Chapter Six
Cursing his internal alarm clock, Nakos padded down the hallway before the buttcrack of dawn, his sole focus to get coffee. Lots of coffee. Until his blood type was Folgers. Once a caffeine blast hit his system, he could better determine the cause for the tension in his neck and why the hell he woke in a zombie state. Not that he normally popped out of bed raring to go, but Hihcebe, he felt like he was crashing from a week-long bourbon bender.
Rubbing his eyes, he rounded the landing, descended the stairs, and headed for the kitchen. And stopped short. Blinked. Scratched his chest.
Amy, facing away from him, poured coffee from a carafe into a mug at the counter. Long cocoa strands trailed halfway down her back, and she wore a pair of frayed skinny jeans that molded to her round, luscious ass. Blue polish peeked from her toes as she curled them on the checkered linoleum. As she reached for the sugar dish, her hips wiggled like she was grooving to an internal beat, and...
He grew semi-hard in less time than it took her to dump two spoonfuls into her cup.
Morning wood. Had to be. Because the sight of Ames had never blasted this kind of reaction in him. At least, not to this extent. Then again, he’d never woken to her in his kitchen, either. Domestic. Intimate.
Heat furled in his chest, part warmth from appreciating the view and part boil over from...loving the idea she was here. In his space. Her light perfume filled the kitchen like the scent had moved in, too. Semi-hard became all-systems-go, but in his confusion, he just stared. Processing. For a guy who was used to privacy and space, the response seemed crazy.
He skimmed his gaze over her curvy, lithe frame to test his first reaction a second time. Yep. His pulse kicked rhythm and some barbaric instinct to claim her rose.
A rip-roaring case of WTF shoved through his foggy state. Barely.
She glanced over her shoulder and, just like that, he was... Stone. Cold. Sober.
The wedding. The look of her in that dress. Dancing with her. Their fight. Insane things she’d said. His unending concern. Bringing her home. Finding her in the guestroom later. Their talk. His unfettered admissions. Her warm supple curves against him when they’d hugged.
Across the small distance, her mermaid eyes met his. Bluish-green and framed by dark lashes. The few feet between them shrank to inches without either of them moving. Short of air, he parted his lips, which only made him think to dip his gaze to her pouty red mouth.
And that was of no help to his aroused state. She didn’t just take his breath away. She stole it. Violently.
Damnation. What the hell was happening to him?
Then her gaze trailed over him. Chest, abs. Lower. A smile curved her lips in amusement.
He glanced down at himself. Black boxer-briefs. Nothing else. Because he normally didn’t have guests and was used to walking around however he pleased. Nearly naked, in this case.
Cursing a wicked streak, he pivoted on his heels and strode back the way he’d come. Her musical laugher faded as he hit the stairs at a jog. He stormed into his bedroom and kicked the door shut, pressing his forehead to the panel.
He swore, it was as if someone else had taken over his body the past few months, rendering him a puppet at the whim of a madman wielding the strings. Nothing made sense or properly clicked.
Not used to having someone else in the house was no excuse for forgetting to get dressed. He pushed off the door and grabbed pants from a chair, then got more pissed off as he shoved his legs into jeans because Amy wasn’t an easily forgettable woman. And what had he done? He’d flashed her the morning after her first night in the cabin. With an erection. Her amused smile sprang to mind, and he groaned.
Hands on his hips, breaths rasping, he stared down at his crotch. Still. Hard. “Knock it off. Right now.”
Retrieving a t-shirt from a dresser drawer, he pulled it over his head and was eternally grateful his littler head behind his zipper had listened. Taking a moment, he scrubbed his hands over his face, then made his way back downstairs.
Amy sat at the scarred two-seater table with a mug in her hands. Her knees were drawn up to her chest, bare feet at the edge of the chair. Out the window behind her, the sun was rising in pink and orange hues. In front of the opposite place was another steaming cup.
“It’s black, just how you like it.”
He claimed the other chair with a grunt of thanks. After downing half the coffee, he sighed. “I’m sorry. About, you know. My state of undress.”
A quiet chuckle, and she smiled over the rim at him. “You’re not exactly an eyesore, Nakos, and it’s your house. Walk around all day in your skivvies for all I care.”
