Page 36
When I turn to reply, her green eyes peer at me through her bangs. Reaching over the console, I tuck a few loose strands behind her ear.
“No, darling, I knew you’d be there.” I wanted you to be there. Badly. Too badly. I run my thumb across her earlobe, then drop my hand.
“Oh.”
Her short response sinks in my stomach.
“Thank you…I’m…sorry.”
“Nothing to be sorry for, except perhaps setting off the motion sensors at the warehouse. We really must work on your stealth skills.” The knot in my stomach eases slightly and she lets out a chuff.
“Aren’t you going to ask why…I…you know?” She looks at her hand again.
I want to know what caused her to have such a reaction, but getting her to a better state of mind takes priority right now.
“We all have our nightmares. Someday, if I’m lucky, you’ll share yours with me, so you don’t have to fight them alone.”
Her mouth ticks up around the corners. The knot in my stomach melts away, knowing she’s starting to break through the initial shock of whatever haunts her. As I turn around the exit, she hisses and flexes her hand.
“Stop fiddling with it. We’re almost there. I’ll take a look at it.”
Her head whips in my direction. Her lips purse, and I can’t help the smile that comes to my face. Her eyebrows furrow. I don’t have to guess that she’s having some internal debate whether to unleash a witty and most likely vicious comment upon me. She could call me by any name under the sun and I would bask in it, so long as that spark remained in her eyes.
“I’m just saying that we can take care of it properly when we get there…and I don’t want it to get any worse.”
With a dramatic eye roll, she huffs, causing the window to fog. She raises her hand and wipes the condensation, reminiscent of last night. My dick instantly begins to harden. Now is not the fucking time.
Pulling into the driveway, I step out and open the door for her. She walks straight past me and heads at full speed to the front door. I step up onto the front stoop, and she practically throws herself in front of me to cover the keypad. As if I don’t already know the code. Rolling my eyes, I wait for her to step over the threshold. She turns and places a hand on my chest to stop me from walking any further.
“Thanks for the ride…and everything.” She straightens her spine and uses her arm to block the doorway. This woman is hysterical if she thinks I’m leaving now. She pulls the door closed an inch or two, leaving a sliver of space between her and the doorjamb.
“Mm-hmm. Yes. No problem. This is where you let me in, you know.” I motion between us.
Her eyes narrow as the internal debate as to whether she should let me in plays in her eyes as I remain on the stoop. Stepping forward, I push the door open enough to send the message that I’m not going anywhere. Her arm falls, reluctantly approving my entrance. She mumbles something under her breath and closes the door behind me.
Huffing, she walks past me through the foyer. The cream-colored walls turn into a dark yellow as we cross the threshold of a short hallway. A break in the wall reveals a kitchen to the right with green cabinets and brown countertops. A closer inspection of the kitchen causes my heartbeat to rise. Rustic, real wood countertops. Sweat gathers on my chest and neck. Fewer things are more horrifying than rustic countertops. Closing my eyes, I try to imagine there aren’t billions of bacteria breeding between the ridges of the wood where this woman prepares her food.
Taking a breath, I count to three. The counting does nothing to quell my mind envisioning the festering and flourishing brood of bacteria clinging to her countertops. A microscopic ecosystem of invisible death. My breath catches again.
“What’s the problem?” Patience’s clipped voice sounds over my shoulder. She begins walking toward me, pursing her lips so tight they form a white line.
Not willing to risk her wrath by pointing out that her countertops are most likely growing things the CDC would take an interest in, I blurt out the only thing that would help in this situation. “Do you have any tea perhaps?”
Her eyes narrow as though she’s assessing my response.
“No. I don’t have any tea.”
Her voice has grown steady again, but a peek at the horror from earlier still remains in her irises.
Raising my hands, I lower my voice into a calm tenor. “All right. The British built an entire empire on tea, you know. I was only trying to help.”
She turns, leading me into the living room.
Burnt-orange, sponge-textured walls, broken by dark wood beams running the length of the ceiling, greet me. A sigh sounds behind me, followed by a touch on my shoulder. Before I can move, she steps around me into the kitchen using an adjoining entrance I didn’t see before. I peer into the room as she runs a kettle under the faucet with a scowl. Smiling, I shake my head and continue taking a slow turn about the room. Art hangs on display in every corner. Paintings under top lighting, pottery lining the mantle—there isn’t a spot untouched by creativity. I’d almost say it’s cluttered, but everything has been thoughtfully placed.
A potted plant in the corner of the room catches my eye. Vines erupt from the charcoal and gold basin, coiling around the nearest beams. The plant is perfectly positioned to soak up the light from the French doors on the other side of the room, and by god, the thing is thriving.
The sound of her hissing draws me into the kitchen. She slips her hand beneath the water and sucks in a sharp breath. Stepping to her side, I reach for her arm, but she jerks it back before I can touch her, a menacing growl rumbling from her throat like a wounded animal. A smile threatens to tug at my lips, but I manage to conceal the amusement.
