Chapter 2
“Why aren’t you sitting down?” he grumbled at Violet more harshly than he meant. It always came out that way when he was trying to control himself. And it was always more hoarse when struggling with fatigue. Which was only his second greatest battle at the moment.
Watching her glide around the room in her emerald green frock with bodice so tight he could practically—nothing.
Those were errant thoughts. For as long as they had been friends, he had known to keep her at arm’s length.
And…friends. That term was applied loosely here.
The looseness correlated directly to the amount he wanted to drape her across the bed and tear her clothes off.
Which…was increasing at an alarming rate.
He sank into the chair at her writing desk to distract himself by looking for…
well…anything but her delicately charming face.
For as much as she was honesty and lightness he was secrets and darkness, and no part of him wanted to taint her goodness.
What use would she have with a soul as lost as his?
Nothing. No one did. So he preoccupied himself with more than enough projects, business, and social events to fill the loneliness. Almost.
“Perfect,” she softly clapped her hands, “you can write the letter to the landlord. You were always a better writer than me.”
With a snort, he pulled out a piece of foolscap until it was situated in front of them. When she approached at his forearm, brushing his shoulder, he shifted in the chair and fiddled with the paper until it was precisely perpendicular to his chest.
“What are we going to write?” Her soft voice tickled the side of his neck. Tempted to swat at it, he chose the manlier response, gripping his neck and then tilting it side to side to crack it.
“You’re the one writing it. What do you want to say?”
“Well, we must persuade in the most delicate fashion to convince him that it’s in his best interest to paint the house—”
“That’s why I’m here?” He popped to his feet, which was a serious misjudgment.
A blunder of all blunders. For the second he rose up, he saw just how much he towered over her.
It was—to say the least—an intimidating amount.
But of course Violet only peered up at him through coy lashes—how lashes could be coy he had no idea—and she lifted the corner of her mouth in the tiniest of smirks.
The kind that perturbed him the most. The kind that he could read perfectly.
The kind that told him she was in absolute control of the moment, and he was not.
Which, of course, was the ultimate upset in their relationship dynamic.
She was the flighty one. The impulsive one.
He maintained equilibrium and control. But damn this exhaustion, he was simply not himself.
“Painting the house is incredibly important,” she was saying, but he hardly heard her because at the same time she was speaking she was gently squeezing his forearm. Guiding him to sit back down. Which he resented.
But he did it.
Which he also resented.
“Pray tell,” he grit out, “why is painting this house so important?”
“It’s Greene House. It ought to be painted green. Everyone keeps getting confused on the way here. Who knows how many potential spinsters have given up their pursuit of this house looking for a green Greene House?”
“One would think you wouldn’t want such spinsters residing here if they can’t overcome such a simple obstacle.”
“Well…” She tapped his shoulder with her index finger shooting zaps of lightning through his body.
That, he did swat away. “You have a good point, Alex…as usual…” He could see her searching for an argument against his logic, which was adorable that she always needed to have her way. But also vexing.
“We just need to tell him the truth—”
“Nobody wants the truth, Vi,” he said in that exasperated tone of his that he unintentionally reserved exclusively for her.
“I do.”
“Maybe you think you do, but if you heard it, you wouldn’t like it.”
“How can you say that?”
“Never mind. Let’s just write this.”
“So you see, we must make him aware of our plight, that we’re in desperate need of spinsters to join our sisterhood. Which brings me to the second part of the letter. We must make it seem like it’s his idea to spread the word about this place.”
Alex stifled a yawn and leaned back in his chair, his posture loosened more than he would have liked. His legs fell apart in complete relaxation.
Giving up the fight—any and all—he looked up at her lazily.
He had learned over the years that the sooner he yielded to her will, the sooner he could move on.
And he needed to get out of this bedroom.
“Fine. Who are we addressing this to?” A second yawn threatened to make a crater out of his mouth, so he closed his eyes momentarily.
“Are you all right?” Damn. She stepped between his legs with a hand to his forehead.
She felt cool. Caring. Altogether lovely.
