18. Arden
18
ARDEN
A whirring sound chipped away at my skull like an ice pick. I blinked against the mostly darkened room, trying to get my bearings and figure out what the hell the sound was. I stared up at my ceiling, awareness seeping into me. Most people would think it was weird, my thick emerald blackout curtains cutting out any glimmer of sunlight, only to have a nightlight in the corner. But it worked.
Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I sat up, and Brutus lifted his head from his dog bed. My eyes burned, and I fumbled for the drops on my nightstand. The sensation wasn’t new. My typical lack of sleep meant that I bought the drops in bulk. Only last night, my lack of sleep wasn’t due to nightmares.
I’d tossed and turned, replaying that almost kiss in my mind. The way Linc’s thumb felt as it grazed my lip. How the roughened pads of his fingertips skated across my jaw. The way my skin heated as his hand slid into my hair.
My nipples pebbled beneath my worn tee, the buds tightening against the soft fabric. Fucking hell. I shoved to standing, annoyance sweeping through me. I needed to get a grip.
The whirring, grinding sound intensified as if to call bullshit . Striding across my bedroom, I threw open the door and stalked down the hall, Brutus trailing behind me. But I came up short as I reached the kitchen and living area.
The house wasn’t large, but I didn’t need it to be. Even though it was smaller, the open-concept design, along with the massive windows, made the space feel larger. Inviting. And the sage green walls complemented the view, giving the space a peaceful air.
But there was nothing peaceful about what greeted me now.
Linc stood at my island, hand braced on a blender, the sleeves of a blue button-down rolled up, exposing tan, muscular forearms. His hair was darker, almost black now, making me realize it was damp from a shower. My mouth went dry as my gaze dipped, taking in the dark-wash jeans that hugged his hips and worn boots that didn’t feel like something a god of money would wear.
But that was Linc. A series of unexpected surprises. Always keeping me on my toes.
The blender cut off, and I glared at the man in my kitchen. Glared for so many reasons. But most of all because he was making me feel . “Do you know what time it is?” I growled.
As if he’d already known I was there, Linc didn’t look my way. Instead, he glanced at his watch—an antique gold piece. Not perfect, but full of dings and scratches that told a story, just like my truck did. “It’s almost eight.”
“That’s practically dawn,” I muttered. “Some of us were trying to sleep.” I gestured to Brutus, who simply trotted over to Linc for pets. Traitor.
Linc’s lips twitched as he scratched behind Brutus’s ears. “And some of us have been up for hours. Did some work. Fed your horses. Got some supplies from the main house since all you had in your fridge were energy drinks and eighty-two condiments. Oh, and some leftover Chinese that was questionable at best. ”
My scowl only deepened. “You never know what kind of hot sauce you’ll need.”
He chuckled and reached for the blender pitcher. “Fair enough.”
“And you fed my horses?” I asked, a little shocked.
Linc poured a green concoction into two glasses. “Cope told me how, and, shockingly, I do know how to measure.”
I fought the urge to squirm. Something about the familiarity of that, the effort to help, hit a little too close to center mass. “What is that?” I asked, nodding at the goop Linc was pouring.
Linc grabbed one of the glasses and held it out to me. “Green smoothie. I made you one. It has four different kinds of veggies. Six fruits. Vitamins. Protein powder.”
My nose scrunched as I studied the glass, but I didn’t take it. “Thank you, but I think I’ll pass. That looks like something I muck out of Whiskey’s and Stardust’s stalls.”
Linc barked out a laugh. “Not a morning person, are you?”
“What about me suggested that I enjoy rising before the sun?”
That devastating grin stretched across Linc’s face. “Grumpy and fucking cute. Even the shirt is cute.”
Cute wasn’t a descriptor often used for me, and Linc using it now did something to my insides. I glanced down, not remembering what tee I had put on. It was black cotton but with a unicorn over a rainbow. Below, it read Death Metal . My cheeks heated. “It’s my favorite.”
“Adorable,” Linc muttered, setting my glass on the counter and moving in closer. “But what I’m really partial to is these shorts.” His fingers skimmed along the hem of my short-shorts, grazing my skin with the barest of touches.
I sucked in a breath, my whole body tightening at the contact, which was barely anything. It was as if everything intensified when Linc touched me. It was more than any other contact. It made me greedy for that more and terrified of it in the same breath.
I stared at the man opposite me as he waited. Linc should’ve considered giving professional poker a try because he had the kind of patience that meant taking home the whole pot. I opened my mouth to speak, unsure what might come out. A blow-off, or a plea for him to take me right here on the counter?
But my doorbell cut off both.
Brutus went on alert, instantly coming to my side. It was Linc who scowled now. “Dogs and doorbells,” he muttered, annoyance lacing his words.
That little glimpse of humanity, proof that Linc wasn’t a god, had a smile tugging at my lips. “I’ll get it.”
“ I’ll get it. We don’t know who’s there.”
I let out a long sigh and leaned a hip against the counter. “If you get my phone, I could pull up the camera feed, but I really don’t think assassins ring the bell or have the gate code.”
That only had Linc’s scowl deepening and those green-gold eyes darkening like storm clouds. Note to self, don’t mention assassins.
