by Sybil Swift
She groaned and lifted her head up with a swift shake. The rest of the materials were emergency call numbers, some daily mantras, Noah’s sister’s office hours, and a pamphlet talking about sadness and its effects. Nothing too promising—at least in her current situation. Although she had to admit that the pen was top-notch. A beautiful, smooth piece that she rolled between her fingers while placing the reading material on the dining room table. With a pang, she wondered what Noah was doing in his room.
Running her palm across the simple black leather cover of her new journal, she knew she’d been something of an ass. Shutting him out wasn’t the answer. Though he didn’t deserve to know her whole life story, either. No commitments were in place. She didn’t even know if after her stay was over she’d ever see him again or hear from him. So what was the point in divulging anything personal or dramatic that would inevitably bring drama and wreak everything?
They teetered on some weird brink of familiarity that could bloom into something more—except for the fact that they’d both made clear that bonding time wasn’t what either wanted. When it came right down to it, Chloe would have to handle herself on her own. She couldn’t keep running away from the damnation of her ex, but she couldn’t very well go running to first guy that was nice to her either.
Did that mean sex was off the table?
“Hell no,” Chloe answered herself out loud shifting on the couch.
Whenever Noah touched her it was like she was accessing a part of herself that she’d put on hold since the break-up.
When she caught her ex with that other woman on web cam the physical act of sex was something she never wanted to touch again—not even with a ten foot pole. Why share her body when men couldn’t respect it? Sure, sex was fun, but was the odd fifteen to forty-five minute bangfest worth the after sex awkward talk? The promises to call? Or the random look in a man’s eyes as he assessed whether or not he’d ever see her again?
A vibrator couldn’t talk, she could adjust the settings, and a machine didn’t have expressions.
Noah had a million different expressions and he wasn’t afraid to show them. From snarky to sweet, he ran a gamut of emotions at any given time and he was a respectful enough partner that she knew, completely, who she was dealing with once the lights came back on and they were both naked. He was honest—whether it hurt or not. And at least there wasn’t any chance of him pasting on a fake smile and sticking in a situation for four plus years, all the while knowing he wasn’t happy and had no chance of being happy.
“Damn it!” Chloe seethed, unable to stop the comparisons that were so unnecessary.
Noah had gotten her to sleep with him, despite her sex ban, because she was wounded. How much worse could it get? One more man adding to the pile if he chose to be a dick wasn’t going to make a difference. And how could she go back to living a normal life when that was the bottom line on how she felt about herself?
So filled with regret that she was uncaring of how people treated her mainly because she expected the worst. Christ, no wonder Noah had gone out of his way to be nice when she was a damaged freak of nature. Granted, she was freak of nature with a fabulous rack—but still spoiled goods.
With a small sigh Chloe flipped open the stiff cover of the journal and turned to the first crisp, blank page. She’d never journaled. While most tween and teen girls delighted in it as their only outlet—all of her friends in school wrote non-stop in their designer, calf-skinned diaries whenever there was a free moment—she hadn’t taken up the hobby knowing that no matter where she hid the missive of secrets, her mother would find it.
And what else would she have written about during her regimented, controlled childhood except for the epic tyranny of her mother?
“Now no one’s going to read this sucker.”
If her life merely consisted of apathetic decisions on repeat mode she couldn’t help but be willing to write in the damn journal—only because what would it hurt and it was a steadfast choice on her part. Just like sleeping with Noah. And the pajama’s she’d put on tonight. Though the shampoo was the same stuff her mother stocked in her bathroom in bulk. Shampoo that reversed gray hair—at twelve.
Chloe had given up that fight too. But since that town car ride that had ended in a wicked hangover and meeting a brash, sexy stranger, she didn’t want to be that person anymore. A fresh start. One that was long overdue.
Her eyes closed and she took a deep breath of salty sea air. There was nothing wrong with her flirtation with Noah—so long as she promised that during this weird ass reflection trip from hell, she took the time to map out a plan when she got back to the real world. No more living off of mommy dearest. In fact, no more communicating with her period. If that was what it took to get her life back together. Chalk up Noah to an impulsive, rash decision that started the grand snowballing for her future.
And at least her future had a fine ass to look forward to as she barreled toward it.
“I might as well get my inner reflection on with some herbal tea, what with its soothing properties and whatever.”
She stuck the pen in between the pages of the journal as a marker and padded over to Noah’s door with a sturdy knock that hurt her knuckles. Better than being indecisive about it. Rather the hurt than the nervous anxiousness that came when she hesitated and fretted.
“Excuse me, Noah? Where’s the tea? I was thinking of making some, do you want any?”
Seconds later his dark head popped out from the crack between the door and the doorframe.
“You rang?”
His light smile still tripped down to her stomach as she leaned against the wall and nearly stumbled to the side and fell on her ass.
“Um, yeah, tea? Do you want any?”
“Sure, not positive how much of it there is or if there’s any of the good kind left, but if you’re going to look it’s in the bottom drawer labeled canisters. Teapot and strainer are next to it.”
“There’s a good kind of tea? Tea’s tea.”
