Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
ISABELLE
Today I braved the kitchen early.
Sebastian’s gentle prods and Ben’s quiet acceptance had me emboldened, slightly. I’d been resistant, but one night turned into I didn’t know how many, and I found myself willing to occupy a little more space.
The cafetiere I’d located in the cupboard sat beside me on the table, toast and jam on my plate.
I’d dug an old newspaper out of the kindling and flicked through the pages.
Nature sounds played from my headphones, and I appreciated the irony of being in the middle of nowhere and listening to nature sounds.
It was almost peaceful.
More soft flakes of snow swirled outside the window, distracting me. Although the storm had passed, the poor weather persisted, and the snowdrifts showed absolutely no signs of abating.
A small stack of books landed on the table in front of me, and I lifted my eyes from the paper, flicking an earbud free.
Alex had already moved on, grabbing a mug and a bowl. He took his usual bench.
“Are these for me?” I waited for his reply before I touched them.
“Better than reading papers from spring.” Milk and cereals were laid out.
Pulling the pile closer, I began to examine them, my focus now on the books. I pushed the cafetiere down the table towards Alex. From what I could see, he drank coffee as if it were his lifeblood.
Wordlessly he lifted it, and I actually dedicated my attention to the offerings.
Several novels, the biography of a comedienne – a rarity, but she was hilarious – a book on local histories, one on the wars, finally a tome on the walks in the local area.
Hilarious. I flicked through them and paused, pinching my lips together.
“Are these Mills and Boon novels?” The tiny hitch of amusement in my tone caught him, and he gave an Alex huff.
I couldn’t help myself. “You didn’t strike me as a Mills and Boon fan?”
He simply snorted. Would this man always communicate in grunts and mutters?
“I think my romances would come with trigger warnings, not cute vintage artwork.”
I choked on my coffee and I swear he smiled.
“Those are Seb’s, regardless of whether he insists otherwise. He’s left a small collection here over the years. That tells you all you need to know about his idea of romance.”
“Something tells me Seb’s idea of romance is a far cry from Mills and Boon.” I defended Seb, but also realised that was true. Seb had an air of absolute safety, but something else too.
“There are plenty more options in the study if you prefer.”
What?
“I can go into your study in search of books?”
Another grunt and a pause before he replied. “I only picked a few that you might like.”
The creak of someone descending the stairs interrupted my shock, and Ben punctuated the conversation, Alex and I falling into a sort of cease-fire.
He began collecting items from the cupboard, but at a glacial rate. He picked up bread only to return it, then grabbed eggs, then replaced them. He then searched the fridge before pausing. His shoulders were raised slightly, his jaw worked left and right with each selection.
“Cereals, Ben?”
Ben’s shoulders sagged, and he sat instantly at the head of the table, not replying.
Alex poured a fairly hefty bowl of boring-looking cereal, and Ben began quietly eating as his brother then poured a juice and began speaking with him quietly.
Ben nodded slowly, taking one reluctant mouthful after another.
My presence felt invasive, so I rose and placed my items on the counter.
“Please, I want to…” I gestured at the sink, next to where Ben sat. “I will clean this when you’re finished.”
Alex nodded but Ben didn’t reply, and I backed away while sliding the books from the surface, the movement finally catching Ben’s attention, and I retreated to the stairs.
Gathering a few items, I settled on a shower. Towel in hand, another item I was refusing to launder – I could make one towel last. I rounded the bathroom, the steam telling me Seb had recently been there.
Pulling up short as I kicked the door closed, I learned that Seb hadn’t recently been here. He was still here, brushing his teeth at the vanity.
“The door was open!” I defended my presence.
Seb looked up from the sink, rinsing the toothbrush. He dropped it into the cup, never taking his eyes off me. His tongue peeked into the corner of his mouth.
“You’re too late, Killer. If you wanted to join me, you should have said something. I would have waited for you.”
Shit. I was blushing. I could feel it.
“You wish.” Was that breathy? Bloody hell, Izzy.
“Correct.”
I said nothing. My eyes had caught on his body, my brain short-circuiting.
Seb wore a towel, and that was it. That towel couldn’t have been standard size.
My attention shifted to the towel in my hand then back to the one wrapped around his waist, pulling open slightly over his thigh.
A soft covering of dark hair worked up his long, toned legs.
His waist tapered, muscles working from under the waist of the towel up a valley of abs to pecs and then rolling shoulders and biceps.
I was staring.
A small chuckle finally had my attention snapping to his face. Green eyes danced with absolute mischief, his hair sitting shaggy and damp across his forehead.
“Well, a filthy look like that has me feeling all dirty, Killer. Maybe I do need another shower?”
My next breath was a stuttered thing, and he chuckled again, making me blush more.
I’d seen men, enough men not to be embarrassed by an almost naked body. But his body, it was chiselled as if it had been sculpted by one of the greats.
Seb stepped forwards. I remained in place, insufficient control over my brain to generate movement. A drop of water falling from his hair ran from his shoulder, between his chest muscles and downward, slowing over his abs, and I traced its progress.
I wanted to trace it with my tongue.
“Okay.” Seb was close now, close enough that I had to tilt my head up to look into his eyes, the sparkle in the green of his irises darkening.
“If you keep looking at me like that…” His fingers were suddenly under my chin, electricity dancing where he touched me.
His thumb found my lower lip, pressing down slightly, and I had to fight the urge to trace the tip with my tongue.
“Then we won’t even make it to the shower. ”
The stunted breath I took didn’t help with the light-headedness coming over me.