Everything he didn’t deserve. And if he ever allowed himself to pursue her, she would push to know everything about him.
Once she discovered all his dark truths, she—like everyone else—would leave him. So he did what he always did.
Only…he did let her hand rest against him for a beat longer than usual.
And he didn’t object when she traced her fingers down his cheek to cup his jaw.
It wasn’t intimate, per se, it was compassionate.
Pure Violet. And he let her have that one small touch while he kept his eyes closed because oh how he longed to sleep.
And wouldn’t it be nice to have someone soft—
His hand reached up and slowly encircled her wrist.
“That’s enough. I’m fine. What are we writing?” He bit back a yawn, intent upon finishing this damn thing.
“I told you, but I’m just not sure how to word it yet. How do you think would be best?”
His knee started bobbing. Were they just going to go around in circles? Ruffled, he blurted out the first words that came to him. “I don’t know. Just be your charming self.”
Damn. Had he really just said that? Her silence conveyed her shock.
“Y-you think I’m charming?”
Already in it, he responded following his instinct. Anything to move on. “Everyone thinks you’re charming.” There. That was truthful and impersonal.
“But you think I’m charming? I always thought I irritated you.”
“Well, there’s that too.”
“But you think I’m charming.” Hope lit her brilliant smile until it blinded him. How could one woman be so dazzling? He shielded his eyes. With a long blink.
“But you also talk too much. You’re impulsive—”
“You think I’m charming.” Like she couldn’t get that newfound knowledge out her head, she chanted it a few more times while twirling around the room. He fought off a smile at her adorableness.
“I also mentioned some of your negative traits—”
She appeared at his side, breathless, which was neither a good spot nor a good state to be in when he was so drawn to her.
One hand on his shoulder and one hand dismissing his negativity, she laughed him off. “I may be those things, but you’re gloomy and brooding.”
That’s it. With her gazing down at him all doe-eyed, he needed out of here. Scribbling something on the paper, he announced, “There. Your letter is done.”
She read aloud over his shoulder, “Grant immediate permission to the manageress to paint the house green. Send more spinsters.” Then she tore the sheet right out from under him. “Alex. This will not do.”
“Apologies. I don’t know the landlord’s name.”
“No one does. It will be couriered through the house staff, but that’s not the point. This is far too direct.”
“If you want it coming from a man, that’s how I would send it. If you want to make it all flowery, then you write it.”
He stood up now with every intention to go out that blasted door.
“Well, I suppose you wouldn’t know how to be flowery and romantical…not that this letter is romantic—”
Her rambling dug under skin. Like marching ants on a mission to nibble away at his heart.
So…blame the lack of sleep. Blame the decades of suppressed emotions.
Blame this blasted small town where he had to find any kind of physical release.
Blame something. But he didn’t back down from the gauntlet she had thrown.
He whirled her around, backing her up against the desk with his body, his hands caging her in on either side.
His jaw tight, blood pumping—everywhere—he growled out, “I’m done with this letter, Violet.
” He caught her shudder at the sound of her name off his lips, but he didn’t register its meaning.
Instead, his eyes trailed slowly over her body.
“I don’t need to tell the man how his golden hair glistens under the sun, or how I’d like to take a bite out of his luscious red lips, or how his smile lights up the darkest room and his honey sweet voice drips goodness into every pore of my being to convince him to paint the bloody house and send spinsters, do I? ”
The air thickened between them. His body was pressed against hers, and he could feel her shaky inhale. But still, she said nothing. Only looked at him. With a new look. A dangerous look. Her hands smoothed up his arms to rest on his biceps.
How had he gotten himself into this position? Hadn’t he been good for decades. Why now?
“Alex?” she whispered. And he almost took her right there. Almost. But he refrained. Mostly. Damn. What was his hand doing fisting the bunches of fabric near her hip. He should really let go.
He should. Just. Let. Go.
KNOCK. KNOCK. “Violet?”
The thick air absorbed the call.
“Quick!” Violet whispered.
And he shouldn’t have done it. But of course, when Violet pressed her fingers into his forearm and led him to her bed, he slid in under the covers. Her right after him.