8. Chord
eight
Chord
I don’t say anything and neither does Violet as we get into her car. It’s tiny and old, and no good for driving on country roads. I’m already pissed off and Violet’s transportation isn’t my problem, but the fact that my assistant drives this sorry excuse for a vehicle makes my mood even worse. She can’t rely on this all summer, which means she’ll need the key to my truck.
I adjust the driver’s seat over and over, trying and failing to make room for my legs. If I was the kind of guy who grumbled, I would.
I knew my reunion with Charlie was going to be difficult, but I wasn’t prepared for an audience and Violet’s early arrival put me at a disadvantage. The only person in the world as determined as me is Charlie, and if I tried to argue with her about whether or not we have a cabin available, she’d have burned the books—possibly the cabins, too—before admitting she lied.
And dropping my middle name like that? Didn’t even bat a fucking eyelash and she knows how much I hate it. Facts are that my sister plays dirty, I was about to lose the fight, and I wasn’t about to let anyone witness that. Not even my assistant.
A weird noise from the passenger seat interrupts my thoughts. Violet looks startled, like she accidentally swallowed gum or something.
I frown with irritation. “Everything all right?”
She looks at me with wide eyes and squeezes her fingers around the strap of that ugly leather satchel. “What? Oh, yes. I was just thinking that, uh… I can drive if you want. It’s my car, after all, and it’s small. You don’t look… comfortable.”
Her eyes fall from my face to my legs, and I follow her gaze. I’m sure I look ridiculous in this tin can, but I’m not letting her drive. I’m about to tell her as much, but then stop.
I usually know when a woman is checking me out, but I’m not sure about this one. Her eyes dart all over the place, bouncing across my body like drops of water on a hotplate. When she spins around like she’s been caught doing something naughty, I decide she is checking me out, but that she doesn’t mean to. It’s not what I’m used to, and it’s cute as fuck.
I fight the amused twitch of my lips because cute or not, she’s not my type—thank God—but even if she were, I know better than to get distracted by a woman this year.
I throw the car into reverse and back out of the parking space. “I know the way, and this car isn’t made for rough terrain. It’s safer and faster if I drive.”
“Okay,” she murmurs, but I can barely hear her with her face turned toward her window.
Silence suits me and we drive the distance to my private road without conversation.
When we get past the gate and finally roll onto asphalt, I drive a little easier. I’m not taking in the scenery the way I was earlier in the morning, though. I’m too busy fuming about how my summer got screwed and now I’ve been saddled with a housemate I don’t want, but then a gasp from Violet pulls me back to the present.
She’s leaning forward and craning her neck to get a better look out the windshield, and when I follow her line of sight, I see she’s staring at my house.
Okay, yeah. It’s awesome.
I swing the car around with one hand, taking the corner as wide as I can to give her the best view, then pause outside the house to fish out my phone, swipe to my home automation app, and open the garage door. When I pull her car into a free space, it looks ridiculous next to the sports coupe to our right and my truck on the left, but I don’t want to embarrass her so I keep my head down as I pop the trunk and take out her bags.
She’s got two suitcases—one large, one smaller—but when I reach in to pull out an oversized black canvas tote wedged into the back seat, she lurches forward and snatches it up before I can get a hand on it.
“I’ll take that one,” Violet says. “It’s personal.”
I give her and the bag a curious look, wonder what’s in it for a fleeting moment, then decide I don’t care. I don’t need to know what she’s hiding.
“I can take these too.” She reaches for the larger suitcase. “You don’t need to—”
“It’s fine.” They’re not so heavy I can’t lift them, but she’d struggle trying to wheel them over the rough ground outside the house. I might be an asshole but I’m not about to make a woman carry her own luggage.
I walk around to the front entrance as the garage door slides closed behind us. “There’s internal access from the garage, but it’s locked. I’ll give you a set of keys so you can come and go as you please.”
“Okay. Thank you.”
She walks beside me with her tote slung over one shoulder and her arms crossed over her body like she’s trying to disappear inside her oversized clothes. I wonder how long it’ll be until her mousiness gets on my last nerve.
