nine
peyton
I flicked through the channels. It was morning, I should be sleeping, but sleep never came very easy for me, especially not when I had a certain man on the mind. I winced when I shifted in the bed. My ass hurt. That had been a hard hit, but seeing that side of him, gold. He’d been teasing me. I still didn’t believe it. The same man who’d hung up on me, played a practical joke on me. Luckily, it had been too dark for him to see my less than graceful spill.
I wanted to see him. I’d reached for my phone a few times, but I wasn’t sure if the Rutledge Raines that answered would be the same one from last night. Though I was coming to find I liked all the parts of him.
There was a cooking show on, I lingered on the channel. I wasn’t kidding about the pizza. Holy shit, that was good stuff. I didn’t eat it off the grass, though it took will power, and had I been alone I would have. Geno’s and I were going to have a long, happy relationship.
I climbed from bed to get some coffee when my cell rang. My fingers shook because I was hoping it was Rutledge. Seeing his name, I may have squealed, but I would never confess that. Not even under torture.
He wasn’t texting either, he was calling. I tried to slow my heartbeat, worked on keeping my voice even when I answered, “Hey, morning.”
“Morning,” he replied in a sexy grumble. “You got plans today?”
I almost shouted no. I controlled that by biting my lip, hard. Waiting a beat, I replied smoothly, “No. I was just pondering what to do with myself.”
I heard the rustling of sheets, and I couldn’t stop the visual of him naked in bed. I bit my lip again for an entirely different reason. I almost missed what he said. “Well, I gotta pick up some papers from the council, and if you want, I can drop you off in town. Or I’ve got some work shit to do; you can come with me up to the house, your call?”
I waited a few seconds because it was a no brainer. Go to town alone or hang at the house with Rutledge. After what seemed like a reasonable amount of time for me to ponder my options, I offered, “I’d actually like to go to the house. Start getting ideas for color schemes and fabrics.”
“Sounds good,” he said and the sound of water running muffled his voice when he asked, “Gonna grab a shower, can you be ready in an hour?”
Swallowing became hard thinking about him in the shower. It was a great visual. I choked down a moan. “Yeah, an hour is plenty of time.” Those words were offered a little too breathlessly.
I thought I heard a slight chuckle before he added, “See you then.” Then he disconnected the call.
I dropped the phone on the bed, excited I’d be seeing him again, and dressed to visions of him naked and wet.
***
An hour later, I was stepping outside. Someone was burning leaves. I loved that smell. The sight of the black pickup pulling up to the curb had my heart jumping even as I jogged down the front steps. As he had done the other times he drove me somewhere, he climbed from the truck. And I had thought the man didn’t have manners.
“Hey.” I glanced around before I added, “Beautiful day.”
His eyes scanned me from head to toe before his deep voice admitted, “It sure is.”
The rush of heat stirred from that look was distracting. Absently, I asked, “Did you sleep well?”
He seemed to brush off my question as he shrugged his shoulders and climbed back into his truck once I was settled in my seat.
“I didn’t have coffee yet. Can we stop?”
“Absolutely,” he agreed, and added, “You ain’t one of those chicks who drinks that fancy shit, are you?”
He had such a way with words. Fancy shit. Poetry. “I like a dark roast, usually with cream and sugar but it is autumn, so I get pumpkin spice in my coffee. If that is fancy shit, then yes I do.”
“Nah,” he drawled as he pulled down a street and into a small parking lot next to a coffee shop. “That ain’t fancy shit.”
“And I’m guessing you take it black, no sugar.”
He chuckled, “You guessed wrong.”
I waited for him to share. He didn’t. “National security issue, me knowing how you like your coffee?”
This time he flat out laughed. “No, I take it with a splash of cream.” He exited the truck, and I followed.
A splash of cream, that’s almost black. I didn’t split hairs. The cafe was packed, even with the early hour. Again, it seemed that Rutledge tensed when we entered the coffeehouse. His gaze moving around. Was he looking for his father? After their last encounter, I couldn’t blame him. I eyed the case of goodies. They had pumpkin scones. I loved pumpkin scones.
“Can we get a few pumpkin scones? Like four?” I asked while digging around my purse for my wallet.
He didn’t answer me. We got to the counter and the woman behind it asked, “Can I help you?”
Rutledge replied as I continued to sift through my purse. “Yeah, large coffee with that pumpkin spice shit…”
I giggled.
