Chapter Seven
WE HEAD BACK UP TOthe house, where Tuck and LJ are finishing up breakfast.
“All good?” Tuck says, when Will pushes open the kitchen door.
“More or less,” Will says. “Bit of a surprise.”
“Meaning?” LJ arches an eyebrow.
“She’s staying here,” Will says. “Rob’s orders.”
“What?” LJ sounds surprised, and not in a good way. All his gruff joking from earlier evaporates.
“Did I stutter?” Will says. “She’s staying here. Guess he figures she’s worth something? I...really don’t know.” He gives me a sideways glance.
“We don’t do women here,” LJ says.
“I know that,” Will says, throwing up his hands. “It’s his rule. But here we fucking are, aren’t we?”
A tight, airless silence clamps down around us.
Finally, LJ stands up from the table abruptly, his chair scraping on the tiles.
“Oh, now what?” Will says, as LJ starts to storm out.
“I’m getting her damn car,” LJ barks over his shoulder as he disappears.
“I...” I feel stupid, watching him retreat down a hallway. Footsteps pound on a distant flight of stairs, and a far-off door slams. Still, I feel my shoulders loosen, just a smidge. Somehow, in all of this, I’d forgotten about the only important thing I own. “He’s...going back for the Mustang?” I say hesitantly.
“Apparently so,” Will says. “Can’t say it’s a bad call. Be a damn shame to leave a specimen like that rusting out in the woods.”
“She drives a Mustang?” Tuck says, admiration in his voice.
“You should see it,” Will says, grudgingly. “Beautiful condition. She’s got the magic touch, it seems.”
“It’s not in perfect condition. Got a taillight out.” My cheeks flame. “And it’s not magic. Just hard work.”
Will throws Tuck a look. “Same difference, if you ask me.”
“Sorry about LJ,” Tuck puts in. “He’s...not a morning person.”
“So dramatic.” Will rubs his temples. “You’d think we were asking him to share his apartment with her or something.”
“Not sure he’d mind that,” Tuck says, a bit bashfully, looking at his fingernails.
“Not what I meant,” Will says. “But in that sense, no, none of us should get our hopes up. Maren’s made that quite clear.”
“I just made it clear,” I interrupt, “that I know no one gets anything for free, and if there’s going to be quid pro quo, then I want to be in charge of the...quid,” I finish lamely.
“She thinks we’re trying to sex traffic her,” Will butts in. Tuck goes red.
“What?” He shakes his head. “Maren, oh my God, we—”
“That’s not what I said,” I protest, glaring at Will before throwing an apologetic look at Tuck. “I just meant...well, you guys are all filthy rich, you live in a hideout in the woods, and you’re...” I hesitate whether I want to go this far. “...up to something.” I lift a shoulder. “You could see why I might be suspicious.”
Will snorts. “Yes,” he says. “I’d say you have an awful lot to learn about us, then.”
“Don’t worry,” Tuck says. “I’m sure you’ll settle into things here eventually. There’s no rush.”
“Speaking of settling in.” Will slips his phone from his pocket and thumbs away something on the screen. “I’ve got some...business to attend to. Can you find her a room, Tuck?”
“Sure,” Tuck says. “I’ll give you the whole tour.”
Will rolls his eyes. “I’d pass on that, if I were you. He’ll bore you to death before you reach the second floor.”
“A tour?” I throw Tuck an accommodating smile, which makes his face light up. It’s quite charming, actually. He’s like a cute, nerdy college boy—golden retriever energy, charmingly oblivious to how sexy he is, even in glasses and sweats. “I’d like that.”
“Fine. Your funeral.” Will gestures at Tuck. “Try not bombard her with fun facts. She’s been through enough.”
“AND THIS IS WHERE MOSTof the bedrooms are.” Tuck gestures at a sweeping, grand hallway to the left of the main staircase on the second floor.
“Most?” I ask.
Tuck shrugs. “LJ’s got his own separate digs. But the rest of us are up here.”
We’ve already walked through the kitchen, the dining room, the sitting room, the living room (they’re different things), the library, the game room, the wine cellar, past the pool and hot tub, and done a quick glance at the gardens and the garage. Every room brought something new: more plush furniture, more priceless artwork, more expensive rich-boy toys from classy bottles of liquor to massage chairs to a full outdoor fire pit and brick oven. My feet are actually starting to ache from walking so much.
I badly stifle a yawn, but Tuck notices and smiles.
I smile back, a bit guiltily. “Finally.”
“Tired?” Tuck says, starting down the hallway.
