Chapter 8
“You live alone?”Bones asked as I punched in the code to the digital lock on the front door.
“Yeah.” I pushed open the door and stepped into the foyer, trying not to think about the heat radiating off the man behind me.
“Big house,” he commented. He looked around the foyer, his gaze darting up the stairs.
“It’s not that big. Not compared to the house I grew up in.”
“Hmmm.”
“Shoes off,” I stated.
“What?”
I crouched down to unzip my boots. “Shoes off.”
“Bossy.” He smirked.
“My house, my rules,” I said. “Or you can wait outside for your prospect. Your choice. But my couch has a built-in recliner.”
His blue eyes twinkled. “How’s your sound system?”
I bit my lip. “State of the art with surround sound, installed by a pro.”
“Definitely worth taking the boots off,” he said. “Am allowed to sit on the stairs?”
“Yes.”
Bones slid past me and plunked down on the third wooden stair from the bottom and began unlacing his boot.
“Do you live alone?” I asked.
“No.”
When he didn’t elaborate, I asked, “Do you live with a woman?”
“You think I’d kiss you in a club, then drive you home after today and be taking my shoes off in your house if I lived with a woman?”
“That’s a no then.”
“That’s a fuck no. That’s an I don’t fuck around like that kind of no.”
“Touchy,” I remarked.
“You just basically accused me of being a cheating pig.”
“I did no such thing,” I said in exasperation. “I asked if you lived with a woman because you said you didn’t live alone.”
“Would it bother you if I lived with a woman?”
“Uh, kind of, yeah.”
He grinned.
“Not because I’m jealous—which I’m not—but because it would most definitely make you a cheating pig.”
“You’re so jealous.”
“Of a fictional woman you don’t live with? Oh please.” I rolled my eyes.
“I live at the clubhouse. I don’t have a lot of shit. I don’t have a family.” He shrugged. “It works.”
“Now, was that so hard?” I asked, trying to stem a smile from appearing across my lips.
He rose from his spot on the stairs and neatly placed his boots by the front door. “You gonna show me the place?”
I gave him a brief tour of downstairs with the living room, kitchen, and bathroom.
“Help yourself to anything in the fridge. I should be out of the shower before your prospect arrives.”
He groaned.
“What?”
“Now I’m gonna think about you in the shower. Naked. Wet. Are you sure you don’t need someone to wash your back?”
“I have a loofa,” I said, even though I felt my cheeks flush with the idea of wet, naked Bones; water sluicing down his muscled chest…
Clearing my throat, I reached over and grabbed the remote off the coffee table. “Entertain yourself.”
“You’re no fun.”
“I’m a lot of fun.”
“Yeah? Not sure I believe you, Duchess.”
Smiling, I headed up the stairs, taking them two at a time.
It wasn’t until I was alone in the shower, halfway through conditioning my hair that I moaned in embarrassment. The man had seen me cry. Not just cry, but ugly cry. I’d completely fallen apart and I’d had no ability to stop it.
But he hadn’t given me any grief over it. On the contrary, he’d comforted me while I cried out my storm.
My hands shook when I lathered my body with soap.
I could’ve died today.
I could’ve died today, but I didn’t.
Bones was waiting on a prospect to come get him and then I’d be alone. Alone in this big house with nothing but my thoughts.
I got out of the shower and quickly threw on a pair of leggings and a comfortable oversized Notre Dame sweatshirt.
My feet were cold, so I put on a pair of thick wool socks before tying up my hair into a damp knot and padding downstairs into the living room. Bones had made himself comfortable, his feet up on the recliner. He’d removed his leather cut and slung it over the back of the couch.
“Hey,” he greeted, pulling his eyes away from the TV to look at me. His gaze started at my head and slowly inched down.
I swallowed. “Hey.”
“Feel better?”
I nodded and took a seat on the couch. I grabbed the blanket folded in the corner and flung it over me.
“You look dazed,” he said, not taking his eyes off me.
“I feel like I’ve been beat to hell.” I grimaced. “My body hurts.”
My soul hurts.
“You fainted.”
“Hmm. Yeah.”
“That takes it out of you.”
“No doubt,” I agreed.
“We should talk about it,” he said. “You went through something traumatic today. If you don’t talk about it?—”
“I’m not ready to talk about it,” I interrupted. “It’s too fresh, too…raw. I fell apart in the car; I don’t want to fall apart again.”
“You mean you don’t want me to see you fall apart.”
I sighed. “No. I just—it’s hard to rein it in. If I let it all out…”
“You’re afraid you won’t be able to pull it together again.”
I nodded. “So can we please just…you know. Do anything else?”
“Anything?” he asked with a suggestive raise of his brows.
I rolled my eyes. “What are you watching?”
“Haven’t decided. You know you have three streaming services?”
“Yeah, and I spend an hour at a time trying to find something new to watch, only to watch a comfort movie I’ve already seen a hundred times.”
He handed me the remote. “I’ll watch your comfort movie.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“And you won’t say anything about it?”
“I won’t say anything about it.”
I looked at him for a long moment and then finally I nodded. “Okay. Not a word about Mr. Darcy’s hand flex.”
“Mr. Darcy’s what?”
“Just watch.”
During the first twenty minutes of Pride Prejudice with Keira Knightley, I snuck various glances at Bones, wanting to gauge his reaction to the film.
