Malachi Barton Blonde Hair Novels & Stories

A hurt I was meant to feel. And I want more. I grab another tube from the table—ultramarine blue. It splashes down on his massive chest, mixing with the red like an abstract painting. Malcolm growls, reaches back, and grabs a bottle of lemon yellow, which he immediately squirts directly into my hair. I gasp. “Oh, you did not!” He winks back like the charming rascal he is. “What are you gonna do about it?” he asks, seizing me by the hips.

"You didn't mention the cottage came with such a beautiful woman, Jareth. No wonder you haven't checked in. I thought you’d finally gone feral in the bush." "Malachi, shut up," Jareth said, though the edge was gone from his voice. He turned to me, looking truly uncomfortable. "Sarah, this is Mal. He’s... a fellow hunter." "Hunter?" Malachi laughed, catching the warning look Jareth shot him. He immediately straightened his posture, his heels almost clicking together before he caught himself and forced a casual slouch. "Right. Hunting. Lots of... deer. Very dangerous. I’m Malachi Trombley, ma'am." He looked past me to the gas stove. "Is that coffee? I might actually weep."

None as handsome or rich as this one, though, her brain piped up, unhelpfully. “Poppy.” He purred her name as he smiled down at her. His voice was low and deep; it did funny things to her insides, and felt strangely familiar, “I’m happy to make your acquaintance. I’m Malcom.” “I know.” Poppy blurted out and then shut her mouth with a clack of teeth. She was being an utter fool. Malcom laughed. He looked like he was about to say something when the horrible blonde in the white dress sauntered up to them.

“Alright,” Calyx said, leaning back in his chair and pointing a finger at me. “You’ve been suspiciously quiet all day.” I glanced up from tightening the cuff on my sleeve. “That’s because you’re suspiciously loud.” “Deflection,” he said smugly. Malachi sat in the armchair near the window, already dressed for the evening in a dark green shirt that stretched across his broad chest. A shifter girl from one of his classes had apparently convinced him to go to the dance.

It was him. She opened the door to find Malachi leaning against the frame. He wasn't in his work clothes; he was wearing a tight black t-shirt that stretched across his massive chest and dark jeans that hung low on his hips. He looked like a wolf standing at the door of a sheepfold. "Malachi? What are you doing here? My mother is going to be here in ten minutes," Lauren whispered, her heart leaping into her throat.

So he sat on the steps that he hadn’t noticed before this moment. “I am sure it was someone who looked like that brunette bitch.” Mikhail stated, but didn’t seem sure at that moment. “Platinum blonde… Her hair is almost white.” Dimitri whispered, it wasn’t a lie in the fact that her hair was that color…NOW. Stacy, on the other hand, her hair was brown hair at one point. “WHAT?” Mikhail screamed at the top of his lungs and swung to punch Dimitri. He missed hitting the wall, leaving a rather nice dent. “You lie to save her?”

she said…her voice coming out softer than expected. Malachi tapped on something on his laptop and got up from his chair. “Then don’t” he said still staring at his laptop. “ we’re acting out this non-insulting scene I wrote” he said sarcastically Sierra was still looking at him confused. “Come on…get up” he said reaching out for her hand. At this point Sierra couldn’t tell if she was dreaming or not. The Malachi she was used to was the ‘very non chalant annoying British guy’