“Oh boy.” He blew out a long breath. “Give me one second and I’ll show you what we’re dealing with here, novice. Something tells me you’ve only been drinking bagged, am I right?”
“Is there any other kind? I’m normally more of a latte girl.”
“Why am I not surprised?”
She poked him in the chest with a fake expression of indignation. He winked before he shut his bedroom door and she suppressed her frustration before she slapped the swinging door with both palms walking into the kitchen.
She raised her eyebrows and started digging in the cupboard. True to his word, there were tons of tea canisters lining the bottom shelf of the cabinet and all of them were locked like Fort Knox. It took her two minutes and a fingernail to pry off the first top to the canister she picked up labeled Razmatazz Herbal.
The second the top banged against the tile floor her hip hit the counter in her haste to back up and an assault of pure deliciousness—apples, raspberries, and something infinitely sweeter—slapped her in the nose. Not a bag in sight. Instead the contents hung out in the can, dried and loose.
“Loose leaf tea, watch out, that stuff will kill you if you sniff too much.”
She shot him a skeptical look before bending to pick up the lid.
“That the one you want?” Noah deadpanned.
“Sure, smells good enough.”
“It’s a solid choice.”
He bent over to rummage in the cabinet and despite all of her high and mighty revelations, she couldn’t keep her gaze from straying to his toned ass. A short enough distance to grab and squeeze. When he came up with his silver canister she cleared her throat and looked away. No need for him to get another boost to his ego. He’d already trumped her in the tea department.
One more retrieval and Noah came back up bearing two teapots and what looked like a pasta strainer, but flat.
“Don’t look so worried. It’s a multi-step process, but it’s easy.”
She watched while he
set the metal teapot on a black circular base, filled it with water, and plugged in the kettle. One flick of his finger on a button to the side and the kettle started boiling. Nifty trick. Next up, he set up a chipped, rose covered, china teapot a little ways away from the electric one and popped open the top. Once the strainer was set on top, he leaned against the counter and waited with his hands folded across his stomach.
“Which did you pick?” she asked.
“Plain ol’ English Breakfast.”
“Doesn’t that have caffeine in it?”
“Caffeine puts me to sleep. It’s a weird little trick that’s genetic. Back when I was still living with my sister before she’d drive to school in the mornings I used to switch out the pot to decaf while she was in the shower. Did it once or twice a month so she never knew when it was coming. I was a brat, it was awesome.”
Chloe made a face. Before she could make a comment, Noah stalked toward the utensil drawer and pulled out some measuring spoons. She watched—all the while with cooking reality TV commentary in her head—as he scooped out three heaping tablespoons of her tea and poured it into the boiling teapot.
“And now, we wait.”
She nodded, far too aware of their closeness in the tiny kitchen. As the waves broke across the sand outside, her heart knocked against her ribcage and every inch of his touch across her skin shifted goose bumps making her shudder. She licked her lips. When he didn’t ask if she was okay, she was grateful. Of course, the requirements of being house manager during her stay and looking after her probably didn’t require asking about her well-being every single second of the day.
But the rules for the position also didn’t say screwing her was job responsibility either so there was that.
There was no way to just shove off the instant tightness in her lungs and the wetness in her panties, when he shifted his body and their shoulder’s bumped. For two people that had engaged in multiple sex acts in a small period of time—God, she couldn’t ignore the fact that he was damn sexy.
His cheeks were still a little pink, mouth turned up at the corner while he bobbed his head to music she couldn’t hear playing. His brown eyes were fixed somewhere else, moonlight making them light up. Somehow, they looked lighter, softer. His curly brown hair was slightly rumpled. And his dark green t-shirt rode up enough of a sliver that she could make out a smooth line of skin, dotted with crisp hairs where his happy trail went down below his pants that hung low on his hips.
When she shot her gaze to the window behind his head, she couldn’t avoid taking in the lickable, taut muscles of his forearms. But she kept herself glued to the darkness outside, unable to make out a damn thing. Until the timer went off, making her jump out of her skin, and away from the counter as his hand wrapped around her upper arm to keep her steady.
“I take it you didn’t see me set that?”
Another one of his knockout smiles liquidated her insides and she gave him a half-shrug before stepping away from his heat. Noah was forced to drop his hand. But he didn’t make a big deal of it, merely went to pour the teapot over the strainer while the sea battered the shore beyond their window. After her pot was full he quickly rinsed out the electric kettle and made to make his own tea.
“Come get me when this is ready? Sugar’s in the jar on the counter.” He stabbed the button of the timer and walked out the kitchen in a slow lope while scratching the top of his head.
His bedroom door shut with a noticeable latch. And she leaned against the counter for support, taking in small sips of breath. Though parts of her were still sore—she was more than ready to test her body’s limits.
“Good grief, get a hold of yourself, woman.”
She squared her shoulders before reaching up into the cabinets above for mugs. There was no mistaking that every second she spent strained on her tip-toes with her hands fumbling through the kitchenware, it was another second her t-shirt scrapped against her tight nipples. Until she could taste the sex on her tongue. Physically remember his smell on her skin and the pressure of his lips against her collarbone, right before his teeth grazed the perfect spot. Caught in the recent memory, her hand wrapped around two mug handles, and she settled back down onto flat feet with whatever she’d retrieved.
