Tough Luck Hero by Maisey Yates Page B

room, leaving him alone with the fire, the memories and a vague feeling of dissatisfaction that he was not going to do anything to alleviate.
    * * *
    S HE WAS STARVING . Starving and trying to pretend that she was going to get some sleep in her current state. She had skipped eating dinner because she had just wanted to barricade herself in her own space and get some distance between herself and Colton, and now she was made of grumbling and regret.
    She rolled out of bed, tugging her T-shirt down in place.
    This room was so different than her own. The bed had a rather plain comforter on it, a deep green with no extraneous details. The bed itself was fashioned from natural wood, in keeping with the theme and the rest of the house.
    Again, she could see no piece of Natalie here. Couldn’t begin to imagine her friend—or rather, her former friend—inhabiting this place.
    But then, she would never have been able to imagine herself living here, and yet, here she was.
    â€œMaybe this is what he does,” she muttered. “Maybe he just marries people and spirits them off to his house.”
    Well, in fairness, he hadn’t married Natalie.
    That she knew of. She supposed it was possible that he had yet another secret marriage. Though that would make theirs illegal. Which would potentially alleviate some problems.
    Lydia Carpenter: Victim of Bigamy Scandalwas a lot less damning than Lydia Carpenter: Quickie Marriage and Divorce with her Ex-Friend’s Almost Husband.
    Of course, the actual headline was about to be Lydia Carpenter: Found Dead of Starvation in Colton West’s Home if she didn’t find some food.
    It was after ten, so she could only hope that Colton had retired to his room. She hadn’t heard him move around for a while.
    She crept out of the bedroom, walking on soft socked feet into the kitchen. She opened up his fridge and nearly sagged with relief.
    It was full of food. Food in neat little Tupperware containers, likely provided by his housekeeper. Okay, that she could get used to. Sharing space with that...that man , was a different story entirely.
    He was just entirely too there. Too big. Oh yeah, and too much of an asshole.
    She thought back to the way he had been winding her up. The way he had looked at her with that confident gleam in his eye, the smile curving his mouth as he had told her that he remembered what they had done that night.
    He didn’t remember.
    She took out a container that seemed to be full of enchiladas and huffed as she shut the door. “He doesn’t remember,” she muttered into the empty space, reiterating it herself.
    â€œYou don’t think so?”
    She jumped, and an elegant shriek escaped her lips. She whirled around, pressing the container tightly to her chest, the cold from the fridge bleeding through her top. “What are you doing?”
    â€œI heard an intruder in my kitchen.”
    She waved a hand. “Not an intruder. Just me.”
    â€œSo, that all depends on your definition of intruder .”
    â€œOh no,” she grumped, “don’t act like I chose to move in here.”
    He folded his arms over his broad chest, leaning against the door frame. “You didn’t? Because I seem to recall you being deeply concerned about appearances.”
    â€œI was compelled to move in. Compelled by the expectations of the community. And your family, I might add.”
    â€œMostly your own ambition. What do you have there?”
    â€œIt appears to be enchiladas. I’m hoping they’re chicken.”
    â€œYou’re in luck. I think they are. And my housekeeper makes amazing enchiladas, so it was a very good choice.”
    She suddenly realized she hadn’t exactly asked for permission to have access to his food. She also realized that she couldn’t exactly live with him and not contribute to the cost of groceries and electricity. There were so many logistics. Logistics that were just now dawning on