Okay. That was twice now she’d made a reference to his body. She’d done it last night at the wedding when they’d danced, too. Once he could pass off as Amy-ness. Twice was the beginning of a pattern. Not that he was upset by the comments. He just didn’t know if he should take them with a grain of salt or a silo. Though he knew her better than the back of his own hand, he never could tell when she was goading him.
And damn, but the...appreciation was back in her eyes. She’d pulled the rug out from under him last night and he was still recovering. Twenty-one years, and she’d never looked at him. Not like she was now. He sure as hell would’ve noticed.
Or perhaps he needed more caffeine.
He ran his thumb up and down the handle on his mug. “Are you flirting with me?” Because the four horsemen had just been released, if that were the case.
Her grin widened. Sucker. Punch. “You’d know. Trust me.”
Nope. No, he wouldn’t. “How so?”
“There’s a difference between a statement of fact, flirting, and a come-on.” When he just stared, she set her cup aside. “I’ll demonstrate. Fact. Nakos, you have a great body.” She said the phrase like explaining the sky was blue. “Flirting.” She walked her fingers up his forearm and raised her voice an octave. Her smile amped a notch, as well. “Nakos, you have—” slow perusal of him “—a great body.” Then—sweet Hihcebe—she leaned forward over his chair. “This is a come-on.” Her full breasts pressed against his chest, her hair teased his jaw, and her warm breath fanned the shell of his ear. “Nakos, you have a great body,” she murmured in a clear I-want-you-horizontal-and-naked voice.
While oxygen vacated his lungs and every nerve under his skin misfired, she sat back and held up her palm. She lifted her brows as if to say, understand?
He’d never loved his kitchen table so much. He was hard. Again.
Twelve hours, and he was already losing his mind having her under his roof. At this rate, he wasn’t going to make it twelve more minutes. Because fuck. He was attracted to Amy. Of all people. Amy don’t-you-dare-go-there Woods.
An apocalypse wasn’t merely coming. Oh no, no. It had arrived. He should just put his own balls in a vise. It would save time.
“Do you want more coffee?”
He shook his head. Didn’t help clear the holy-shit, though. “What?”
“Coffee. Do you want more?”
Only if it was laced with a psychotropic medication. “I’m good, thanks.”
She tilted her head. “It’s really bothering you, isn’t it?” He thought she’d read his filthy, filthy mind until she elaborated. “Your peep show, I mean. Seriously, it’s not as if I’m a virgin. If it makes you feel better, I’ll come downstairs tomorrow in just my panties. We’ll call it even.”
He choked. On his tongue.
A vision of her in some lacey bra and panty set the same color of her irises filtered to mind. He closed his eyes. Fast. He may have groaned for good measure.
“Well, jeez. No need to lose your stomach contents. I was only kidding.”
Her chair scraped the floor, and he opened his eyes.
Had that been...hurt in her tone? Surely not. Except her posture was deflated as she rinsed dishes, her back to him. He wanted a good look at her face for clarification he hadn’t insulted her, but he couldn’t trust himself to move.
Wait. Why was she doing dishes? “Quit that.”
She put another plate in the dishwasher. “What?”
“That’s my mess. Leave it.” He ate so often up at the main house that, typically, it took him a week to accumulate enough to start a load.
Of course, she ignored him. “I’m almost done.”
“You’re not my maid.” He was about to rise and force her to stop when she closed the dishwasher door and pushed Start.
“I’m going to find my shoes. Make a grocery list.” She jerked her chin at a pad of paper and pen by an empty fruit bowl next to his elbow.
“Why?”
Her expression dialed straight to duh. “So I can go shopping.”
Right. He was low on items and she’d need her own food. “I’ll go with you.”
“No. When was the last time you had a day off?”
“It’s Saturday. I’m working.”
She gave him a withering glance. “Everyone is on a mini vacation with Olivia gone.”
Not him. “The barns need to be done, regardless.” He strummed his fingers on the table, growing defensive. “I have every Sunday off, just like all the guys.”
“Yet you’re going over to the barns to feed horses and muck stalls anyway.”
“So? I’m the foreman.” His job was never done. Olivia and Nate were on their honeymoon. He wasn’t leaving chores for Mae to do. Besides, it wouldn’t take him long and he’d have the rest of the day to lose his mind.
“Relax for once. Make a list. I’ll head to the store. You will not argue.” And with that, she left the room.
