3. Atticus #2
“Hey, I’m heading to get groceries. Is there anything other than the usual that you need?”
“Charcoal pencils,” he says, trying to look around me to the sketch pad I’ve blocked him from accessing.
“I doubt they’ll have them in the Piggly Wiggly,” I say with a scoff.
“There’s an art supply store in Bozeman. I’ll head over there now,” Marcus says from behind us. “I have a list of other things we need too.”
“Thank you, Marcus,” Felix says, not even turning to look in the direction of his PA as he steps around me and starts to make slashing marks on the white paper, drawing something that only he understands.
“Okay, bro. Let me know if you think of anything you need and I’ll grab it. Where’s your cell?” I ask him.
His shrug is all Felix, and I feel my lips twitch into a grin. My brother hates cell phones. He doesn’t want to be contactable, and it’s taken me years to bully him into getting one just for emergencies.
“It’s over there on the docking station,” Marcus says, pointing to the wooden unit leaning against the wall that he’s stocked with protein bars, fruit, bottles of water, and energy drinks.
“Call me or have Marcus call me if you need me,” I tell my brother, pulling him into a quick hug. “Love you, bro,” I whisper against his ear.
“Love you too, Att,” he says back, his body completely relaxing for a short moment before he pulls away and sidesteps to the next sketch pad, slashing curved lines on this one instead of straight.
Shaking my head in amusement, I motion for Marcus to follow me outside before I turn up the music to ear-splittingly loud again.
“Do you need help with something?” Marcus asks the moment we’re standing outside the warehouse.
“No, I just wanted to check on you,” I tell him.
“Me?”
“Are you doing okay? Do you need anything from the grocery store or for your new place? Have you eaten? I’m not sure what time you got here.”
It doesn’t seem to matter how many times I check on Marcus like this. He always seems thrown by the fact that I want to make sure he’s okay.
“Oh, I’m fine. But…err…thank you.”
“What time did you have breakfast?”
“I ate before I got here.”
“Which was?” I ask, lowering my voice until it’s a little gruff.
“A little after five. I connected the motion sensor alerts to my cell so I know when he’s working.”
Scowling, I sigh unhappily. “Go home after lunch—”
“No,” he interrupts. “I’m fine, I—”
Narrowing my eyes, I sigh. “At one thirty p.m. you’re done for the day, Marcus.
You know how Felix gets when he’s starting a new collection.
He barely sleeps and gets completely consumed by his ideas.
I don’t want you trying to keep up with him.
That’s not healthy, and honestly, we don’t pay you enough for that.
So go home, get some rest, and I don’t want to see you before eight thirty a.m. from now on.
He needs you, Marcus, and I don’t want to see you burn yourself out. ”
“But—” he starts.
“Marcus,” I growl, lacing my voice with a dominance that Marcus responds to.
“Okay,” he easily concedes.
“Good. Now I’ll grab coffee and pastries from Tori’s store before I come back. Text me with anything you or he needs.”
“Thank you, Atticus.”
“No need to thank me, Marcus. Do you have the keys to the van so you can take it to the art supply store?”
“Yes, thank you.”
“Okay, wait until I get back to go, then you can eat first.”
“Oh, that’s…” He trails off at my raised eyebrow, his cheeks pinking. “Okay.”
Nodding, I head for my car, sliding behind the wheel of my Range Rover and hitting the start button. My car probably doesn’t match my aesthetic, but I love it, so honestly, I don’t give a fuck.
Turning around in our huge courtyard driveway, I click the button that opens the electric gate we had installed and wait while it slides to the side.
Once it’s open, I drive through and onto the street.
Rockhead Point doesn’t have much industrial space, so I’ve barely gone two blocks before the small warehouses and factories change to colorful shop fronts with tourists and locals milling around.
Parking my Rover in the parking lot of the grocery store, I climb out and grab a cart, pushing it into the air-conditioned store. I rarely stood out in New York, but in small-town Montana, my tattoos draw a lot more interested looks, and I flash smiles at some of the women who are openly ogling me.
Walking slowly up and down the aisles, I fill my cart with the staples Felix needs for his meals of choice, as well as the ingredients I want for my more varied diet.
I’m just rounding the end of one aisle when someone crashes into my cart, their basket full of protein shakes and hunks of steak tumbling to the floor and scattering dramatically in every direction.
“No,” a female voice whines, dropping to her knees with a thud as she scrambles to pick up all the things that have fallen from her basket.
