Chapter 9
nine
GENEVA
I feel much better this morning when I wake up. Except that this is a really small bed, and I’m on fire. One eye pries open, then the other. I’m not in bed. I obviously fell asleep watching movie number three. I’m also not on fire, there’s simply a burly, warm body wrapped around me. Peter snores softly behind me.
“Peter,” I say, nudging him. He’s pressed up against my back. His impressive morning wood is tucked between my ass cheeks. Normally, I’d be good with that, except I really need the bathroom. “Pete.”
“What?” he growls in my ear.
“Let me up. We fell asleep on the couch.” I try to unwrap his arms from my body. The harder I try, the tighter he holds on. “Peter!”
“Fine,” he grumbles. I kick the blanket off me and stand up. He snatches it back under his chin.
Something you might not know about Peter Winsloe is that he’s a snuggler. It’s why Rand would rather sleep on the floor than have to share a bed with him. There have been times when they traveled in the past when that was their only option. Personally, I kind of like the snuggling.
When I return from the bathroom, he’s still sprawled on the couch. I take one of the chairs next to it rather than wrestle him for the space. He slings the blanket at me and sits up.
“Want some breakfast?” I ask.
“Yeah. Surprise me.” He scratches the side of his face where his beard was. Standing, he takes a minute to find his balance. It gives me time to admire the impressive tent in the front of his pajama pants. I’ve seen it a few times over the years. It never fails to make my mouth water.
“Stop staring, or it won’t go down,” he grouches and moves toward the bathroom.
“I don’t mind so much if it doesn’t go down,” I call after him. He grunts, then the bathroom door closes.
I pick up the phone and order a western omelet for Peter. The spinach frittata with goat cheese works for me. I also order two large glasses of orange juice. I figure we could both use the vitamin C before continuing on today.
He flops back down on the couch. Sadly, the tent is no longer pitched.
“Sorry. I don’t remember falling asleep,” he says. “We’ll eat and then head out.”
The food arrives. We discuss the day while we eat. Afterward, I return to my room to pack. The formal clothes were returned yesterday while I was sleeping half the day away. It doesn’t take long to gather the rest of my things up.
There’s a knock on the door, and I let Peter in. It’s fine for him to prop the door open, but if I do it, I get a lecture.
“Got everything?” He takes my bag out of my hand. We check out and retrieve the Rover from the valet. Part of me is sad to see Vegas go. The other part can’t wait to ride horses in Zion National Park.
Peter told me over breakfast that he booked us into a bed-and-breakfast near the park for tonight. From what he described, it sounds quaint. As long as there’s a soaker tub, I don’t care.
“Ready?” he asks as I climb into the SUV. “I think it’s around five hours or so.”
“Lead on. I’ll get the next quiz ready,” I tease.
He groans.
“This one is titled: Will he be great in bed?”
“How many quizzes are in that magazine?”
“Question one,” I say, ignoring him. “Do you trust him?” I study Peter until he raises an eyebrow at me. We roll slowly out of Las Vegas. “Totally. Top marks for trustworthiness.”
“That’s good to know, I guess. It’s a little late if not; I already have you trapped in a car with me.”
“What’s the first thing you notice when you walk into his bedroom?” That one takes me a moment. “Have I ever been in your bedroom?”
“You slept in my bedroom at my parents’ house,” he points out.
“Yeah, but that was your childhood bedroom. It smelled like Axe body spray and teenage frustration.” He laughs, which makes me smile. “I don’t think I’ve ever snooped around your adult bedroom. Stop. Go back and set it back up so I can see what it smells like.”
“It smells very nice, trust me. I’ve moved on to Polo.”
“Hmmm. I’ll just have to take your word for it. Remind me to smell your bedroom when we get to Austin.”
“Noted.”
“Oooh, is he a good dancer? Do you dance other than stiffly at formal functions?”
“I’ve been known to cut a rug,” he answers. “I’m not stiff either.”
“Not right now, anyway.” I make a point to look at his crotch. “Square dancing then.” He smirks. “So a firm no. Shame, I can twerk like no one’s business.” I peer back down at the magazine. “Is he patient and confident? Like a saint.”
“Not always.”
“How do you know I’m talking about you?”
“I guess I don’t.”
“I am by the way. You are the most patient man in the world,” I say. “I’m thinking about hosting a roast for your next birthday.”
He sighs loudly.
“Moving on. When he talks to you, does he hold eye contact?” I stare at him. He looks over at me. “How else would I have become so obsessed with those Caribbean eyes?” His smile is shy this time. “Speaking of, what color eyes do you think I have? No one ever gets this one right.”
“Green,” he says without hesitation. “With just a touch of gold in them. They remind me of jade when you’re tired. They’re almost emerald when you’re up to something. When you’re angry, they look like a storm brewing in the Atlantic Ocean.”
My mouth hangs open. Most men can’t even tell me if they’re light or dark. Peter knows more about me than anyone I’ve been in a relationship with. It’s hard to express how being that seen makes me feel.
It would be so easy to fall in love with him. He’s made it very clear, however, that can never happen. I close my eyes to regain my balance. When I open them, he’s watching me out of the corner of his eye.
“Does he interrupt you?” I say, pressing on. “Only when I embarrassed him.”