I stared, my mouth parted by his thumb as Seb slowly shook his head, his eyes clearing and his hand dropping from my face. He must have read every emotion, because he laughed roguishly at my visible disappointment and left me.
Running the soap over my body, the vanilla and lavender scents absolutely clear but anything but overpowering, I understood why Ben used them. They were soft but clean. Nice.
With the water set to cool, I’d stood with my head under the spray for several minutes after my interaction with Seb, but still my blood ran hot. Really, really hot.
How long had it been since I had been with someone? Or even with myself?
My fingers danced close to the ache between my legs, too overwhelmed with need to comprehend the shift from fearful runaway to panting, trembling woman in someone else’s shower.
Days. It was days in Seb’s company, and he’d got me joking and laughing, and now touching myself.
My fingertips ghosted over the sensitive flesh, and I panted, hand flying out to the glass shower screen.
“Nope.” I snatched my hand away, rushing to rinse the conditioner from my hair.
Ben had conditioner; it was thick and smelled exactly like the other products.
The guilt that rolled over me for relying on his things sobered the burning in my lower belly, and I turned the shower off.
Finishing up in the bathroom, I threw on the black joggers and t-shirt, which were now clean and gave off the lightest scent of clean laundry.
I smelled entirely unlike myself now, and it seemed fitting.
Back in the bedroom, smiling at the small stack of books, I picked one of the novels.
The blurb spoke of a young farmhand and the daughter of the owner of the small farm, following their inevitable descent into hay-rolling good times.
I settled in for a couple of hours under the crisp winter sun on the window seat.
The relaxation was only interrupted by the grumbling of my stomach, and I dragged myself from the comfort, resolving to make food.
“Seb?” I called from the bottom of the stairs. In the brief time I had known him, I believed without a shred of doubt that man would be almost anywhere but upstairs in his own company.
Sure enough, he sauntered through the open study doors, a smile like a Cheshire cat plastered over his devastating features.
“You need me, Killer?”
I laughed easily as he closed the distance, comfortable in my personal space now, it seemed.
“Did you have a good shower?” he whispered.
I didn’t dignify it with a reply.
“Oh my God.”
The absolute filth of his chuckle had my need surging back to the surface, and my cheeks warmed, betraying me.
“Did you think about me?”
“Seb,” I whispered, but he got the warning and shifted back to take me in.
His eyes caught on the tattered knees of my clothes, and I shrugged, beggars and choosers. Plus, these were my favourites, torn knees or no.
“Knees look a bit better, want me to take another look?” The offer seemed absolutely innocent. The suggestion in his voice had been dropped, but the damage was done.
“No.” I steadied my voice, which was still slightly breathy. “Thank you.”
He dropped to his knee, fingers finding the edge of the tears, immediately in doctor mode.
“They could do with a bit more ointment?” His fingertips brushed so softly over my skin, and I gasped. I gasped!
“Shit, still sore?” He looked thoroughly concerned, brows knit together. That was until he saw my face.
“I…” My heart hammered as I tried to think of a way to brush it off, but all my logic had completely disappeared with every atom of my attention where his fingers touched me. “Can you please… I need you to move your hand.”
His concern deepened, and I groaned softly.
“Seb, I can’t focus with you touching me right now.”
His lips parted, concern morphing immediately into something darker, and he stood, taking a large, deliberate step backwards.
“Right.” His voice had deepened. “Sorry, Iz.” He blinked slowly, rolling his shoulders and visibly re-setting.
“I was going to try to make lunch.” I sounded entirely monotone; the effort of being unaffected ripped any emotion from the words.
“Sandwiches?” Seb sounded similar, strangled.
“Sandwiches,” I agreed.
Gathering the bread, Seb tackled the fridge. The kitchen was huge and open, but somehow we were endlessly in the space the other needed, like the universe was insisting we be in the exact same square foot.
“What does Ben like?” I looked at the buttered bread in front of me, worrying about what to fill it with. “Actually, he may prefer it if you make it?” I slid the plate over.
“You’ll be grand.” The plate slid back. “Mostly simple, ham, or cheese, but he needs fruit too.” An apple was slipped onto the chopping board. “That’s about all he’ll manage today.”
I felt the need to ask more, but bit it back, pushing it down. It wasn’t my business.
Seb tapped away on his phone, and then Alex came stomping through, accepting the plate he offered. Ben appeared at the back door seconds later, and I hesitated. I had his food.
Dithering, I realised he was watching me. His glasses pushed back into his light hair, eyes so bright with the reflection of the sun from the snow. I frowned. Surely the sunglasses would be helpful right now, but Ben simply stepped forwards, and I instinctively made myself smaller.
Seb was still messing around behind me, and that meant I couldn’t get out of Ben’s way.
He moved forwards once more. I lifted the plate and offered it, as we had become accustomed to, arms outstretched so he could take it from a distance, never too close to me.
He stepped towards me a third time, slowly filling his lungs. I realised the room around me was silent, taking stock. Alex eyed me from his seat at the table, and from Seb’s odd quietness, I assumed he did too.
Then Ben was in front of me, the soft frustration that was worn around his eyes today eased, and the smile that lifted his lips had a matching one from me. I don’t know why, but the fact that he was happy, at all, made me feel the same.
His body was almost flush with the plate, which I still held out. His gaze flitted over me, my clothes, face, then my still damp hair, then to Seb behind me, and back to my eyes. “Thanks, Izzy.”
His hands gripped the side of the plate, mere fractions between our fingers and my outstretched arms eased, releasing as he withdrew.
Then the electricity went out.