Chapter Sixteen
The sun wasn’t shining, but at least it stopped snowing. If six inches was considered a dusting, Ted was right, but when she surveyed the scenery outside, it looked like more than a dusting to her. Sipping on her coffee, Breanna glanced across the deck patio to Sinjin’s room next door. Was he awake yet? Doubtful. Especially considering the amount of bourbon he’d consumed the day before. And that had to account for all the nonsense that came out of his mouth last night, too.
Maybe Breanna hadn’t always been the best judge of people, but as far as she could tell, Derek wasn’t someone to be all that concerned about. So why the cryptic warning? Yeah, he’d been a little bit handsy, and a whole lot flirty, but she was a big girl—she could take care of herself. There was no need for Sinjin to go all caveman on her.
He’s jealous. That’s what it is.
Sure seemed so, anyway. Not that Sinjin had a right to be, despite his insistence she was his. Was she? I wish. It was just sex. So what if it was the mind-blowing kind Breanna only saw in movies or read in romance novels, right? Surely, it meant nothing.
Besides, he was drunk. Sinjin probably wouldn’t remember a word of what he said when he woke up this morning. And even if he did, he still had a helluva lot of explaining to do.
Dressed in the only clean outfit she had left, Breanna took her coffee cup and her duffel bag of dirty clothes downstairs to the laundry room. “What in the hell kind of fancy-schmancy washing machine is this?”
The control panel had more buttons than the cockpit of an airplane, for chrissakes. Two doors. Breanna wasn’t sure if she should load the laundry on top or in the front until she realized the machine could wash two separate loads at the same time.
Isn’t that convenient? She giggled to herself. Get out of my head, Sinjin. Ian. Whatever your name is.
Francie stood flipping pancakes at the stove as Breanna made her way into the kitchen for a refill. “Good morning, dear. How’s the headache?”
“Good morning,” she said, heading toward the coffeemaker. “Couple of Motrin and a good night’s sleep…” That I never got. “…I’m totally fine.”
“Hmm.” Francie peeked over her shoulder like she didn’t quite believe her. “There’s fresh coffee and breakfast in the morning room.”
“After all that cooking you did yesterday?” Breanna hugged the woman. “You shouldn’t have, but thank you.”
“It’s what I do.” With a nod, she placed a platter of pancakes in her hands. “And I enjoy doing it. Go on and eat, now.”
Yes, ma’am. You don’t have to tell me twice.
After picking at her food yesterday, too flustered to eat, her angry belly was screaming to be fed.
Chair pushed back, one leg casually crossed over the other, his ankle resting on his thigh, he sat at the table reading something on his phone, a coffee mug poised at those luscious lips. For a brief moment, Breanna saw the bold stranger she met at Hank’s, the man she shared a bed with during the storm. Dressed in a gray crewneck sweater that molded to his muscled body and a smart-looking pair of matching slacks, it was difficult to imagine Ian Maynard ever wearing faded jeans and plaid flannel.
“And she’s awake,” he murmured without glancing up from his phone. “Five more minutes and I was going back to get you.”
“What are you doing here?”
“Told you, princess,” he answered with a throaty chuckle and took a sip of his coffee. “I live here.”
“I didn’t think you’d be up already is what I meant.” Putting the platter on the table, she took a seat. “Francie made pancakes.”
“Better than oatmeal, eh?” He winked at her, spearing some onto his plate. “There’s scrambled eggs and bacon, too. Dig in.”
She did.
Eating in silence, Sinjin sent messages on his phone in between bites of bacon. Then he scrolled and tapped away some more, as if she weren’t sitting there right across the table from him.
Rude. Especially considering he had his fingers in her lady bits not eight hours ago.
“Breanna.” Francie entered the room carrying an extremely large box. “A package came for you, honey.”
“I got it, Auntie.” Sinjin jumped up, taking it from her as he kissed her cheek. “Thanks for making me pancakes.”
“Of course, dear.” Glancing at Breanna, she kissed him back. “You two should go outside today. Play in the snow, and show her the mountain. Get some fresh air while the weather’s still good.”
“You heard Miss Dalton.” He appeared uninterested. “She prefers the beach.”
Pretending not to care, Breanna cut into her pancake.
Sinjin snickered under his breath.
And with a shake of her salt-and-pepper bob, Francie went out the door.
Wait a gosh darn minute…“Francie’s your aunt?”
“She’s my mother’s younger sister,” he answered, going back to his phone. “What’s in the box?”
None of your fucking business. “Stuff.”
A boom crashed from outside. It sounded like an avalanche. Not that she’d ever heard one before. “What the hell was that?”
“Snow.”
“But it’s not snowing.” Confused by his answer, Breanna cocked her head, her brows pulling together.
“From the roof,” he explained. “It’s copper—standing metal. That way, the snow slides off.”
“Oh, I see.” Not really.
“Now, what’s in the box?”
“Nothing that concerns you.”
“When it comes to you, princess…” Taking her package, Sinjin strolled toward the door. “…everything concerns me.”
“Hey, that’s mine,” she called out, chasing after him up the stairs. “Stop being a dick.”
Ignoring her, he punched the code into her door and went inside.
Asshole.
Sinjin stood in the middle of her living room, balancing the package on his shoulder. “You want it? Come get it.”
“Give me.” Breanna swatted at the box, her efforts fruitless.
Amused, he swiped his tongue across his lip and grinned. “So, I’m a dick, huh?”