Wasn’t that like the pot calling the kettle black? She wasn’t exactly taking a load off, either. She’d cleaned his damn kitchen before he’d crawled out of bed. He was a pretty organized person, but she’d obviously tidied up.
Then again, getting her out of the house would allow him time to light a fire under what they’d discussed last night. His dad had left an old drafting desk in the basement when he and Mom had moved back to the reservation. It was the perfect size for Amy’s laptop and printer. Which, he was willing to bet, were still in their boxes.
Sliding the pad closer, he scribbled a couple things down for her to pick up and tapped his pen on the table. He stripped the conversation they’d just had to the studs, replaying it in his mind, but he still couldn’t figure her out. There had never been any sexual connotation between them, and though she’d claimed she had just been stating fact, he had to wonder.
Or he was simply excusing his own sudden shift by putting it on her. She’d been married to the Antichrist the past three years, and the divorce had been finalized but months ago. She probably wasn’t ready to date or move on. Even tossing their lifelong friendship aside as a factor in the no column, Nakos didn’t think Amy would go for him.
Just the thought of crossing that line had disaster written all over it. Yet lately, his feelings for her had been all over the map. Tumultuous and wild.
This morning had brought those scattered emotions into focus. Gave them a name.
Desire.
He didn’t get it. At all. As far back as he could recall, he’d had a thing for Olivia. A quiet ache of longing. He hadn’t dwelled on it, acted on it, and it hadn’t taken over his life. It was just there, hovering in the distance. An awareness, of sorts. Something that floated in a tranquil sea of could-have-been.
Amy, however? She was a tsunami. Completely unable to ignore, surrounding him all the time, and capsizing any shred of rational behavior. He thought about her when she was around, when she wasn’t, and almost every second in between. She kept him up at night, was almost his first thought upon waking.
There had been no relief since the barn incident, and now...she was under his roof. A constant physical presence. Leaving her scent and imprint in every room and...
“What kind of lunch meat?”
He flinched and jerked his attention to her, standing beside his chair. When the hell had she returned from upstairs?
And there was his point. So lost in thought about—what else?—her, he’d been completely unaware of his surroundings. “What?”
She held up the notepad. “You wrote lunch meat on the list. What kind?”
He could’ve penned a rendition of Moby Dick in Pig Latin and he wouldn’t have been the wiser.
Rising, he walked to the hooks by the back door. “It doesn’t matter. Whatever you prefer works for me.” He removed his truck keys from a peg and held them out for her. “I have a tab at the grocer’s. Get what you need, too, and place it on my bill.”
Shadows darkened her eyes, very similar to the ones he’d seen last night when he’d found her still awake. Slowly, she took the keys and moved around him for the door.
“What’s wrong, Ames?”
“Nothing. I’ll be back soon.”
He didn’t care for the flat tone of her response and turned to face her. “Try not to mow down any animals or small children.”
“Nah. I save that for rainy days to cheer myself up.”
And, yeah. She was fine. He must’ve been mistaken.
The door quietly shut behind her. He ran a hand through his hair, staring after her. When the engine of his truck turned over and tires crunched on the driveway, he headed down the basement steps.
Distractions were good. Pivotal.
Locating the drafting table just inside the utility room, he hefted it with a grunt and muscled the thing all the way to the second floor. It had been stored for quite some time, so he grabbed a wet cloth from the bathroom, wiped the thing down, and placed it against an open wall near the closet in Amy’s bedroom.
While it dried, he took the laptop and printer out of the packaging and tossed the manuals in her trunk. He plugged in the computer and played with the setup. Since he’d done the same thing with her first set of equipment two years prior, it was second nature to do it again. He installed the printer info, then the three photo editing programs she liked to use, for which she had discs in the trunk.
Finished, he arranged the stuff on the drafting desk and moved on to the camera. A quick glance at his watch, and he knew she’d be back any minute. Quickly, he shoved the boxes into the closet in the third bedroom he used as an office, put the new camera into the old camera case, snatched a couple memory cards, and headed downstairs.
He had just put the case on the kitchen table when she strode in carrying four shopping bags. She nudged the door closed with her hip and dropped the items on the butcher block island.
“I’ll get the rest.” Turning, he walked to the door.
