Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CLOVER
Danville, Vermont looks like it fell out of a postcard.
The town center boasts a gazebo that would make Gilmore Girls fans swoon, and it’s currently decorated for fall. The most brilliant shades of red and gold leaves glitter in the sun from every direction.
There’s a general store with a porch full of pumpkins and tourists—so many tourists—clogging the two-lane road with their expensive cameras and I Love Vermont sweatshirts.
“Leaf peepers,” Chief explains over my shoulder.
“It’s beautiful.” I turn back to my passenger side window as the scenery rolls past.
“It’s annoying,” Valen mutters, navigating around a family taking pictures in the middle of the street.
We pull into a bed-and-breakfast called the Sugar on Snow Inn. It sits across from the park and the center of town. Stepping out of the tank, I grin up at the converted Victorian with gingerbread trim and wraparound porch. It’s charming and hopefully a little haunted.
I love it already.
The guys follow me up the porch steps and into the foyer that holds a small library table with a bell that Valen brusquely taps.
“Ah, you must be the Stones. I’m Randi, the owner.
” A woman with kind eyes and flour on her apron smiles as she slips behind the desk.
“Last room available. You’re lucky you called when you did because I just happened to have a cancellation this morning, and that never happens.
Fall’s our busiest season and we’re usually booked solid. ”
“One room?” Valen asks carefully, glaring at Chief.
This is the last time we put Chief in charge of securing any rooms for us.
“Queen bed, but you do have a private bath. It’s the best I can do, I’m afraid. Every other room’s spoken for.” Her eyes sparkle even more than her mischievous grin. “Is that a problem?”
How the heck does Chief keep managing this?
“No,” I say quickly. “It’s perfect, thank you.”
Valen shoots me a look but doesn’t argue.
“I’ll take the tank,” Chief announces. He’s perfectly freaking merry right now. “Wrecks ate something bad. Think he needs some…space. And fresh air. Lots of fresh air.”
“Chief,” Valen warns.
“Nope. Already decided. You kids enjoy the inn. I’ll be fine in the tank.” He’s already heading back outside, Wrecks in tow.
That meddling—
“He did that on purpose,” Valen says.
“Yup.”
“Wrecks didn’t eat anything bad, did he?”
I snort. “Wrecks’s digestive system is made of iron. He’s eaten six shoes in the last few weeks, so what do you think?” Jesus. Where did that sass come from?
Valen’s gaze rakes over my body like hot coals, and I shift my weight from foot to foot, but it does nothing to ease the ache that’s taking over my body.
“So,” I mumble.
“So,” he agrees amicably. Too amicably.
Randi clears her throat. Crap. I forgot she was still standing there.
“Rooms upstairs,” she says. “Second door on the right. Breakfast starts at six. I’ll make sure your friend is taken care of in your…” She glances out the window. “Vehicle too. We have fresh apple cider on the porch all evening. Enjoy your stay.”
She hands Valen a skeleton key, and my mind flashes with all kinds of story lines.
In my books, poor Randi would be the one to poison the cider. Now to figure out her motive…
“It’s…cozy,” I say, fighting to control my breath. If I extend my arms, I might be able to touch the opposing walls with my fingertips.
“Is that the polite way to say it’s a fucking shoebox?” Valen places his hands on my hips to shift me to the right so he can go left.
The queen-sized bed dominates the space. The one free wall has a dresser built into the closet that has no door. There’s a window overlooking the idyllic main street and a bathroom so tiny I think Valen will have to fold in half to wet his hair or risk banging his head on the slanted ceiling.
“It’s really clean,” I offer.
“It’s microscopic.”
“Charming,” I counter.
“Clover, there’s barely two feet of space around three sides of the bed.”
“Why do you need more space? You can just crawl up like this.” I’m halfway up the mattress when a low growl fills the silence.
I pause, and only then do I realize my predicament. I’m on the bed, on all fours, waving my ass at my bodyguard.
Slowly, I glance over my shoulder to find one giant wall of muscle staring at me with such heat, I’ll surely melt right into the mattress.
Valen’s jaw ticks as he scans my body from my ankles to my eyes, and the heat in his gaze has my stomach hollowing out. He stares at me as though I’m the sexiest woman he’s ever met, and it injects questionable amounts of confidence into my system.
I roll my hips, and my core clenches when that sound erupts from his chest again as he stares at my ass.
Who am I, and what’s happened to Clover Danforth—scarediest cat of the scaredy cats?