As I punch the access code into the security panel near the front door, I feel unexpectedly vulnerable. I’ve never invited anybody into this house, and now I’ve got a summer guest who’s going to have keys and the passcode and access to everything. It’s not as if I’ve spent all that much time here over the years but this place has only ever been mine. My somewhere to go “one day” when hockey isn’t my life anymore.
I push open the wide door, set Violet’s bags on the light hardwood floors, and look around. It’s exactly as I remember it. The white walls and wide dimensions and natural light pouring in from every corner. The foyer opens directly onto a wide staircase straight ahead, then a home office on the right and an enormous living room on the left, both furnished by the interior designer I hired to get everything just right. Some of the pressure in my chest loosens, and the first thing I do is open the nearest window.
“I guess it’s a little stale in here,” I mutter as I hurry over to the glass doors separating the living room from the front porch and fling those open too. “I haven’t been here in a while.”
I glance over, prepared to see her face screwed up with distaste, but Violet doesn’t seem to notice the stuffy smell of building materials or dust motes floating in the air. Her eyes roam over the vaulted ceilings, the cold stone fireplace, and giant soft white sofa, and a pretty look of wonder shines on her face.
“It’s beautiful,” she whispers.
I drop my hand from where it was worrying the back of my neck. “Oh. Thanks.”
I return to where she stands by the door and slip off my runners. Violet does the same, setting them neatly beside mine, and without the extra half-inch of height, her baggy gray pants pool around her feet so that only the toes of her white socks poke out.
Violet’s tall but the way her clothes fit makes her look tiny. It reminds me of the pictures Dylan sent me of Izzy in dress-up clothes, and I wish this woman would stop giving me reasons to smile.
“So, uh. Let me show you around.”
She sets her tote down next to her bags and removes her gray blazer. I try not to stare as she hangs it on a hook by the door. She’s wearing a plain white tank underneath, which shouldn’t be sexy, but it’s tight like a second skin, showing off her slender frame, tiny waist, and full, heavy tits.
Well, fuck me. I wasn’t expecting that.
I drag my gaze away as she pulls a notebook out of her satchel, and I’m relieved to turn my back as I lead her into the house. When I glance back to make sure she’s keeping up, she holds a pen at the ready, and I realize she’s taking notes.
Cute. As. Fuck.
“Kitchen,” I say as we pass through the open room with a white marble island, six-burner freestanding stove, and white Shaker cabinets. I dart to the far side to slide open the heavy glass doors leading onto the porch, then circle back around to the oversized pantry hiding behind wide double doors.
“I only just got here, so there isn’t any food. You can visit the restaurant on the property whenever you like, but the first thing on your list should be to pick up some groceries.”
She scribbles on her notepad. “Groceries. Got it.”
“Until I hear from the sports nutritionist, just get essentials.” I list a few things as I move around the room and open all the windows. “Eggs, bacon, oats, nut butter, fresh vegetables, salmon, chicken, protein powder, almond milk, yogurt, bananas, and Pretzel M&M’s.”
Violet’s pen flies across the paper, then stops. The look she gives me from under her lashes is suspicious. “M&M’s?”
“Pretzel.” I’m not ashamed, and I give her a look that dares her to laugh.
“Right,” she says, and I’m distracted by the way she nibbles her full bottom lip to stop a smile. “Pretzel M&M’s.”
I pull out my credit card and hand it over, then retrieve a set of spare keys from a drawer and hold them out. “Take the truck.”
“The truck?” She glances at the keys in my hand like they might bite then actually takes a step back. “That’s okay. My car works just fine.”
“As long as you’re here, you’ll drive the truck.” I close the distance and drop the keys onto her notepad. “It’s safer.”
“Right.” Violet nods and makes another note, but I get the feeling she’s talking to herself now. “The truck. I can do that.”
I walk in silence through the house, stopping to open windows, and give Violet a brief introduction to each room. It’s something like a reintroduction for me too, and in every space and on every surface, I’m reminded of how much time I put in with the architect and interior designer to finish this place exactly the way I wanted it. With each new room, I find myself anticipating Violet’s small sounds of admiration, and it’s weird how her opinion, which shouldn’t matter, makes me feel a little better after what just happened with Charlie.
