Page 9 of Timelessly Ours
I march past the owner and burst through the doors. I scan the orange glow of the small bar but she’s not in here. I weave around the small tables and chairs and push one stool against the wooden bar in frustration, then twist to the woman following me. “You said she was in here,” I growl.
Sylvie looks around anxiously then turns to Griff, who’d been outside with us. She sighs.
“Hey, Sylv?” A biker in the middle of the bar calls. “Your girl caught on to your ‘watered down scheme’, grabbed a vodka bottle off the shelf, and took off.
“Shit.” Sylvie spoke the word in my mind.
I don’t ask any more questions. I don’t even go back for my truck. I race out the front door and scan both directions of the street. The empty street.
I’m frozen as I try and figure out what Nicole’s next move might be.
When I hear a car screech in the distance, I race. It’s not Nicole’s car. Her’s was blocked in by mine in the back of the bar.
She’s on foot.
And it sounds like someone had just swerved out of the way because of a reckless pedestrian.
Present
I knock on the guestroom door gently. The shower’s been turned off and I imagine I waited long enough before coming back into the room with her breakfast.
“Yeah,” Nicole grumbles.
I twist the handle and push. Nicole’s hair is wet. She’s wearing the full-length white guest bathrobe that hangs in every bathroom in the house. It’s tied loosely around the front, but I’m not concerned about exposure. It’s her skin that catches my attention. I set the tray down.
“Nicole, your skin is red. Are you allergic to something?”
She reaches for the coffee and scrunches her face at the bowl of oatmeal. “No.”
Talking to her when she’s back in her ‘don’t fuck with me’ mood is going to be just swell. But I've raised one daughter in her twenties now, so this isn't new territory for me.
“Nicole, why is your skin red?” I ask firmly. Clearly tiptoeing isn’t going to get me anywhere.
“I take hot showers.”
I shake my head. “That can’t be good.”
Ignoring me, she looks down at the tray. “Oatmeal? I’m not your six-year-old. I’m a grown-up.”
“Could have fooled me the way you ran off last night.”
She scowls at me then shifts her gaze to the clothes on the bed. The ones I fetched when she was still out cold. “Angel's?”
Well, they’re not mine. But instead of pointing out the obvious, I pull out the chair for her to sit and eat. “You haven’t eaten anything since four o’clock yesterday.”
She pins me with her eyes and I’m not sure if it’s another scowl or surprise.
“You need soft foods,” I argue, insisting on making a case for the oatmeal.
“I’ll just have coffee. Thank you.”
I draw closer. “Don’t make me spoon-feed you.” I mean it as a joke but there is a level of iciness in my voice. I’m growing tired of her bratty attitude.
She turns to me, not missing my tone, and steps closer. “I’d like to see you try.” It’s almost a snarl and I feel like I need to clutch my dick just to keep it from pointing at her. She smells like peaches and daisies, likely from bath soaps the housekeeper stocked in the guestrooms. It’s not the typical Nicole smell. It's usually pomegranates and some sort of spice. Her face is clean and glowing, her eyes a sharp green. Her lips full and drawn into a slight frown.
She’s so fucking gorgeous.
And the heady look she’s giving me right now…egging me on, like she knows there’s something I’ve been holding back on since the moment I laid eyes on her…isn’t helping.