When she could force open her eyes and get enough of a handle on herself that she wasn’t going to stick her hand down her pants in the middle of the kitchen and get busy—though the thought was tempting—the Disney mugs that she’d unwittingly picked out were enough of a cold shower to fix the problem. It was hard to think sexy with perpetually perky mice dressed in clothing staring at her from the counter. Chloe took the girly mug, poured out her tea, lumped in a heaping scoop of sugar—and then added two more. A little milk and she was golden.
The timer beeped.
“Noah, it’s ready. I left everything out for you.”
She only assumed he heard her in his man cave as she heeded his earlier warning about cleaning up and left everything, only grabbing her journal and her mug to go down to the sanctuary of her bedroom. Their little nighttime escapade needed to be shelved for some much needed quiet time. And a minute later, while she was snug beneath the covers, there were steady creaks above her head from his feet and she heard the sink running.
“Sleep tight, Noah.”
Chloe took a sip of the most divine brew that had ever passed across her tongue—and she began to write.
When she woke up the next morning she was sleeping on crumpled pages and the teacup was half full on her nightstand. But she skipped through the twelve handwritten pages she’d done and she somehow felt lighter. For the first time in a long time she didn’t have to pin a fake smile on her face to greet the day. Though some coffee would be appreciated.
She turned on the shower, eyes still closed, throwing off her pajama’s every which way onto the floor. The second the scalding water sluiced over her back, she groaned and eased farther back into the spray. When her tongue swiped across her lips she tasted the faint hint of salt from her tears. They weren’t bad ones, exactly. Needed. And she wasn’t sorry they’d been shed. Only Chloe had a niggling feeling that the whole transformation bit required a lot more crappy tears than it did sunshine and rainbows.
Ah, the price for long overdue independence.
After fifty minutes and a lavender exfoliating mini-bar later, Chloe dried off, threw on clothes, and followed her nose upstairs to the scent of coffee. Also a scent of something sweet and a little bit spicy was coming from the oven. But no one inhabited the kitchen. With a twist of her lips, she tried to keep her unexpected disappointment at bay. It wasn’t until she was three sips into her coffee that she noticed the scrap of receipt tacked to the fridge with a pizza shop magnet.
Coffee is fresh. Cinnamon rolls in the oven, they’ll beep, take them out, and try not to jump out of your skin this time. Biked to go get more supplies at the general store. Be good.
Noah hadn’t taken the time to sign his name but she doubted very highly that some home invader had come in this morning, noticed how unstocked the pantry was, and made pastries before heading out the door with their stolen loot. Yeah, the odds of that, not so much. A faint smile still clung to her lips when the timer went off. Took her a bit to find the oven mitts—third drawer to the right of the stove—but when she took them out and iced them, it took all of her willpower not to shove one down her throat piping hot internal injury or not.
Instead, she took her coffee to the dining room table and puzzled out what to do for the day. After fifteen minutes of contemplation, where the options all boiled down to either meditation or hard labor, she finished the last of her cinnamon roll, and headed toward Noah’s office to check out the big white board of tasks. Although a lot of the options involved knowing where things were kept at least Chloe could dust and rearrange. Spruce the place up and air it out.
What the beach house needed was a full-on renovation makeover. But that wasn’t in the cards considering she wasn’t the owner and didn’t get a final
say in the house. Instead she made her way to the kitchen, found some old rags beneath the sink, and went to work. She didn’t even notice Noah until he was standing behind her laying a gentle kiss below her ear. She nearly jumped out of her skin and screeched like a small field mouse.
“Warn a woman, will you?” She flung a dirty rag at his chest. He caught it, made a face, and let it slip from his hands to the floor. “You deserve it. What did you get at the store?”
“Odds, ends, and a little bit of everything. Feel the need to make yourself useful without me?”
“Somehow power-washing the sides of the house myself didn’t seem so appealing or probable.” She picked up the rag and headed toward the kitchen to ring it out in the sink.
“You could have tried it yourself.”
“I could have, but I also could have washed off half the siding in the process.”
“So optimistic.”
Chloe shrugged as she set the wet rag on the windowsill to dry before picking up another rag from beneath the sink.
“You eager to get to work today?”
“Does it look like I’m bored?”
“I don’t know, let me see.” Noah snatched her hand and twirled her around until she faced him and was locked in his forearms. She tipped her face up and gave him a fake scowl of annoyance. “No, it doesn’t look like you’re bored, but it could be your proximity to my cock. Are you getting any good ideas?”
“A few,” she whispered against his lips. “Come with me?”
“Absolutely. The groceries can wait.”
He squeezed her tight with a noticeable glimmer in his eyes, before letting her go, and leaning against the counter. With his elbows on the counter he inclined his head toward his bedroom with a wink. Chloe stifled a laugh with a cough and walked back toward the office.
“You want to be more creative again today, huh? Sounds good to me. It’ll take me two seconds to wipe everything off the desk in one swoop.” Noah rubbed his hands together with a sly smile.