6. Gilli
Gilli
T he door to the extra bedroom slams shut, my spine pressed to it and my heart thundering in my head.
The pulse is loud enough to override the bleating voice urging me to leave, right now, to get in the car and spray gravel in a hasty escape.
Soren Savage is here and I’m a wreck.
Why did he have to be at the cabin? Why is my luck so crappy that he’s here, and he admits that he hates me?
I’ve always suspected it, even though I’ve never done shit to the dude. He’s just a bully, like I told him. Big and brawny now, probably a gym rat, with a buff chest and tattoos. He’s let his golden hair grow out, and sports a neat beard and goatee combination.
Like some kind of Viking wannabe.
He’s so damn handsome he’d bring me to my knees if he were anyone else, a man with a kind heart and an attitude adjustment.
I lock myself in the room for the rest of the night, disappearing into the bathroom only once before dropping onto the mattress and tossing, restless, until morning.
A dull quiet rings through the house.
The view outside shows the still lake water in the distance reflecting the placid gray sky. Although the day has started, the clouds keep most of the sunlight at bay and allow only freckled rays through on occasion.
I throw on a bra, a fresh pair of leggings, and a cozy sweater. My stomach flips angrily in a demand for food. I press a hand to the churning.
Coffee, at the very least, I assure it. The last I had was that gas station sludge.
Not bothering to suppress a yawn, I head into the kitchen. Coffeemaker is in place. Check . But the cabinets, outside of a red can of ground coffee, are practically empty.
The boys have got a box of pancake mix and a few half-eaten bags of chips rubber-banded together.
“They live like this?” I mutter to myself.
The fridge is the same except for a twelve-pack of beer and a dented plastic tub of something that has turned green with mold. I stare at the lone container before allowing the door to swing shut.
I’ll have to go food shopping if I want to eat.
With another yawn, I grab the coffee and a filter and load up the coffeemaker. A hunt through the freezer yields a bag of frozen waffles, and there’s a toaster above the microwave.
It’s a little past nine. Maybe I slept better than I thought.
There’s no movement down the hallway and only a light rustle of snoring.
The place is small enough to have altogether no privacy, the kitchen and dining and living rooms all one big open space.
“If it begins with coffee, it’s gonna be a good morning.” Aiden walks out of his bedroom, smiling. “You didn’t have to make it. I was going to get there eventually.” He strolls casually over.
“It’s no big deal,” I get out, forced to clear my throat. Score one for me, I didn’t flinch. “We all need it to start the day, right? Might as well make a pot.”
He doesn’t look much older than he did the last time I’d seen him, at the wedding. Which means he’s aged well. Both sides of his oak-brown hair are buzzed but the hair on the top was left long.
He’s the picture of everyone’s favorite quarterback. The smile emphasizes the strong cut of his chin, and those blue eyes are magnetic.
Enough to take every bit of attention away from the limp.
He stops in front of me and eyes me up and down, his strong arms on display underneath a white tank top. He looks strong enough to hold one of me on each shoulder. I feel cornered by his looming presence, and the nearness sends skitters through my veins.
“You remember me, right? Aiden.”
I swallow. “I know who you are.”
I adjust my glasses and catch my breath when he reaches around me to grab one of the mugs I set out on the counter. Our arms barely touch but my hair lifts.
“You don’t remember me the way I remember you.” He quirks a half smile and the statement forces me to meet his eyes.
I should say something, but everything in my head sounds either bratty or stupid. “What am I supposed to remember?” I finally ask.
He sighs, long and low. “Typical woman. Too worried about what kind of dress she’s got on to think about the eligible men at a wedding.”
I snort. “Eligible men? I was twelve the last time I saw you. Give me a break.”
“Ah, so it’s true, then. You don’t remember. I’m hurt, Gilli.”
“You sound sad about it.” I cock one eyebrow higher. “Was there another time?”
The way he holds my gaze, the way he’s watching me brings a sliver of awareness to my chest. He’s standing way too close for comfort and I draw in a breath and step back.
Aiden grabs the coffee pot before it’s finished brewing and dumps half of the rich black brew into his cup. Without waiting for it to cool and uncaring about the drips burning on the hot plate, he takes a sip. Winces.
“Yeah, of course. When Soren and I came to move Lorie out of the trailer.”
I pull up short. “Wait. You helped move her up to RISD?” The memories are clicking into place. “The Rhode Island School of Design?”
The awareness has no business here. It’s not the time or the place—or the right guy.
