Chapter Eight #2
As soon as I shut the door, I lean my head against it and close my eyes. Last night I couldn’t sleep. Every time I closed my eyes all I could think about was her in that fucking wet dress that left nothing to the imagination.
I tossed and turned for hours until I finally caved and jerked off thinking about peeling that wet dress right off her body.
I know I shouldn’t – I hoped it would get it out of my system, and it wouldn’t be an issue today, but I feel like a perv because my dick is standing at attention every time I’m remotely close to her.
Like right now. God, you’d think I'd never been with a woman before.
It has been a while - a long while, but still.
I storm into the bathroom. I can’t go back over there like this - not with my dick refusing to think of anything but her ass in the air in those tiny shorts. I slam the bathroom door and take care of business again.
When I walk back over to the big house in a half hour, I feel better. More relaxed.
I don’t need to get entangled with this woman. She’s just a walking red flag. She’s running from someone, hiding, in trouble - I don’t know, but she won’t even tell me her real fucking name. I have a history of ignoring red flags, and I will not make that mistake again.
I won’t. No matter how good she looks doing yoga.
Ginger’s cutting into the frittata when I walk into the kitchen. Thank god, she’s put on an oversized sweatshirt, but she’s still wearing those tiny shorts. Her hair is in that adorable messy bun, and somehow my dick is twitching again.
She jerks her head up, and I realize that I’ve just sighed out loud.
“Something wrong?” she says.
Just this permanent, raging boner that I’ve had the last two days, no big deal.
“Nothing,” I mumble as I take a seat at the island. “Smells good.”
A bright smile spreads across her face. “It does, doesn’t it?”
“I love eggs,” she continues as she plates the frittata. “If there’s a food that I would be devastated to give up, it would be eggs.”
She’s adding some steamed broccoli and cut up fruit to plates on the counter. “I found these in your fridge. I hope this is okay. I also made a list.” She nudges her head toward the counter. I nod, seeing the grocery list.
“I’ll have groceries delivered tomorrow,” I say.
“Thanks,” she says quietly. “I hope this is okay. I don’t know what you like.”
“I’m not picky.”
“Oh good. Well, like I said, eggs always make me happy. If I get home from work, and I’m just too tired to cook, I just make some fried eggs and sourdough toast, and I’m a happy girl.”
Home from work? Did she lose her job? Leave it behind?
“What do you do for a work?”
She just gives me a sly side-eye. “Oh this and that. You?”
“This and that.” I take the plate from her.
“You always this secretive? I ask.
“Only when I need to be.”
“You can tell me if you’re in trouble,” I say looking up at her. She just stares at her plate.
“I’m not in trouble. I promise.” She doesn’t look up.
“Why are you running? Hiding? Whatever the hell this is?”
“Please, Kip, I can’t talk about it, but I’m not in any danger. I promise.”
“Did you break the law?” I say. I don’t particularly care unless she murdered someone or something.
She starts to laugh.
“What?” I say, confused.
“I did.” She’s laughing harder now.
I’m looking at her like her head has fallen off. “Why is that funny?”
“I snuck through the Canadian/American border in the trunk of a car.” She wipes away a tear as she laughs.
“What? Aren’t you an American? You don’t sound Canadian,” I say.
“Oh, I'm an American.”
“I don’t get it.”
“I didn’t want a record of me coming through the border,” she answers.
She’s still laughing, but I’m not. I'm dead serious now. Once she catches sight of my face, she stops laughing too.
“What?”
“Who are you afraid of?” I’m starting to get angry. Why would she be so afraid she’s being tracked and followed that she’s sneaking into fucking Alaska?
“I’m not afraid of anyone,” she says. “I promise.”
“Ginger, this makes no sense.”
“My brother is just really protective.”
Protective sounds like code for abusive to me.
“Your brother? Why the hell is it any of his business what you do?” I’m ready to find this guy and rip him limb from limb.
“It’s really not like that. He’s a lot older than me - more of a father figure.”
“That doesn’t make it any fucking better,” I yell.
She cowers. I’ve upset her.
“I can help you better if I know what’s going on,” I say, my voice quiet again.
She just shakes her head.
“The food’s getting cold,” she says. “We should eat.”
I don’t consider this conversation to be over, but it’s clear she does. I lift my fork to my mouth and groan as soon as the frittata touches my lips.
“Damn.”
“I know, right? Eggs are the best. You can fry them, scramble them, boil them, oh, poached eggs. Poached eggs are heavenly. And, then you can do all of these crazy things when you bake - meringues, soufflés, custards. I can’t imagine having an egg allergy.”
I smile. She’s completely relaxed and happy. Whatever’s going on in her life, at least she feels safe and comfortable here.
“You like to cook?”
“Well, my sister and one of my brothers are really into it. They’ve taught me a lot. Whenever we’re together, I try to help them in the kitchen, so I can learn a thing or two.”
“A different brother? Or is this the possessive father/brother?”
She winces. “They are all protective. I didn’t say possessive.”
“You didn't. I did.”
She frowns.
“So you have a big family? Is it two brothers and a sister?”
She dodges the question. “I guess it’s pretty big. What about you? Just you and Hawk?”
“It is now. We had a sister.”
“Oh god, I’m so sorry.”
I nod. I don’t want to talk about it right now - or ever, for that matter.
We finish lunch in silence, and then I say, “I’m going out later this afternoon and won’t be back until late tonight. Make sure you lock all the doors.”
“Don’t want any of those moose breaking in, huh?”
“I’m not joking.”
“I know.”
Jesus, she makes me feel like she needs constant watching. I’m worried about leaving her later today, but I have things that can’t wait.