With a sigh, he grabbed a couch pillow and set it down next to him. “I can’t enjoy this movie with you watching me.”
“I’m not watching you,” I lied.
“I’m interested in the film, okay? So lay down and let’s watch it.”
He patted the pillow.
I bit my lip in momentary indecision and then decided to rest my head. I still had a clear view of the TV, but my top knot made it uncomfortable. After a few minutes of fighting it, I sat up and took my hair down before placing my head back on the pillow.
Mr. Collins complimented the boiled potatoes and then Bones put his hand on my neck. He began to sift his fingers through my hair and rub my head. My eyes closed, the cadence of English accents and Bones’ warm, easy touch lulling me to sleep.
I woke up in my own bed.
Groggily, I rolled over. On my nightstand was a glass of water. The alarm clock read seven AM.
I sat up and reached for the glass, downing it in a few gulps. The last thing I remembered was falling asleep on the couch.
There were the faint sounds of kitchen cabinets opening and closing.
Is Bones here?
My cell phone wasn’t plugged in or resting on the nightstand.
I got up and went into the bathroom, did my business, and quickly brushed my teeth. I did a bodily inventory—I didn’t feel like I normally did before having an episode, so I hoped that meant I wouldn’t have one.
Bones was barefoot. His dark hair was askew and he needed a haircut. He was rooting around in the kitchen, looking confused as all hell.
“Uh, morning,” I greeted.
He crouched down and opened the cabinet that contained the pots and pans. “Morning. Where the hell is your coffee maker?”
“I don’t have one,” I replied. “And what are you still doing here? And how did I get up to bed last night?”
“I carried you,” he said. “You didn’t even wake up when I moved you. I stayed because I didn’t think you being alone was a good idea. And what the hell do you mean you don’t have a coffee maker?”
“I don’t drink coffee,” I explained. “Where did you sleep?”
“Are you even human?” he asked in shock. “Everyone drinks coffee. And I slept on the couch.”
“Not everyone drinks coffee,” I announced. “I don’t like coffee. And you should’ve slept in one of the guest rooms. It would’ve been more comfortable than the couch.”
“The couch was fine,” he said.
“You hungry?” I asked.
“Yes. But I already went through your refrigerator last night. You’ve got nothing in there. I ordered take out.”
I frowned. “I really must’ve been conked out if I didn’t hear the doorbell.”
“Dead to the world.”
I flinched at his choice of words. “What do you mean I’ve got nothing in the refrigerator? There’s tons of stuff.”
“You have kale.”
“So?”
“So, kale is like…spinach’s bitchy cousin.”
“Kale is good for you.”
“I notice you didn’t say you liked it. If I’m staying for breakfast and you have no coffee, you gotta offer me something better than kale. Especially since I watched your favorite comfort movie with you.”
I smiled. “How’d you feel about the movie, by the way?”
“That Darcy is a real dreamboat.”
I laughed, causing him to smile.
His smile made my heart flutter in my chest.
“All right, I’ll make waffles. Sound good?”
“Sounds great. You mind if I borrow some toothpaste? Maybe some mouth wash?” He scrubbed a hand across his stubbled jaw.
“Sure. You can use my bathroom upstairs. Toothpaste is on the counter.”
“Thanks.”
He went upstairs and I went to find my phone, which was still in my purse by the door. I had several missed texts and calls from Charlie, and I was about to text her back when my phone rang.
It was my mother.
“Good morning,” I greeted as I walked back toward the kitchen.
“Good morning,” she replied. “I didn’t wake you, did I?”
“No. I was awake. What’s going on?”
“I’m about to walk into my yoga class, but I wanted to tell you that we had dinner with Senator Anderson and his son last night.”
“That’s nice,” I said, not rising to the bait.
“I’m donating to his re-election campaign.”
“I imagine you would. Is that all you called to tell me?”
“Walker asked about you.”
“Why would he ask about me? He doesn’t know anything about me.”
My mother was silent.
“Mom, what have you told him?”
“I might have given him your number.”
I ground my teeth in frustration. “I was not put on this planet so I could enter into a marriage of alliance.”
“A marriage of alliance?” she repeated. “That’s not what I want for you.”
“No? I don’t see you giving my number out to the plumber’s son who fixed your toilet three months ago.”
“Think what you want of me, but I want you to be happy.”
“I am happy.”
“You’re not happy! You fill your days volunteering and spending time with Charlie, but what else do you do?”
Bones came down the stairs, and my eyes met his.
“I don’t share everything I do with you, Mom.”
She sighed. “I don’t want to argue.”
“Then why do you push my buttons on purpose?”
“I just want you to have what I had with your father. Life is better when you’re sharing it with someone.”
“And you think Walker Anderson the Third is the someone I should share my life with, huh? You’ve met him, what? A handful of times. You don’t really know him. You just know his pedigree and the family he belongs to. I love you, Mom. I do. But you’ve got to stop this match-making business.”
She fell silent again. “Will you come to Sunday dinner?”
“Only if my love life is off the table. I mean it. I’ll walk out before dessert again if anyone starts talking about?—”
“I’ll keep my mouth shut,” she vowed.
“No, you won’t,” I said lightly, my anger diffusing. “But I’ll be there anyway. I love you.”
“Love you, too, darling.”