“Let me help,” I say, taking the basket from her hands and placing it on the floor while I collect the bottles and wrapped steaks.
“I’m so sorry,” the woman gushes apologetically, her blonde hair hanging over her face and hiding her from view.
The sight of her on her knees in front of me makes my dick perk up, and I pause, unsure why the fuck I’m turned on.
After I grab the last protein shake and place it back into her basket, the woman slides her forearm under the mop of blonde hair and flips it back, revealing her face for the first time.
Fuck. Her hair is a halo of bouncy blonde curls, her lips are pale pink, bee-stung, and sexy as fuck. Her eyes are looking up at me from her position at my feet, and my dick isn’t just awake, it’s rock hard and pointed right at her.
“I can’t believe I did that,” she says, awkwardly rising to her feet and making me want to force her back into her submissive posture. “I’m so sorry.”
“Have you hurt yourself?” I growl, reaching for her hand and carefully turning it over to inspect her warm, peach-colored skin.
“Oh, I’m fine. The only thing that’s hurt is my pride.” She giggles, and the sound is fucking sunshine and happiness.
Reaching for her other hand, I inspect that one too, keeping it in my palm even after I’m sure she hasn’t hurt herself.
That’s when I notice her outfit. Her dress is an adult version of a child’s sailor dress.
It’s fucking adorable, but sexy as fuck too.
The neckline dips into a deep V, giving me a view of her sexy cleavage.
It cinches in at her waist, then flares over her full hips, making me imagine how sexy she is naked, all curves with plenty to hold on to while I fuck her.
“I like your dress,” I tell her, running my knuckles over the fabric at her waist.
“Oh, thank you. It’s one of my favorites,” she says, smiling up at me with guileless eyes.
“I’m Atticus,” I tell her, rubbing my thumb over the skin on the hand that I’m still holding.
“I’m Lemon.”
“Lemon,” I repeat. “Cute.”
When the sound of a cell phone beeping interrupts the moment we’re having, I feel my lips turn down into a scowl.
“Oh god,” she groans, her smile dimming as she wrestles her cell from her purse and clicks into a message she just received, her shoulders slumping at whatever it says.
“Bad news?” I ask, unable to stop myself.
“My boss needs me to do something for him.”
“And you don’t want to?” I ask.
“No, it’s not that. But he keeps forgetting that I don’t drive. He already gave me a list of errands a mile long to get done this morning, and now he wants me to pick up our robe delivery from the other side of town,” she blurts, her lips curving into an adorable pout.
“Are the protein shakes and steak for you or him?”
“They’re not for me,” she scoffs. “Apparently he’s on a bulk.”
She rolls her eyes dramatically, and I can’t help smiling at how cute she is.
“And I have to go and collect his dry cleaning again, which I should have guessed because he always has me do it. But if I’d remembered, I have things I need to take to the cleaners too, only I forgot them at home, and I just want to do my job, not spend all day doing things he can’t be bothered to do for himself,” she says, still pouting, her blue eyes glistening as she talks.
Her attitude, rolling eyes, and pouty lips all make me want to warn her to behave, but instead, I end up reaching up and cupping her cheek. “Let me help you.”
Her pout morphs into a confused smile. “Why would you want to help me? I crashed into your cart because I was rushing, and then I made you listen to me whine about my job like a little kid being asked to tidy their toys.”
“Why wouldn’t I want to help?” I ask.
Giggling, she shakes her head. “Because we don’t know each other.”
“You’re Lemon, and I’m Atticus. There, we know each other. Put your basket in my cart. I only have a few more things to get, then we can pay, and I’ll take you to pick up your dress, then to the dry cleaners. What else is on your list?”
When she doesn’t move to pick the basket up, I reach for it and place it in my cart, ushering her forward with a gentle hand on the base of her spine.
If we were alone, my hand would be on her ass, but she’s going to need some time to understand what this is between us before I can touch her that boldly in public.
Pulling a folded sheet of paper from her purse, she starts to read out the list of errands her boss has her doing, and my lips turn down into a frown.
“He has you doing all of this without a car? Are you using Ubers?”
“Are you here on vacation? There are no Ubers in Rockhead Point. There are barely any buses.”
“So how are you getting from place to place?” I ask, stiffening as I anticipate the answer I know is going to piss me off.
“I have feet,” she says, leaving off the duh her tone implies.
Sucking in a slow breath, I steer her down an aisle while I pick up the last few things we need. Heading for the cashier, I unload her basket onto the counter first, keeping my hand on her spine to ensure she stays close without having to pull her into me.