“A little,” I admit, then shake my head. “No. A lot. My bed was the backseat of a Mustang last night.”
“Right.” He snaps his fingers. “LJ’s getting it. Sounds like a sweet ride. You must drive it everywhere.”
I open my mouth to correct him, then think better of it. These guys don’t need to know I don’t have a license, let alone that I have seizures. I’m not about to reveal even the smallest weakness to them—just in case.
“Yep,” I say, idly brushing my fingertips against the leaves of a potted plant as we pass. “Hey, speaking of LJ...”
Tuck stops in his tracks and looks at me quizzically. I feel a bit stupid even for asking, but then again, that hasn’t stopped me doing anything yet.
“What’s his deal?” My voice quivers more than I’d like when I ask it. I clear my throat. “He...seemed pretty pissed when he heard I was staying here.”
Tuck’s expression softens. “Oh, that. Yeah, don’t...don’t worry about it.” He scratches the back of his head. “LJ is...complicated. We all are,” he adds. “But his complications have complications, if you know what I mean.”
Same here, I think. “Yeah, I can imagine.” I swallow. “Okay. As long as he’s not...I don’t know, mad at me.”
Tuck laughs. “Mad at you? You aren’t the one who’s done anything wrong, Maren. He just needs...” Tuck looks like he’s about to blurt something out, then stops. “He just needs time to adjust, I think.”
We stop in front of a tall white door.
“Ready to see your room?” Tuck asks.
“I...sure.” I study the door. “What makes it mine?”
“Well, up until now, it’s just been a...guest room, I guess?” Tuck tilts his head. “Not that we really get guests.” He shrugs. “A spare bedroom, maybe. One of several. But this one is definitely the best.”
He throws open the door, and I stop myself from gasping.
For one thing, it’s huge—more of a suite than an individual bedroom. Elegant white-paneled walls soar up to ceilings that have got to be twelve feet high. Sunlight streams through the expansive windows, casting a golden glow upon the rich mahogany furniture and plush furnishings, while a slightly open French door lets in a breeze and the faint scent of pine and fresh air.
The centerpiece of the room is the grand four-poster bed, draped in layers of sumptuous silk and velvet. Its intricately carved headboard rises majestically, more a work of art than something you can imagine passing out under. On either side of the bed, ornate bedside tables hold delicate porcelain lamps, their warm light casting a soft glow across the room. A polished walnut dresser stands against one wall, adorned with intricately framed mirrors and sparkling crystal perfume bottles.
In the corner, a cozy reading nook has been set up with a cushy pale peach armchair and a stack of leather-bound books. Beside it, a gilded full-length mirror stands winking in the light.
“Holy...” I’m frozen in place, unable to cross the threshold.
“Well?” Tuck says. “Come on in. It’s not just here for you to stare at.”
“I...” I glance down at my grease-stained boots, and the prim white carpet just inside. “I don’t want to mess it up,” I explain lamely.
Tuck’s expression softens—a sweet, delicious look on him, I have to admit. And I must look incredibly pathetic, because what he asks next barely even computes.
“Can I give you a hug, Maren?”
I’m so stunned by the kindness of the request that I don’t even think to resist. “Sure.”
Tuck opens his arms and pulls me to his chest. It’s more of an all-encompassing embrace than a hug, like he’s holding me close to protect me, and I don’t hate it.
In fact, I think I need it.
He smells like spice and salt, feels warm as a campfire. His arms lock around me firmly but gently, enough that I can feel their strength but not get trapped by it. I curl my hands into his chest, my vision filled with the bronze skin at the base of his throat where his pulse dances steadily.
It’s a good, good hug.
When I pull away, his T-shirt is damp with what I realize are my tears.
“Goddammit,” I whisper, and scrub at my eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m really fucking exhausted, and I—”
“Hey, hey.” Tuck smiles. “It’s fine. You don’t have to explain.”
But I do, I think. I do, because I’m not like this. I’m not weak. I’m not vulnerable. I’m not someone you can manipulate this easily, with fancy shit and four-hundred-thread-count sheets.
I might be broke, but I’m not broken.
“Now I messed up your shirt, too.” I try to make it a joke. But Tuck only half-laughs.
“This old thing? Don’t worry about it,” he says gently. “Or the room. It’s yours now. Mess it up all you want.” He cracks a grin, and I find myself reciprocating.
Still, I make a show of rolling my eyes—proof that I’m not a pushover. “Fine.” I step over the threshold with exaggerated daintiness. “Ta-da.” I throw him a glance. “How do I look?”
Tuck’s warm eyes smolder as he sizes me up. “Right at home.”