Chapter 4
SHADE
A princess . . . yeah, that’s what this woman is.
It wouldn’t be so easy to recognize it had she not been so obvious in her judgmental examination of the bar.
The slight twitch of her nose, tightening of her eyes, and flattening of her lips as she gave the place a once-over gave her away.
I’ve seen Bryce’s parents give my studio looks just like that, and considering they come from old money, I’m betting this woman does too.
Or I could be wrong. I’d love for that to be the case.
“You haven’t told me your name yet,” I murmur as I wait for her to hop onto the bar stool.
She stares at the bar, her fingers hovering over the edge of it as if she’s nervous it’s going to be sticky or something. Chomping down on my tongue, I guide her hand to it and pat the stool.
Her eyes flick between my hand and up to stare at me as her fingers curl around the rounded edge of the bar. “It’s Millie.”
“Millie,” I repeat, letting the two syllables dangle on the tip of my tongue.
With a slight inhale, she pulls herself onto the stool and twists away, her hands falling to her lap.
“Well, do you approve of it?” she asks tightly.
“It’s fitting.”
“Millie isn’t a princess name.”
“Are you agreeing with me, then?” I tease, taking the seat beside her. My beer is still there, but it’s warm. Hers, though, looks just fine, so I slide it over. “I ordered this for you when you got here. Got him to leave the cap on so you could take it off yourself.”
“No, I’m not agreeing with you. And I don’t like beer.”
I crook a brow. “Have you tried it?”
“I don’t need to. It stinks.”
My laugh falls out, encouraging her to narrow her eyes at me. “Just try it, Millie. You might surprise yourself.”
Hesitating for a moment, she reaches behind her to tug at the ribbons looped through the back of her dress. I watch curiously, piecing together that it’s a corset. With a sigh, she sets her hand back on the bar and stretches her upper body.
“If I try it, you’ll let it go?” she asks.
“Absolutely. I’ll order you a glass of the fanciest wine they have here instead.”
“You’re stereotyping me again.”
I shove my sleeves up to my elbows before resting one on the bar and turning to face her fully.
I’m aware of how intimidating I can look, especially when I want something, so I try to keep my expression light.
If I spook her now, she’ll take off before I can get to know a damn thing about her besides her name.
And I wanna learn a few things about this woman, even if it’s obvious that she’ll be long gone tomorrow morning.
“Prove me wrong, princess. Just one sip.”
“This is peer pressure,” she argues, but it’s weak.
I hide my grin when she takes the bottle into her small hand and holds it in front of her face.
It’s unnecessary to push her any harder because in a blink, she has the bottle in her hands.
In a move that yanks a disbelieving laugh from my chest, she slams the cap against the bar and sends it sliding down past me.
Then, she brings her lips to the bottle and takes more of a gulp than a sip.
Even the simple rise and fall of her throat as she swallows is just as dainty as she is, and that’s more than enough to convince me to keep my ass seated right now.
I’m intrigued, and I’ve been chasing this exact feeling for a while now.
The rapid pulse in my veins and excitement stirring in my chest that only comes when I meet someone who I know will keep me on my toes.
I crave the rush that comes with having to put work in to grab a woman’s attention, and Millie’s giving me more than that already.
Her eyes flicker, and then she’s staring at me. Slowly, she lowers the bottle to the bar and shifts on the stool. We’re facing each other now, and I let my grin free.
“You liked it, didn’t you?”
Her cheeks turn pink. “It wasn’t so bad.”
“You looked good drinking it.”
“Don’t flirt with me,” she warns lightly.
I let loose a laugh. “Is that a hard rule for you?”
“It is for men who look old enough to be my dad, daddy.”
“We both know that isn’t true, but if you’re into a bit of daddy play, I could be too,” I rasp, focusing on not getting a goddamn hard-on at the idea of that.
Her eyes flare wide as she yanks her beer back to her mouth. I chuckle, extending my leg to rest my foot on the bar beneath her stool.
She swallows loudly. “That’s not what I meant.”
“I know.”
“Do you always flirt like this with women you don’t know?”