“You never embarrass me,” he argues. “I just don’t want anyone to get the wrong idea about us.”
“Heaven forbid.” I roll my eyes. “Is he a good kisser? I don’t think I can judge based on that one game in the basement of your house.” He smiles like he has a secret. “What?”
“Nothing. Go on.”
“No, you know something I don’t. What is it?” I cross my arms and wait for him to spill.
“You don’t remember kissing me the night before last?” he asks.
“No.” I’m shocked again. I don’t remember that at all. Damn it. “When did I kiss you?”
“You were drunk. It didn’t mean anything.”
“Was it at least good?” I’m going to be pissed however he answers. If it was good, I totally missed out. If it wasn’t, well, I don’t know, but that’s not nice to admit.
“Very good.” He grins.
“I’m going to mark that as an affirmative then. But we’re going to have to circle back around to that one.”
He shakes his head, but I see a smile in the corners of his mouth.
“Last question. Does he make you feel sexy?” My mind reels back to all of the times I’ve caught Peter looking at me. The way he growled in the dressing room when I flashed my bare ass at him. How his eyes devoured me in the spa room when I dropped the robe. How I wanted more every time. I guess I’ve been silent too long.
“If it helps,” he says, “you are the sexiest woman I know. Your brother would kill me for saying that, but it’s the truth. You light up every room you walk into. Every man in the high roller’s room wanted you. If they knew you the way I do, I wouldn’t have been able to beat them off.”
“How do you know me?” I whisper.
“I know what’s inside. That you’re brilliant. You’re braver than you should have to be. You are fucking fierce. That you might bust balls, but you can’t see a stray animal without taking care of it. I know you volunteer at the children’s shelter because you don’t want even one more child to feel alone like you did growing up.”
“Stop, Peter,” I beg. I swipe at a tear threatening to roll down my cheek.
“I know you’re beautiful inside and out,” he finishes. “I don’t need some quiz to tell me that.”
I think this is the moment I give up trying to not fall in love with Peter Winsloe. It’s hopeless when he sees me the way he does. I don’t deserve someone like him. He’s light where I’m trapped in darkness.
I want so desperately to be who he thinks I am. I might help animals and children, but I also took up a martial art that leaves me bloody for a reason. I watched my brother take my beatings for so long that it did something to me. I’m not whole inside.
I toss the magazine in the back seat and stare out the window. It’s impossible for me to ever live up to what Peter sees. I steel myself against the heartache of knowing that.
I’ll show him I’m not worth his time. He’ll learn I’m nothing more than something to do in passing. I’ll never be the small-town, picket fence kind of woman. I’m good for a quick fuck, then move along. I take a deep breath. The sooner Peter learns that, the better we’ll both be.
“I’m not sorry I said it,” he begins.
“Are we stopping to eat anytime in the near future?” I snap back.
“Yeah. We’re coming into a small town. Hopefully, they have something worth eating.” His voice sounds resigned. Good.
The diner we pull into is even smaller than the last one. It has tired-looking curtains hanging on the windows. The seats are in need of repair. We’re led to a booth in the corner. A paper sign says the special is spicy pork tamales. Whatever. We both order the special and sodas. Peter watches me closely as I stare out into the diner.
“How did I piss you off this time?” he asks. “Does the truth make you angry? Do you want me to see you how your father does? As a waste of DNA? Something to be cast aside, not even worth striking? Because I’ll never see you as less than special.”
“Peter,” I say with a sigh. “You don’t know me. Not really.”
“I know exactly who you are.”
I’m saved from continuing this pointless conversation by the waitress delivering our meal. There’s no use trying to change his mind. He’ll learn on his own soon enough. When we get to Austin and he figures out I’m not good at anything but putting together ads. I can’t help run a business.
“This isn’t half bad,” he continues. He’s giving me a reprieve for now. I’m sure we’ll revisit this later. “It’s not much to look at, but it’s edible.”
I take a bite. He’s right; it’s much better than it looks. I’m not embarrassed to admit that I clean my plate. The frittata had worn off long ago. My soda came from a machine also. This is fresh and still has a bite to it. When we get back to the car, I’m leaving a hell of a review.
Peter smiles at me. It’s a truce offering. I meet it with a smile of my own. We never could stay irritated with each other.
We pass the rest of the drive listening to music in companionable silence. I can’t believe the small cabin we finally pull up in front of. It’s even more quaint than the one in Yosemite. Peter fishes our bags out of the back. I meet him on the front porch, and he punches in a code for the door.
“Is that a goat?” I ask before we can step inside.
“Appears to be. There’s also a couple of donkeys over there.”
“How rustic are these cabins?” I’m actually itching to go pet a donkey. I don’t want to admit it to him though. I’ll never hear the end of it.
“There’s a soaker tub. You’re good.” He steps inside the cabin. It’s not bad. Old but comfortable. “Want to go pet the donkeys before we settle in for the evening? I’m making dinner tonight.”
“How do you always read my mind?” I ask. I grab his hand and pull him back outside toward the donkey enclosure. Fuck it. He can tease all he wants. I love tiny donkeys.
“I told you, I know what’s in your heart better than you do.”
He might, and it scares me. Can he see how black it is? I sigh. It doesn’t matter right now. I have donkeys to pet. Maybe goats too.