“Another large coffee with a splash of cream and a dozen pumpkin scones.” My head snapped up. A dozen scones? He paused, still eyeing the case and added, “Give me half a dozen glazed donuts too.”
“Who else is joining us?” I asked absently.
He was retrieving his wallet from his back pocket when he gave me a sideways glance. “No one, why?”
I found my wallet, opened it, but my focus was fixed on him. “A dozen scones? I’m not sure if I’m happy you have confidence in my abilities to eat that many or alarmed that it looks like I can eat that many.”
He laughed, put his hand on my hand holding my wallet and pushed it down shaking his head. “You know, I like pumpkin shit too, and I also like to fucking eat. We got some leftovers by the end of the day, you got breakfast for tomorrow,” he declared as he moved his hand to my lower back and guided us to the side where the register was.
Between his thoughtfulness and his hand on my back, I wasn’t capable of forming a thought. Instead, I held his stare and managed a sincere, “Thank you.”
“My pleasure,” he grumbled and handed the money to the woman behind the counter who was gawking.
That happened a lot. Women staring. I got it; I’d been one of them, but seriously. What a drag. Another woman bagged up the donuts. The words tumbled out before I could stop them. “You are going to share those donuts, right?”
He chuckled and grabbed the bag from the woman’s outreached hand, smiling at her as he did. She beamed back. He looked at me and said, “Woman, you’re worried about the damn dozen scones and now you want my donuts.” The woman looked over at me with a smirk, believing that Rutledge was disparaging my eating habits. He shocked the shit out of her when he finished with another smile and said, “Of fucking course.”
It was me who smirked before taking hold of the bag. No time like the present to get started on those scones.
***
We had been at the house for over an hour, countless scones and donuts had been consumed. We briefly walked around the property, but when we came close to the crumbling shed, Rutledge veered us away, mumbling something that sounded like, ‘It’s not safe’.
What I didn’t question, remembering his reaction to it that first day, was when we entered the kitchen, he went directly to the handmade shelf, ripped it off the wall with his bare hands, and went storming out of the house. I hurried after him. Reaching the door, I saw him hurl the shelf over the cliff’s edge before he started back for the house. I thought to ask what that was all about, but when he grew closer, he grumbled, “Don’t ask.” So I didn’t.
Now, he had a hip to the island counter, his cell to his ear, and his eyes trained on the open laptop in front of him. I was looking around the kitchen for a steady place to put my iPod. The electricity wasn’t turned on, but I had my solar powered speaker and my iPod was always charged. The counter near the sink worked. Hooking up the music, Kip Moore filled the kitchen. Not too loudly since Rutledge was on the phone.
I had swatches of colors. I was thinking pale yellow for the kitchen, white or stone cabinets, possibly soapstone for the counters. I could spend a small fortune in the kitchen alone, but remembering I also needed to furnish the whole place, I found samples of cheaper granite and marble as options.
Taping a few color swatches to the wall, I strolled around the kitchen because at every angle the colors looked different. I needed to see the colors in darker lighting and with the actual lights in the kitchen. We needed electricity before I made the final decision.
I wanted fresh air, wanted to see more of the view from the widow’s walk more. I glanced over at Rutledge; he was off the phone so I asked, “Do you want to come up to the widow’s walk with me?”
His head snapped up, but I had no idea what he was thinking. I wasn’t sure if I imagined his shoulders going tense, his jaw clenching.
“It’s not safe,” he bit out quite harshly.
I didn’t answer right away, taken back by his tone. “The view is incredible though. We’ll stay for only a few minutes.”
“I know about the fucking view.” His tone was hard, and his eyes veered to the stairs leading up to it. “But no, it’s not safe. Another time.”
He left no room for argument, but I wasn’t inclined to argue because his reaction surprised me. Instead, I dropped it, but I couldn’t help wonder if there was more to his reaction, particularly given his hasty retreat during the walk through.
“Okay, another time then.”
He grumbled something, picked up his cell again, tapped the screen, and began talking into it.
Putting the odd moment aside, which was easier said than done, I walked around because I could see it. Large white ceramic bowls filled with fruit on the counters, vases of fresh flowers, stainless steel appliances, a farmhouse sink. The music changed, Peter Pan came on. Getting lost in my planning, I didn’t realize I was swaying to the music as I opened cabinets, many of which needed to be removed.
“Hey,” Rutledge called out. He then mumbled into the cell, “Hold on.”
I glanced back then turned fully around when I saw the look aimed at me. “Yeah?”