“Better to be safe,” he ground out as he started for the front door.
I couldn’t deny that Linc was hot when he was pissed off and protective, but I still felt the walls closing in and the freedom I’d found disappearing from my grasp.
Linc pressed his face to the door to look through the peephole. When he pulled back, there was still a hint of pissed off in his expression, but it was more annoyance than anger now. He unlocked the door and opened it.
I peered around him to find Denver standing there, blinking up at Linc in surprise. He had different colored feathers in his hair today to match the stitching on the western-style shirt he wore. His jeans had that artfully distressed look, and his cowboy boots were the kind that never actually touched manure.
“What are you doing here?” Denver asked, more than a little hint of demand in his tone.
Linc’s expression hardened. “Not sure that’s any of your business.”
Oh, Jesus. Someone save me from male pissing contests.
I tried to move around Linc, but he shifted slightly as if he didn’t want Denver to get a good look at me. I smacked Linc’s arm. “Enough. I highly doubt Den is hiding a bazooka in his boot. ”
Linc’s gaze flicked down to me, and I noticed a tightness around his mouth that had a flicker of guilt taking root inside me. He was genuinely worried. I squeezed his arm. “I’m fine. Promise.”
He lifted his chin in assent, shifting slightly the other way so I could have an actual conversation with Denver. But when I met Den’s gaze, it was to find his face twisted in a scowl, too.
This was what happened when you tried to people before eight in the morning.
“What the hell is going on, Arden?” Denver demanded. “Trace shows up yesterday, wants all of our prints, wants to know if we saw anyone around your truck. I call, you don’t answer. I text two dozen times, you don’t message back.”
I winced. “I’m sorry. The day got away from me.”
Denver scoffed. “Looks like you were just fine shacking up with moneybags here. But you don’t have two seconds to get back to your friends?”
“Watch your tone,” Linc ground out.
“I’m not talking to you,” Denver snapped.
“Maybe not, but you’ll only be talking to me if you don’t watch what you say.”
Denver puffed up his chest like a gorilla about to charge. “What? You’ve been here for like two-point-five seconds and get to dictate who she talks to?”
Linc moved forward in two long strides, forcing Denver back onto the front steps. “It’s not about dictating anything. It’s the fact that I’m not going to let anyone speak disrespectfully to Arden in my presence… ever . So, try again.”
Normally, I found it oppressive when someone stepped in like this. It reminded me too much of my family’s overprotectiveness. But something about Linc in this moment felt anything but oppressive. For the first time in a long while, I felt like I could breathe. Like I was safe. It was the same as when he wrapped his arms around me.
Denver glanced nervously between Linc and me, then sighed, running a hand through his long hair and getting his fingers stuck in the feathers. “Sorry, A. I was just worried. ”
I stepped out onto the front patio. “I’m sorry, too. I was painting all afternoon and night. Then I crashed.”
That had interest lighting in Den’s eyes. “You finish it?”
One corner of my mouth kicked up. All was forgotten if new art had been created. “I did. It’ll take a couple of weeks to fully dry, but?—”
“It can cure at The Collective. We can still hang it for the show.”
A pang lit in my sternum. I wasn’t sure I was ready to give this one away. Something about it was just a little too personal. Or maybe it was that I still needed the message that lay within the layers of paint. “I don’t know?—”
“Come on, A. We need as many pieces as possible for the auction.”
Linc’s jaw hardened, a muscle fluttering along the curve, but he stayed silent.
“Okay,” I said. “I’ll bring it in later.” I wouldn’t have been able to ship it for weeks, but I could lay it in the bed of my truck and drive it into town. Denver was right, we needed everything we could get for the auction.
Denver beamed. “You’re the best.” His smile dimmed a fraction. “You going to tell me what happened with your truck?”
My fingers found the drawstring of my shorts, and I curled the cord around them. “Just a stupid prank. But you know Trace doesn’t like anyone messing with his little sister.”
Denver chuckled. “Some poor kid is going to end up pissing himself when Trace corners him. That dude is scary when he wants to be.”
It was true. Trace had a gentle, easy, approachable demeanor most of the time. But when someone flipped that justice switch, it was best to steer clear.
“Hopefully, it’ll be a couple of days before he finds them. He’ll chill by then.” Maybe.
Denver nodded and quickly glanced at Linc. “All right. I’m heading back into town. Call me if you need help unloading the painting. I’ll be in and out of the gallery all day. I set up a bunch of interviews for Sam.”
Denver let that last sentence hang, and I knew why. He wanted me to offer up an interview with the reporter. But that wasn’t happening.
“Good luck. I’ll text when I bring the painting in.” What I didn’t say was that I’d also be texting Isaiah or Farah to check if the coast was clear and reporter-free. I wouldn’t put Hannah in that position. She was too nervous about hurting anyone’s feelings.
“Sounds good. See you later.” Denver gave me a salute that was a little ridiculous and studiously ignored Linc as he went to climb into his Subaru hatchback.
Linc watched him the whole way, not taking his eyes off him and then his vehicle until both had vanished from sight. Then, he turned slowly, his gaze dipping to mine. “I don’t like him.”