“Are you trying to see if I’ll tell you how special you are, Millie?”
This time, instead of blushing, she grows a bit fiercer, her posture straightening further.
“No. I’m just trying to see if I was right about my judgment.”
After taking a sip of my beer, I ask, “What judgment was that?”
“That you’re a playboy,” she snips, reaching behind her to claw at the ribbons again.
Her frustration is obvious when she can’t seem to do what she wants to. She huffs, squeezing her eyes shut for a moment before inhaling deeply.
Concern digs between my ribs. “What’s wrong?”
“My corset is too tight. I’ve been tied into it since this morning, and it’s starting to really hurt.”
“Can I help?”
She freezes, a genuine glimmer of appreciation appearing in her eyes. “Would you?”
I’m already off my stool and standing behind her. The gauze from the front of the dress isn’t on the back piece. I stare at the red skin appearing just slightly above the corset and frown.
“How do I undo this?”
“I don’t know,” she says, voice wavering.
The only idea I have might piss her off, so I tread carefully. “Do you want to tell me why you’re in a wedding dress, Millie?”
“I was supposed to get married today.”
The air stills around us. “But?”
She shakes her head before taking long swigs of her beer. When she’s drained it dry, she says, “But I didn’t. I ran from the aisle, got in my car, and now I’m here.”
“So, it’s safe to say you’re not going to be getting married in this dress again?” I ask, still waiting for my brain to catch up with what she’s said and what that means for her.
Her laugh is almost sad. “Yeah, I guess that’s exactly what I’m saying.”
“Give me one second,” I say before moving from our seats to the opening in the bar that leads behind it. It takes me a bit to find what I’m looking for, but then I’m clutching the scissors and going back to Millie.
She watches cautiously, staring at the scissors like I’m going to toss them at her instead of what I’m planning on using them for.
Stepping back into the spot behind her, I trace the length of the top ribbon. She sucks in a breath, and then I risk touching the red skin that’s hiding beneath the corset. It looks sore, like it’s been rubbed raw all day.
“Stay still for me, Millie,” I mutter.
She doesn’t so much as breathe when I bring the scissors to the ribbons and cut them one by one.
I pinch the side of the dress in case the entire thing gives, but when it doesn’t, I relax my hold.
Instead of falling off, the top of the dress simply slouches slightly, the tension in the material disappearing.
“Oh, my God,” she half moans, half gasps while pressing the front of her dress against her chest. “Thank you.”
Without answering, I drop the scissors on the bar and tug my hoodie off. Millie tries to look over her shoulder at me, but I’m already starting to lower the heavy black fabric over her head. She doesn’t fight me on it and works her arms into the sleeves instead.
“You don’t have to hold it up now. Not unless you think the dress is going to fall right off onto the floor,” I say, returning to my stool.
Without my hoodie on, I’m instantly cooler. It’s not that it’s hot in here, but I’d be lying if I said being this close to Millie hasn’t cranked my body temperature up a few degrees.
Her blue eyes soften when they find mine, holding there. She looks so ridiculously tiny now, with the sleeves of my hoodie hanging a few inches past her fingers and the bottom hem passing the seat of the stool. I’m a smug bastard, though, and I like looking at her in it.
“Maybe you’re not just a playboy,” she admits, smirking slightly.
“Yeah? That’s the best compliment I’ve ever gotten, princess.”
Returning my foot to her stool, I add my other one and lean forward. She watches me trap her in place, not saying a word. It’s a testing gaze, almost like she’s trying to see just how far I’ll go before she has to set a boundary.
If she were anyone else, I’d love to find those boundaries. But for some reason I can’t pinpoint yet, I’m having more than enough fun staying right where I am.
“You haven’t gotten very good compliments before, then,” she tosses back.
“Maybe I’ve just been getting the wrong ones.”
Millie lets that go when her attention shifts to my newly exposed skin.
The surprise that morphs her entire demeanour is something I’m used to.
It’s the typical reaction from someone who hasn’t had a lot of experience around vibrant pieces like mine.
