had always gone for the clean cut type before- literally. I usually liked them both clean and cut. And while he could claim one of those attributes, clean was something yet to be desired, at least at the moment. Still, the thought of launching myself off this porch and wrapping my legs around his waist just to find out if he liked my mouth too was kind of playing on a loop inside my head.

Whew. Steamy, right??? :)

Now would you like more....????

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Check out Lila Felix's blog for a perspective from Stockton!!!!