Page 5 of Love In Translation
“Hey!”
Rheo rested her forehead on the door and shivered as his deep voice rolled under the frame, through the cracks, and penetrated the wood. For the first time, goose bumps pebbled her skin and tiny fireworks exploded in her stomach. They’d just looked at each other, for God’s sake!
Stop lusting and start thinking, dammit!
If he walked away, he’d contact Carrie and ask her why Rheo was living in the house he’d rented. The police would be called, and...boom!
If she told him her grandmother owned the house and Carrie was her cousin, he’d tell Carrie there was a mix-up and...boom!
Carrie would tell Paddy...
Big boom!
“I’m just going to call Carrie and get this sorted,” he told her, his deep voice barely muffled by the thick door.
Carrie, according to her Instagram account, was live-streaming her hike to the summit of an active volcano—typical—and Rheo doubted she’d answer his call. But she might, so Rheo yanked the door open and snatched his phone.
“What the hell?” he demanded, looking from his empty hand to hers.
“Don’t call her. We can sort this out,” Rheo said, hating the note of panic in her voice.
He plucked his phone back. “Whoareyou? And why am I discussing any of this with you?”
His expression hardened, and suspicion flared in his eyes. Damn, she’d run out of choices.
“I’m Rheo Whitlock, Carrie’s my cousin, and our grandmother, Paddy, owns this place.”
“Rheo...” He rolled her name over his tongue and another flash of lust smacked her.Oh, for God’s sake!
Rheo sucked in some much-needed air. “Who did you say you are?”
His lips lifted in a sexy half smile. “I didn’t, but I’m Fletcher Wright. Fletch to my friends.”
It was a good name, a strong name, but not one she recognized. He knew Carrie and he enjoyed outdoor pursuits, so he was probably part of her making-adventure-and-travel-documentaries world.
“Producer, director, or sound guy?”
Amusement flickered in his eyes, turning them a shade lighter. “I’ve done all of the above before.”
It wasn’t an explanation, but his occupation didn’t matter. And although he’d been patient up to this point, he had to be wondering why she hadn’t invited him into the house he’d rented.
He lifted his duffel bag—it looked heavy—and glanced at his bells-and-whistles watch. Rheo caught the flicker of impatience on his tired face. Thick blue stripes under his eyes suggested exhaustion, and despite his bulk, he looked to be a few pounds underweight. It was obvious he needed a week of solid sleep and decent meals.
But what he needed wasn’t important—she couldn’t afford to lose focus. She should invite him inside, but she couldn’t, not yet. If she let Fletcher Wright walk into the house, his presence would change her life in ways she hadn’t anticipated or planned for.
Her life was plenty complicated already, thanks very much.
“So, just to be clear...you are renting this house?” she asked.
Maybe she could find a solution to her quandary in the next thirty seconds.
Irritation flickered in his eyes at her question, but he nodded his response.
“For how long?”
“I’m not sure yet, but a minimum of three weeks. I have the option to extend the lease if I want to.”
Three weeks? Holy shit! That long?