“We tried, at least. Soren lost a bet with his father or something, and it roped us into an act of service.” Aiden straightens.
In an even tone, he says, “You didn’t stay long.
You were busy. I was carrying boxes out to the back of the U Haul.
You made some kind of black comment about Soren’s shirt and then booked it out. Hardly a goodbye for anyone.”
“You’re right.” I stare at the ceiling, remembering. “I asked him why he bothered to put on a shirt at all since the one he wore had so many holes.”
Aiden’s eyes remain locked and piercing through me. “Truth is, you made an impression on me.”
I’m not sure what he means, but my nerves are firing and my torso goes hot. Grabbing another mug, I pour the coffee and mentally sour at the thought of drinking it without a packet of sugar.
At least it’s fresh and strong.
“I must have, if you’re bringing it up now,” I reply as I lean against the counter, blowing on the mug. “I’m sorry. You’re not the type of guy a girl forgets.”
The practiced flirt comes easily and a part of me means it.
Aiden realizes it, too. “Good to know. ”
Another yawn pulls at my mouth and I bury it in my coffee. This habit of poor sleep is catching up.
Aiden’s attention tracks me as I set down the mug and reach overhead, stretching my body and hoping it will do some wonders to wake me up.
I’m used to men watching.
But they’re never around in person to stare.
I cast my gaze at him and force myself to hold it, admiring the bulging muscles of his arms crossed over his chest and the set of his pursed lips as he sips his coffee.
Oh, boy. There is something predatory and hot turning his eyes from sky blue to liquid sapphire. Another good looking dude, and I expect nothing less from him.
I jerk a thumb toward the fridge. “You guys are horrible at grocery shopping. What do you eat?”
“We eat a lot of things.” He takes a step toward me, the movement sudden, and I go on high alert. He’s almost close enough to touch. “Maybe you caught us between meals.”
“I just don’t know how you keep such a cut figure if you exist only on beer and coffee.”
My legs thrum, sending the tremor up between my thighs. Stress, I assure myself. It’s stress and hunger and appreciation for a good-looking man.
“Trust me, your stepbrother can eat like an elephant,” Aiden mutters. “We just got here yesterday, so we definitely need to go shopping.”
I watch how his jaw flexes when he talks, and my stomach warms. I’m not used to engaging with men in person. It’s a completely different thing from engaging remotely with men who can see me but I can’t see them.
In front of the camera, I’m not Gillian. I’m someone else. Someone who likes herself and feels powerful. Here with Aiden, despite the desire to talk to him, I’ve got no clue what to say, and it’s distracting as hell.
Shopping seems like a harmless topic. “I’ll go into town. Grab something to cook for us. It’s the least I can do to repay the hospitality.”
“You cook?”
I shrug. “I do my best. I’m not a chef by any means but I know how to take care of myself. I’ve learned the art of cooking for one.”
Aiden chuckles, the sound born up from his belly. “Then you’re going to have to quadruple your recipes in this house.”
“You’ll have to prove it to me because I definitely don’t believe you based on the state of the fridge. You don’t even have ketchup. What kind of men have no condiments?”
He grins wickedly. “I didn’t realize you were the condiment police. What do you like to eat, Gilli?”
Aiden plants his elbows on the counter, giving him the perfect angle to stare at my tits.
I don’t have to linger in the kitchen, I remind myself. Why don’t I leave?
“You guys just tell me what you like. I’ll pick up some things,” I reply hastily as heat drives up my neck.
Is it a good idea to put myself out in public? Someone might see me driving the car and mark my license plate… I give myself a mental slap.
Now I’m seeing spies where there aren’t any, but I’m not sure I’m ready to take the chance yet.
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll drive,” Aiden offers in typical male I’m-reading-your-mind. “You can hop a ride with me.”
He stretches his arms over his head. Shit, he’s got the V—cut muscles veering down past the drawstring keeping his gray sweatpants in place.
Gray. Sweatpants.
I’ve always been a sucker.
I swallow, my mouth suddenly dry. “You don’t have to.”
“Well, you look like you’ve just seen a ghost. I can’t have you worried about navigating these backroads. Maybe you’re worried about encountering the Jersey Devil,” he says with a hint of humor in his voice.
“The Jersey Devil is down in the Pine Barrens. I don’t need to be a native to know that. Not to mention I don’t trust you as far as I can throw you.”
But he’s got me smiling.
“Trust me?” Aiden innocently presses his index finger to his chest. “Honey, I’m sweet as pie. You know I’ll treat you right.”