He runs a hand through his hair. “I should sleep in the RV with Chief.” His voice is hard, controlled. “But you shouldn’t be left alone. It’s—”
I roll my eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous. Besides.” I flop over, cross my legs at the ankles, and prop up my head with my arms folded beneath me. “We’ve already shared a bed. We’ll be fine.”
This newfound confidence is dangerous.
“This is different.” His tone is husky, and it sparks the embers of my desire.
“How?”
“Because—” He gestures vaguely before tugging on his hair as though he’s grasping for control. “It’s a bed-and-breakfast. It’s…romantic.” He tries to pace, but there’s literally nowhere for him to go. “There are quilts, for fuck’s sake.”
I bite back a laugh. “Are you afraid of quilts?”
“It’s what they represent.” He huffs, but I can’t tell if he’s frustrated with me, the situation, or himself.
“Which is?”
“Breakfast,” he barks.
A giggle slips free. “You’re scared of breakfast?”
“I’m not scared of anything.” He frowns, and even that’s sexy. “I’m worried about what it implies.”
What it implies. Right.
Because the walk-of-shame breakfast he’s so worried about implies that this thing between us carries on after my threat is resolved.
That’s obviously not his intention. He’s protecting himself from me, from my feelings—I am a job to him, after all.
Everything ends eventually.
Swallowing down the hurt, I aim for levity so he doesn’t know how many ways his words have sliced me open. “It implies that we eat in the morning?”
“That we eat. Together. The morning after…” He waves toward the bed again.
“I’m going to be honest, Clover. I’ve already broken so many damn rules for you, and my resolve is only so strong, but I refuse to let anyone believe this is a cheap…
hookup because I don’t hook up with clients.
I don’t…sleep in the same bed, and I don’t—”
“We kissed, Valen.” I sit up, then scoot to the end of the bed without making eye contact. “I think the propriety ship has sailed, don’t you? We’re both adults here, and we both know exactly what this is…” I swallow hard enough to make a sound. “And what it’s not.”
I feel his gaze on me, but when I don’t lift my head, he sighs. “You’re right.”
A porcupine is lodged in my throat and pokes me with her quills as I force out playful words I don’t feel. “I usually am.”
“Don’t let it go to your head.”
“Too late.” I chuckle, but it’s a sad, raspy sound. “Listen, Valen.” I twist my fingers together in my lap, allowing the pain to ground me. “I get that I’m a job to you, okay? One that will end eventually. One that—”
One step. That’s all it takes for him to reach me, to palm the side of my face, to drag my gaze to his. “You’re sure about that?”
My mind is blank as I suck air into my lungs.
“I’m sure that you have a whole life that doesn’t include our particular brand of…
baggage. I’m sure that you’re the very best part of my past, even if you don’t remember it.
I’m sure that whatever happens, my future will be better because now I know you didn’t choose to leave me behind.
” I shake out my achy fingers. “I’m sure that I have no idea what my future holds.
And I’m sure that I can keep my hands to myself if that makes you more comfortable. Besides, the quilt is really soft.”
His laugh is warm and low, and it soothes me better than all the weighted blankets I’ve ever owned. “Oh, Honeybee. Still an emotional doomsday survivalist after all these years.”
I snap my head up.
“But who the fuck said I wanted you to keep your hands to yourself?”
We spend the afternoon exploring Danville, and I only have two mild panic attacks. Embarrassingly, that’s progress. Even Wrecks is on his semi-best behavior in Chief’s hold.
“It’s aggressively New England.” Valen observes our surroundings as if he’s protecting the president of the United States.
“That’s what makes us it perfect. Could you imagine if there were a murder here?”
A woman next to us gasps, grabs her two children by the hand, and hurriedly ushers them away.
“Oops,” I say, offering a small wave in apology.
“You’re going to have the entire state police force after us before we leave here.” Chief chuckles. “Don’t worry, I’ll talk to ’em.” He hands Wrecks’s leash to Valen and then saunters off before I’ve thought of a reason to stop him. This could be a disaster.
“Have you always…glorified murder?” Valen lifts a brow in my direction.
I gasp in mock outrage. “I don’t glorify it. But if you’re asking if my brain has always gone from zero to worst-case scenario, then yes. I create the most terrifying worlds because it makes life a little more manageable.”
He steps closer, and the bustling street fades away. He brushes a strand of hair from my face, and his fingers linger at my jaw.
My breath catches as he stares at my mouth.
The space between us shrinks to inches, to centimeters, to—
“Do you ever…” He brushes his fingers against the back of my hand and then wraps those long fingers around mine. “If you hadn’t grown up the way you did, do you think you’d still write thrillers? Or do you think you’d be someone else?”