“Yup, sure are.”
“Yeah, well, you would know.” Tossing the box to the sofa, his arm curled around her waist, and dragging her to his chest, he slammed his mouth into hers.
Shivers—the good kind—tickled their way up her spine. Pancakes and coffee and warm maple syrup. With just one taste of his wicked skillful tongue, Breanna forgot she was mad at him. Fingers threaded in her hair, Sinjin held her lips to his, cradling her head in his hands. Consuming and possessive, the intensity of his kiss addled her brain. She couldn’t think, and with all reason gone, she gave in.
Hands skimmed down her back, his electrifying touch leaving a trail of tingles on her skin. Softly groaning, he sucked at her bottom lip, pulling it with his teeth, while pressing his hardness against her belly.
Yesss. A whimper of sound escaped her.
Would he fuck her now? Tear the clothes from her body and consumed with want, lay her down right here on the floor? God, please. Because she was dying. Breanna couldn’t breathe, and she ached, her need for this man burning her alive.
But he didn’t.
With a brush of his lips, Sinjin pulled away. Whiskey eyes gazing into hers, he combed his fingers through her hair.
Breanna shook her head and sighed. Rubbing her lips together, she went to the sofa, her fingertips tracing the mailing label on Kayleigh’s package.
Sinjin planted his hands on her shoulders. “What’s in the box?”
“I told you.” She shrugged him off. “Stuff.”
“What exactly?”
“Books and ballgowns.” With a snicker, Breanna whipped around and let him have it. “Clothes, all right? I left Portland thinking I was finally going to meet my grandmother, and instead, I met you. Wrecked my car on this godforsaken mountain, only to find out she’s dead and I’m stuck here with you for three fucking miserable weeks.”
He looked at her like she’d gone and lost her mind.
“I only packed for a weekend.”
“You seem…angry,” Sinjin said, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Who sent it?”
“Kayleigh, my roommate.”
Nodding, he asked, “Have you spoken to your mom? Does anyone else know where you are?”
Her eyes flicked up. What an odd question. And what difference did it make?
“I texted her yesterday to wish her a happy Thanksgiving. She assumed I was having dinner with Kayleigh’s family…and I…I let her think it. She doesn’t have a clue that I’m here. No one does. Why?”
Sinjin sat on the sofa, pulling her with him to sit on his lap. Framing her face in his hands, he kissed her forehead. “We’re going to have to let her know you’re here, and that you’re safe.”
“We?”
“Yes, we. I’ll speak to her—as your attorney. Put her mind at ease.” Fingertips trailed up and down her spine. “What about school?”
“What about it?”
He smirked. “Well, princess, you won’t be sitting in class come Monday.”
“Yes, I will,” Breanna smugly replied. “I’ve got my Mac with me.”
“Isn’t that convenient?”
Of course, he’d say that. And what was up with all these questions?
“Why do you ask?”
Sinjin shrugged, but his grin was deliberate. “Your car might be fixed in a few weeks, but that doesn’t mean you’ll be leaving Dalton House.”
“And why not?”
“We could have ten feet of snow by then, sweetheart. Maybe more.” His hand slipped beneath her sweater, fingers strumming her skin. “Imagine it, being stuck here with me the entire fucking miserable winter.”
Fuck. Just the thought. But even if Breanna wanted to, she couldn’t.
“No.”
“No? You wouldn’t like that?” He squeezed her breast. “I’d like that.”
“I don’t get it.” She swatted at his hand. “First, Jordy has me half-convinced I dreamt you up, and then you come strolling in, acting like you’ve never seen me before. But as soon as no one’s around, you’re on me like flies on shit. Like, what the fuck?”
Raising his brow, Sinjin didn’t utter a word.
“You knew who I was and what I was coming for all along, didn’t you?” God, I’m so stupid. “Don’t answer that. Of course, you did. You summoned me here.”
“It was Derek who did that.”
“Your cousin.” Breanna scrambled off his lap. “And Francie’s your aunt. Are you all fucking related? I find it really strange no one thought to mention it.”
“Did you sign anything?” Dragging her back, Sinjin sat her on his lap so she straddled him.
“What?” she panted.
Face to face, eyes level, whiskey bored into blue. “Derek told me he went through the documents with you, and that you had questions.” Stroking her hair, he implored, “I need to know. It’s important. Did you sign any of them?”
“No.” Breanna shook her head emphatically. “And I won’t until I see the will and know what it is I’m signing. He’s supposed to email the documents today.”
“Good,” he said, the tension draining from his face.
“What’s going on here, Sinjin?”
“Listen to me.” His tone brooking no argument, Sinjin tugged on her hair, fisting it in his hand. “For now, it’s best Derek and Francie believe we never met before yesterday. Jordy, Hank, and my mother know differently, of course, but I know they can be trusted.”
“With what?”
He opened his mouth, then closed it, his eyes shifting from side to side. “Aunt Francie is a people-pleaser, a doer. She likes to make people happy. Not that it’s an altogether negative trait, but it makes her easy to manipulate, so I’m on the fence with her. Ted, too.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Exasperated, Breanna shouted, shaking him by the shoulders.
“Protecting you.” His knuckles grazed her cheek. “Making sure you’re safe.”
She didn’t understand. “From what?”
“I can’t tell you.” He looked down to where Breanna sat on his lap.
She raised his chin with her finger. “Why not?”
“Because I’m not sure I can trust you yet, either.”