Considering nearly every inch of skin on my body is covered with some sort of ink, I’ve grown immune to other people’s reactions.
Or so I’d thought.
My blood hums beneath Millie’s attention.
Everywhere her eyes fall, my skin tingles.
Instead of going into detail about every piece, I sit in silence and let her look.
From the hooded reaper on my bicep to the teal riverbank with the Rockies in the background running along my forearm and the five chunky letters on my fingers, she stares, examining.
There are too many pieces to show her in this place, and I’m one second away from asking her to come back to my place so I can show them off properly when the bartender slips back behind the bar from wherever it was he’d gone off to.
I grit my jaw and search her face for any sign of her wanting to leave before waving him over when I don’t find one. It was both the worst and best timing he could have had to interrupt.
“Water for me,” I say and then point at Millie. “Another beer or something else?”
“Are you trying to get me drunk?”
“No, princess. Just trying to make sure I can drive you somewhere safe tonight. You’re more than welcome to get a water, but I’m driving you either way. There’s a campground just out of town with decent cabins. It’s the best place there is around here.”
She rolls her lips, thinking. “I’ll take a beer, then.”
“You heard her, Matty,” I tell the guy staring at us.
“You have ID?” he asks her.
Millie reaches a hand into the hoodie drowning her and pulls a thin card out. When she flashes it at Matty, I try to catch a look at it but only catch a glimpse of the British Columbia written on it before she’s tucking it away.
Settled, Matty leaves to get the beer and then slides it across the bar to her. This time, the cap is already off, and she takes it without needing encouragement.
“So, you’re not from Alberta,” I say.
“You’re a snoop.”
“Can you blame me? You come here in a wedding dress, diamonds in your ears that have got to cost more than my car, and pretty eyes that demand my attention, and I’m not supposed to wonder?”
She shrugs. “I didn’t come here on purpose.”
“So, you just chose a road and took it?”
“Yes. I’ve never done anything like this before.”
I get more comfortable on the stool, spreading my knees wide. “Why Cherry Peak?”
“I’m hoping it’s a place nobody will think to look for me in,” she answers honestly.
“And that’s important to you? Not being found?”
She takes a long drink of her beer. “You ask a lot of questions.”
“I’m curious, Millie.”
“You also seem to be pretty confident in yourself, considering you’ve decided you’re driving my car tonight without asking me first.”
The surprise that travels across her features after she says that intrigues me. Fuck, everything about her does.
“Cherry Peak is a quiet town, princess, but it’s not private. You’re better off hiding somewhere else.”
“And I suppose you know where that is?”
I grin. “Yeah, I’ve got a good idea.”
“Well, do tell.”
“Oak Point’s about a half hour from here. It’s quiet, and unless you’ve driven through it, you don’t know it exists. Cherry Peak’s home to one of the biggest names in country music, and since he’s moved back home and gotten married, the world knows this town.”
Her throat jumps with a thick swallow. “Maybe I should just keep driving.”
“You could, but you stopped here for a reason, and I don’t think it was solely for the one you’ve told me.”
“Why do you have so many tattoos?” she asks, completely swapping topics.
I let her obvious attempt at avoiding that conversation go and drop a look to my exposed arm. “They’re my passion.”
“Don’t you worry about whether you’ll like them in twenty years from now?”
“No, because right now, I love them. I don’t plan on hating my art ever, but if I do, at least I loved it once.”
She nods. “That makes sense.”
“Haven’t you ever had anything that you’ve loved so much that you wouldn’t be able to go without it?”
“No. I don’t think I have.”
My stomach pinches at that. “Well, I’m sorry, Millie. Everyone should experience a love like that at least once in their life.”
“There’s still time,” she says.
“How much time?”
She quirks a brow, finding humour in my question. “Is that your way of asking how old I am?”
“Yeah, it is.”
“I’m twenty-six. And you?”
“Thirty-three.”
Yeah, I’m too fucking old for her. She’s seven years my junior and absolutely not a woman I should want to get involved with.
It’s too bad that I still can’t seem to get up and leave.