“This is all of it.” She set her purse on the counter and started unpacking.
Frowning, he eyed her, then the packages. Okay, his list hadn’t been that big, but she didn’t have anything she preferred to eat in the house. Her purchases alone should’ve filled the bags.
Sidling up to the island, he took stock. Confused, he checked his original list she’d set aside. Everything she’d bought was for him. Well, everything besides a half gallon of skim milk and a box of Special K. Not that he minded sharing. Hell, he was all for it. What’s his was hers. But each item in front of him was single serving and he hadn’t been joking when he’d said he was low on food.
“Did you leave a bag at the register by accident?”
“No, that should be everything you wanted.” She stored the bags under the sink. “Why? Did I forget something?”
“Yeah, your food.”
She held up the measly box with a giant K and put it in the cabinet. “I’m good.”
With a box of cereal? The contents of which were...rice? “What gives, Ames?”
Like an expert, she avoided his gaze, telling him plenty and raising warning bells. “I eat mostly at the main house while I’m working.”
Maybe so, but they were off all weekend. She couldn’t live on cereal. Again, he was fine with making joint meals or whatever, but she’d purchased only enough for one. As if she...didn’t matter.
His gut clenched watching her arrange fruit in a bowl at the table. One apple. One orange. One peach. One kiwi. One pear. One...everything. Oh, wait. There was a small bunch of grapes and three bananas. His mistake.
“Ames—”
“Are you heading up to the barn to feed the horses soon?” She moved over to the island. She put one steak, one brown package of what he assumed was one ground beef patty or one chicken breast in the fridge.
“Yes,” he answered through gravel, his gut sinking. “In a few minutes.” Had she eaten this morning? She’d barely touched dinner at the wedding.
“Since you took my new camera out, I think I’ll screw around outside while you’re gone.” A can of corn, green beans, and peas went into the cabinet. “Is that okay with you?”
He was going to be sick. The dread filling him was that heavy. “Sure. Or you could come with me and take pictures there.”
“Works for me.”
Before jumping to any more conclusions, he cleared his throat. “I can swing by the store and grab hotdogs on my way back. Grill some for lunch?” Say yes. Please, say...
“Nah, I’m good. Thanks, though.”
He shook his head as she turned away and fiddled with the camera. He tried and failed to recall a time he actually saw her sit down and consume a whole meal since she’d moved in with Olivia. Granted, the workers didn’t head up to the house for lunch. They typically brought their own. But he usually arrived for breakfast and, at least a few times a week, stayed for dinner. She’d been at the counter with Mae. Cooking. Chopping. Talking. Nibbling, perhaps, but not eating, per se.
This time, when he looked at her, he did so with an eagle eye. She’d always been curvy. He wouldn’t ever have said plump or heavy, but she was full-figured. Healthy. Her clothes were loose on her now and she’d definitely dropped weight. She still had her hourglass shape and, to anyone else, would appear normal.
“Oh, here’s your receipt.” She passed it over with a smile.
He waited for her to turn back to the table, then studied the slip. All his items were there, put on his tab as he’d asked. Her cereal and the milk were not. He scrubbed a hand down his face, fighting nausea.
This was her pride at work. He’d barely gotten her to accept the offer of his guestroom, never mind throwing groceries on top of it. But why hadn’t she bought more than those two things? Was money that tight or was she dieting? Neither were any of his business, but he sure as hell was going to watch her this weekend.
And if she didn’t consume something besides rice cereal, he was going to lay into her. Let her go feral. He couldn’t care less. On this, he’d fight her. She was too important to him to ignore healthy eating habits. No way would he let her all but starve herself, no matter the reason.
Hihcebe, it was so damn good to see her holding a camera again, though. Chest tight, he studied her while she screwed with something in the digital settings, her focus on nothing else. Her expression held none of the grief or tension he’d witnessed as of late. A peace, her peace, however brief, settled inside him and latched on.
“Can I watch you?” he asked roughly.
She turned her head and blinked at him. “Take pictures?”
“Yeah. Do you mind?” Call it curiosity, but after the hell she’d endured, he just wanted to see her...happy again. Even if it was just an afternoon snapping photos.
By the look on her face, he couldn’t have surprised her more. Her brows wrinkled and her pretty mouth pursed. “Sure, if you really want to.”
“I do.”