Chapter 20
Twenty
Bex
“I have to show you something,” he says, and then goes to the locked closet door.
The sand stirs along my arms, so whatever’s behind that door, the dustslinger within me also knows. I move closer, eager to learn more of Gravers Junction’s secrets. After he unlocks the door, he turns and hands me the key. “I have a spare in case you lose this one. But try not to, okay?”
I take the long iron key and tuck it in the skirt pocket of my dress.
I’ll have to ask Ruby later for a piece of twine or ribbon so I can tie it around my neck.
Inside is a dark hall, not a closet. He gestures for me to go first, and I do.
Immediately to my left is a staircase. “Where does that go?”
“Up to the loft.”
“Can I see what’s up there?”
“You can, but later. After I’ve shown you Persephone’s private study. Then, I’ll leave you to explore wherever you want.”
I stop at a closed door at the end of the short hallway. “Go ahead. It’s unlocked,” Garrett says behind me.
Turning the knob, I push the door open and step inside.
The moon has barely risen, but it’s enough to fill the room with a pale light.
Garrett strikes a match from somewhere in the room, replacing the soft moonlight with a strong, warm glow from the oil lantern sconces affixed to the walls on opposite sides of the room.
Inside the room, there’s a small writing table with an upholstered wingback chair behind it set below the window.
Closest to us is another small bookcase full of books and stacks of paper.
Then across the room, against the far wall is a large trunk with worn metal corners.
Above the trunk are three outfits hanging on the wall like artwork being shown off.
One is a dress similar to the ones I’m used to, with a top button collar, long sleeves, and a full skirt.
The fabric is light brown with thin, dark vertical stripes.
Normally, only the wealthiest women back in our old town could afford such fine fabrics as this for their dresses.
The second and third outfits are quite similar.
A white blouse, the neckline not as high as I’m used to, beneath a brown suede vest. Dark brown pants hang where a skirt should be, and I’m unsure about wearing men’s pants.
Loretta seems to prefer them, and I’ve even seen Maureen wearing them.
I must know what they feel like and start unbuttoning my dress.
“Whoa, what are you doing?” Garrett calls out, being the gentleman he is, and looks away.
“Oh, please. You’ve already seen me naked multiple times. And I want to try these pants on.”
“Right now?” he asks with a hint of surprise lacing his voice.
“You can leave if you want,” I say over my shoulder.
He glances briefly back at me, then moseys over to the writing table. “Can’t you wait until I’ve shown you what I brought you in here for? Then you can try on the pants and whatever else you like?”
“Nope,” I say with a playfulness. He may not want to be with me, but ever since the Spirit of the Land awakened a new confidence in me, I’m not afraid of reaching for the things I want. And I kind of want Garrett to want me.
I toss my dress on the floor and stand there in my cotton chemise and long drawers.
After pulling off the clothesline pins and setting them on the nearby bookcase, I open the top of the pants and stare into the two leg sleeves, or whatever you call them.
I slip one leg in and then the other, and they’re tighter than I expected.
“How do you close them? I can’t walk around like this. ”
Garrett faces me and laughs. “What are you wearing under the pants?” His laughter vanishes as his gaze moves from the bulge at my waist, up my body to the thin chemise, which barely conceals the dark outlines of the peaks of my breasts.
Normally, I’d feel exposed without my long sleeves and high-collar blouse, but not with Garrett.
My bare arms and neckline are there for him to touch if he wants—though, I know he doesn’t.
I glance at my undergarments and then up to him. “They’re drawers. It’s a new trend. I overheard some women gossiping about how these are much better than the full-body garments we normally wear. They may have more material, but that’s needed to provide more airflow beneath our dresses and skirts.”
He tugs at the extra fabric sticking out of the top.
“Well, you can’t wear those drawers if you want to wear pants.
There’s too much going on and they won’t fasten closed,” he says, waving a hand at my waist. Then he laughs again, shaking his head while staring at the mess billowing out the top of my pants.
“Well, Persephone must’ve had something more fitting to wear under these pants. I can’t go around wearing nothing!”
Still chuckling, Garrett helps me search the room. He opens the trunk and stands there staring down at what’s inside. “I think this might be what you’re looking for.”