“Don’t be messing with too much shit; it ain’t safe. You want a cabinet opened, you ask me, yeah?”
“But you’re working.”
“Don’t fucking care, just do as I ask.” He paused a second and ended with, “Please.”
I was noticing another pattern. Rutledge liked to give orders, and my safety was his concern. More softly I replied, “Okay. I want to look at these over here when you have a chance.”
“Give me a minute,” he told me before continuing his phone conversation.
I stood by the sink, looking out at the view. It was beautiful, water for as far as the eye could see. I caught sight of him out of the corner of my eye; he was looking at me. His eyes were darker, the blue almost black, as they traveled down my body. Heat rushed through me. I had a feeling he wasn’t thinking about the kitchen.
He spoke into the phone, his eyes trained on me. “I gotta go.” He didn’t wait for a reply from the person on the other end before he took his phone from his ear, tapped the screen, and threw it onto the dusty island.
“What did you wanna look at?” His voice was deep, deeper than I had ever heard, and there was something in the way he was looking at me. I wasn’t sure what fueled the look; anger, lust, maybe both, but my body responded to it regardless of what was behind it. My pulse jumped then sped up. I felt it in various places on my body.
I slowly raised my arm, my gaze caught in his and that look, and requested, “That cabinet.”
I should have looked away, but I couldn’t. He crossed the room to me in the sexiest gait I’d ever seen. Controlled and deliberate. Was that the same way he approached a woman behind closed doors, like a predator hunting his prey. My heart raced even as an ache started between my legs because I’d bet the house it was.
I wanted to be his prey.
My raised arm fell to the counter where I gripped it. Still, his eyes hadn’t moved from mine as he lifted his arm and opened the cabinet. It was then I realized there was no way I could see in it. Shaking my head, hoping to regain some sanity, I stood on my tiptoes and tried to look into the cabinet.
He chuckled and asked, “Need help?”
I didn’t have a chance to answer when he grabbed me around the waist and hauled me up. My body pressed flush against his, breasts pushing into his chest. I could see in the cabinet, but if you asked me what was in it, I couldn’t tell you. There could’ve been the world’s largest roach dressed in pink lamé, and I wouldn’t have seen it because my entire being was focused on his arms wrapped around me, his hands just shy of being on my ass.
“Okay, I’m good.” I managed to get past my tight throat.
He put me back on my feet, but he didn’t let me go right away, holding onto my waist to make sure I was steady. Heaven help me, but I wanted to sway just so he’d keep his hands on me. I didn’t. I stepped back. And when I did, his hands dropped. He looked at them. I followed his gaze. He studied his hands as if they were on fire or going to fall off. Just then his cell buzzed and shimmied across the dusty island, pulling us both from the sexually charged moment.
Any time his cell rang during the morning, he’d answered it curtly, but this time, he growled, “This better be good.”
Heat of a different kind entered his expression. His jaw clenched, and it was then I realized how expressive he had been, because now his face was like stone. He strolled away from me, tension in every line of his body. Not the sexy stride I’d witnessed, but one that seemed like he was holding it in check, whatever was waiting to escape. I couldn’t tear my eyes from him, because talk about hot and cold. He’d about burned me where I stood only minutes earlier, and now, I felt a chill dancing down my spine. It was like the calm before the storm because in the next instant, he shouted so loudly I swear plaster fell off the wall. I jumped, partly from surprise and partly from fear. I expected him to continue with that voice, but it dropped. Almost like a whisper, but one so menacing you wanted to lean in to hear exactly what he had to say.
“Swear to fuck, Rich, you got two fucking weeks.” He paused, cracked his neck from side to side and finished, “And that’s only ʼcause I’m in a good fucking mood today.”
I’d never seen anyone do that, crack their neck. It was sexy and scary as hell, particularly when the man looked about ready to kill someone. Whatever this Rich guy said, was not something Rutledge wanted to hear. His expression went really dark.
“You better have the fucking money, man, I gave you four fucking months,” he grated out and went on, “Now, you got two fucking weeks.” At that, he hung up the phone and stalked back to his laptop, tapped at the keys with such force it was a wonder the keyboard didn’t shatter. He tapped the screen on his cell the same way, and I waited for the glass to explode. It didn’t. He lifted it to his ear, waited a beat, and said, “Smitty, we gotta fucking talk.” He was talking in a much calmer voice, but I decided to go outside and give him some privacy.