Once we’ve finished on the ground floor—kitchen and dining, two living rooms, home office, two guest baths—then the basement—complete gym and rec room—we make a circuit of the wrap-around porch and a brief visit to the wet-edge Olympic-length pool before Violet follows me upstairs.
“My bedroom’s that way.” I gesture down a long hall to the closed double doors at the end. It’s more of a suite than a bedroom, but she’ll never see it, so the details don’t matter. “And you can stay…”
I trail off as I consider the four closed doors at the other end of the hall. Each bedroom has something going for it, but there’s one that’s a standout, and I go straight to it.
I open the last door on the left and step into the largest of the four bedrooms. They each have an attached bathroom so any would give Violet privacy, but this one has a king-size four poster bed, a deep desk set in front of tall glass windows looking over the vineyard to the west, and a jaw-dropping oversized walk-in closet.
I move aside to let her in and watch for her reaction as anticipation tightens the muscles across my chest.
Violet’s only two steps into the room before her hands press against her cheeks. “Oh, my…”
Her steps falter before speeding up again, but instead of going to the gigantic closet like I expected, Violet’s only got eyes for the desk. Her fingers dance over the smooth wood finish as she lowers herself into the deep chair, and her palms caress the glossy surface as she devours the incredible view.
A moment ticks by, then another, and she still hasn’t said anything. It’s almost like she’s forgotten I’m here but I don’t even care. I’m enjoying this. I get off on being the best and having the best and showing it off, but right now that’s not it. Or not all of it. I’m too surprised by the way Violet sat herself behind that desk like it belongs to her and too amused at the way she apparently couldn’t care less about me. It’s a little like glimpsing the person Violet might be when she’s alone, and I like that she feels safe enough to be that person here, even if only for a moment.
And where the hell did that come from?
I scowl at nothing and clear my throat. “I’ll get your bags,” I say with one foot already through the door.
I jog down the stairs and get to the front door, then loop the handles of Violet’s tote around one wrist before picking up a suitcase in each hand. I turn to go back the way I came, but Violet’s hurrying to intercept me.
I pause at the urgent worry on her face. “What the—”
Violet’s eyes widen as she slides in her socks over the smooth hardwood floor, crashes against my chest with a high-pitched whoop, then saves herself from losing her footing by latching onto my shirt. I drop the bags so I can steady her, wrapping my hands around her bare upper arms and pulling her close.
And I don’t let go.
It’s the way she smells—floral and so subtle I needed to be this close to notice it. Her skin is soft and warm, and I’m distracted by the way her deep brown irises are dusted with flecks of gold and how her nose is sprayed with barely there freckles. I follow the tip of her tongue as it traces the shape of her mouth, full and pink and glistening.
“Chord?” she murmurs.
“Mm?”
She glances down at my fingers.
Shit .
I drop her arms and step back, flexing my fingers to erase the memory of her warmth, before spinning around and picking up her suitcase again. Violet’s hand darts toward her tote and away, like she’s not sure she should try her luck getting it away from me, so I pick it up and hand it over, and I don’t look back as I climb the stairs. I’m not capable of handling that much connection, so I do what I do best. I reach for the ice.
I step inside Violet’s bedroom door and deposit her luggage on the floor. She’s right there when I turn to go and we’re close—too close—but one look at the frost in my gaze and she takes a quick step back before glancing at her notebook.
“I’ll go out for groceries now,” she says quietly. “Then I’ll start making inquiries about an apartment in the city. Coach Campbell asked me to call and set up those training sessions with the team, and after that I’ll see about having your personal items shipped from Calgary.”
The reminder about Coach’s training plans for the summer sends my mood further south, and I’m sure it shows because Violet licks her lips and lifts her chin, but blinks too much for me to believe she’s feeling confident. I feel like a prick for using my old tricks to push her away, but it’s better this way, I remind myself. Easier. Safer.
“Fine,” I tell her. “If you need me, I’ll be in my gym.”
I’m gone before she has a chance to respond.