I come over. There’re some garments piled to one side and trinkets carefully lined up on the other side.
Before I search through the clothes, I remove one of the bottles.
There’s a clear liquid inside, and its label reads Vampire Deterrent.
I uncork the top and bring it to my nose.
Instantly, I gag and quickly return the cork.
“Damn,” Garrett says, waving a hand in front of his face. “I can smell the garlic from here.”
Returning the bottle to the trunk, I sweep my gaze over the other labels and decide I’ll have to investigate each one more later. Then, I turn my attention to the silky fabric piled on the other side. Lifting one garment, I stand up straight and hold the pair of white satin shorts at eye level.
Garrett is also looking at them. He swallows and then clears his throat. “Yeah, those should do.” He then turns around. “Try those.”
And I do. I remove the pants and my drawers and slip on the shorts. I’m going to assume they’re clean, and it feels a bit off wearing another woman’s undergarments, but if I’m going to wear these darn pants, then, well, I’m wearing her shorts.
“Hmm,” I say, dragging a hand over the front, sides, and back. I’ve never felt anything so luxurious before. The fabric is the smoothest material I’ve ever touched, and there’s a satisfying coolness to it too. “I could get used to these,” I whisper, which causes Garrett to turn and look.
His eyes go wide, staring at the shorts. “You haven’t put the pants on yet?”
He doesn’t turn away or repeat instructions to put the pants on. Instead, he stares at my legs while sucking in his bottom lip. “I shouldn’t be here while you’re doing this,” he whispers.
Except he doesn’t leave.
He does, however, take a step closer.
“I don’t want you to leave,” I say. “You still haven’t shown me what you brought me in here for.”
“I need you to get dressed. Right. Now. I-I don’t want either of us to get hurt.” His voice is so low, so fragile.
“There’s not much up here that’s going to hurt us,” I say, twisting his words. “You know, just because you don’t want to fall in love with anyone, doesn’t mean you can’t still have intimate relations with them. We could—”
He doesn’t let me finish, taking a wide step to close the space between us.
He wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me to him.
His hands slip up my chemise, caressing my back while his mouth presses against mine.
I reach up and run my fingers through his short beard as he parts his lips.
Our kiss deepens, and he lifts me up, my back hitting the wall where the clothes hang.
I wrap my legs around his waist as one of his hands comes to the front, still under the chemise, and cups my breast.
A low groan rises from his throat as he dips his head, his forehead resting against mine. I kiss the side of his face while his thumb rubs my nipple. A pleasurable ache swells within me, craving more…more kisses, more touching, and more of him wanting me.
I lift my hips and press against him. He breathes heavy, his mouth breaking from mine only long enough to catch his breath as his hand slides down my back, along the satin shorts, until his fingers find skin. He moves up my thigh, slips beneath the soft fabric, and squeezes my bottom cheek.
“Bex.” He says my name as if he’s parched and begging for water. “If we do this, you need to know it’s just to appease the urges we’re feeling in the moment. That’s it. And I don’t think I can—”
I lift his face with my hands and bring my mouth to his, stopping him from finishing that sentence.
He presses his body harder against mine.
The clothespins holding up the garments hanging on the wall press into my back.
I ignore the discomfort and wrap my arms around his shoulders, keeping him close.
When he breaks away, lips gently kissing my cheek, then my jaw, then down my neck, I tell him, “Let’s not think about tomorrow.” My voice is breathless as I suck in more air as if preparing myself to hold it again. “We’re two consenting adults needing one night of pleasure.”
He lifts his head and locks eyes with me. “One night,” he repeats, as if giving in to his inner conflict.
“One night,” I say, soaking in the hunger and desire humming from every part of him.
He hoists my body up, to get a better hold of me, before carrying me out of the private study.
Instead of taking me to the four-post bed, he climbs the stairs I’d first noticed in the secret closet that lead up to the loft.
It’s dark up there, with only a small round window, where moonlight shines down directly over a bed.
There’s no wooden frame, just a giant mattress on the floor covered in simple white linens.
Slowly he lowers me onto the plush edge of the bed. I scoot back, and lay there, arms spread out to my sides, in nothing but these fancy undershorts and my thin chemise. He unbuttons his shirt and slowly takes it off, never breaking from my eyes.