I was feeling a little unsteady, between the smoldering looks and his radical shift to icy fury; the man definitely kept me off balance, but I liked it.
Strolling around the backyard, I had ideas for this space too. A chill ran through me, a breeze coming off the water. I rubbed at my arms, imagining the backyard filled with people, family, laughter, a barbecue spicing the air with the scents of grilled meats, laughter. He was there; I didn’t mean to include him, but Rut so easily fit into the scene, into my dream. That was dangerous, going down that road, but that didn’t stop me from doing it though. I felt another chill, causing the hair on my arms to stand up. It was more than cold, unease moved through me. The sensation that I wasn’t alone. Glancing around the yard, I didn’t see anyone, but the feeling persisted. It was daylight, Rut was right inside, and still, part of me wanted to head back to the house. I’d been walking to the overgrown bushes at the far edge of the property, but my feet stopped and a gasp caught in my throat when I saw it move, saw something take off that was bigger than a cat or small garden animal. It had just been a glance, but someone had been watching me.
“Rutledge!” I screamed, terror running through me.
He came flying out the backdoor in record time. The screen slamming shut behind him as he raced toward me. “What happened?” he rushed out, eyes looking me over, inspecting my body.
My voice shook, but I was clear when I pointed toward the bushes. “There was someone over there.” It started to settle that someone had been watching me, stood there and watched, only taking off when they were at risk of being seen. Was it the same someone from last night? And why?
“Where?” His eyes began scanning the area.
“Those hydrangeas at the property line.”
His body tensed, he kept his eyes to the area as he made a call but not before saying, “By the way, sweetheart, I don’t fucking know what a damn hydrangea is.” He brought his cell to his ear and listened.
I didn’t answer, just stared at him like he’d sprouted another head. I laughed out loud because what a thing to say at a time like this then realized he’d probably done it on purpose to lighten the mood for me. “Noted.”
I thought I’d catch one of his signature smiles or grins, but instead, I got hard eyes as he spoke into the phone. “Yeah, this is Rutledge Raines out at forty-seven Clover Lane, I want an officer out here now.” He took the phone from his ear and tapped the screen.
I raised a brow and asked, “Did you just hang up on the police department?”
“Yeah, why?” he replied like it was nothing. Putting a hand to my lower back, he guided me back inside.
So his high handedness wasn’t limited to civilians. That was good to know. “No reason.” Remembering the shadow, the creepy feeling that someone was watching, waiting, I couldn’t stop the shudder. “Do you think whoever was there was the same person from last night?”
“Not sure,” he answered as he swept the area before we disappeared back inside the house.
***
The cops arrived within minutes. I wasn’t sure where the police department was located in Ogg’s Point, but the house was a bit of distance from the center of town. So when Rutledge Raines ordered the cops to get over to the house now, they really got over to the house. They walked around the property, with no urgency at all. One officer shared that vacant houses were being used by kids, making it their hangout spot for parties and drinking. He stated that whoever had been there was likely just a kid who got spooked seeing the place occupied. In theory that made sense. I was inclined to believe that was all it was; however, I grew up in Boston, had honed my sixth sense and whoever had been there earlier, it was more than a kid looking to party. I was unnerved.
This brought us to now. I was starving. Apparently fear brought that out in me. It was early evening, and I wasn’t sure what we were doing for dinner, eating the last of the crumbs of the scones. I would deny it if ever asked, but I had eaten eight scones. Eight. That was a record, even for me.
I looked over at Rutledge. “We should get something to eat because someone stole our scones.”
He looked up from his laptop and smiled. “Yeah, sure they did.” He laughed.
It was probably that cockroach in the lamé. “Seriously, my stomach is eating itself. Aren’t you hungry?”
He shut his laptop and said, “I can always eat, thought we’d been through that shit.” He didn’t give me a chance to respond when he asked, “You like burgers?”
Burgers. Now we’re talking. “Yes. Do you know a place that makes burgers as well as Geno’s makes pizza?”
He started picking up his things and answered, “I do.” He looked around the kitchen and ordered, “Get your shit so I can feed you.”
True poetry. I didn’t argue, because the faster I got my shit, the faster I’d have a burger.
He grumbled, “I’ll drop you off, you can freshen up or whatever shit you chicks do, and I’ll come back for you.”
“All I need is a half an hour. One needs priorities and mine is getting a burger in my stomach.” I didn’t mention it was also spending more time with him. He didn’t need to know that.