Elliot passed on lunch with his brothers and Kelsey, and instead knelt in front of Julia, impatiently waiting for her to give him her attention. She didn’t look up and he didn’t say anything, he just watched her and waited.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” she told him finally without looking up.
“I do,” he said as he rubbed his hand up the cable knit of her calf, slowly making his way up her inner thigh.
“Even if you do what you’re doing, I don’t want to talk about it.”
“I do,” he switched to the other calf and then up that thigh until he got to the top of the stocking. “I need to know.”
She sighed and looked up. “Need to know what?”
“What were we doing in the kitchen?” Elliot asked as he pulled her stocking down a few inches, reminding him of the dream she’d told him about.
She seemed relieved and that had been part of his intention, to distract her from whatever had turned her mood so sour. “I thought I already told you what we were doing in the kitchen this morning.”
“Not really,” he argued. “You didn’t tell me anything about how we got to the point where we were getting crazy in the kitchen.”
“We were making dinner like we did last night when you started telling me how much you love ice cream.”
Elliot hummed his agreement, taking the computer off her lap and setting it aside. He arranged her legs so that they were wrapped around his chest and leaned in, pressing his chest against hers. “And?”
“And then you kissed me.” Which he did then, along the side of her neck.
“And?” he murmured against her skin.
“And then you lifted me onto the counter and lifted my skirt.”
His hands moved up the tops of her thighs, his fingers breaching the hem of her shorts. “And?”
“And you made me your own ice cream sundae.” Her voice was no more than a whisper.
“Oh c’mon! Are you trying to rub salt in my wounds?” Cole’s voice whined from the entryway.
Julia startled and jumped. Elliot didn’t move, his mouth still planted against the skin of her neck. “Go away,” he told his brother.
“Nah. I’m good.” Cole plopped on the couch next to Julia. Elliot scowled at him.
“Why are you sexing up my girl?” Cole asked his older brother, mischief dancing in his dark eyes.
“Fuck off,” Elliot answered with a glower, steeling himself for a conversation with Cole. He sat back on his heels, his hands still on Julia’s thighs.
Cole made a pfft sound. “Like I’m blind, deaf, and dumb?” He turned to Julia and made an overly dramatic gesture of falling onto the couch, the back of his hand to his forehead. “How could you sneak around behind my back like this?”
“Go away, Cole,” Elliot said as he stood and pulled Julia up by her hands so that she stood in front of him.
“Wait,” Cole said as he stood, grabbing Julia away from Elliot and turning her to face him. “I can’t tell you how happy we all are to have met you and to have taken this job. I think I can speak for all of us when I say that you’re doing our grandmother’s house a great service and she would have loved these changes.”
“Okay,” Julia said, her brow furrowed.
“With that out of the way, Kelsey sent me in here to tell you that she’s going to have to pack up all your things while we work upstairs. She wants to know if you want to pack up all your winters, whatever those are.”
Julia’s eyes widened at his comment and ignoring them both, she knelt on the couch and knocked on the window. Cole’s eyes traveled down her back and focused on her ass. Annoyed, Elliot smacked him on the back of his head.
Julia, hearing the sound, turned. Elliot sent her as innocent of a smile as he could muster while Cole rubbed the back of his head.
“I am not packing away my winters,” Julia yelled through the window.
Kelsey looked up at her boss and smiled. “I knew that would get your attention. With the back office cleaned out, we can put your bedroom in there. The clothes, we’ll have to either put in the garage or storage.”
“No,” Julia said flatly. “No.”
“There isn’t enough room for them here, Jules. It’s only for a little while.”
“Winters don’t get put away until mid-April. We always do it mid-April.”
Kelsey nodded, taking note of Julia’s agitation. “I know. We might have to adjust the schedule this year because of the construction. There just isn’t enough space for everything.”
“Mid-April,” Julia repeated, backing away from the window, her eyes wide and hollow. “Not ‘til mid-April.”
Kelsey muttered something and jogged around the side of the house and disappeared.
“It’s cool,” Tucker said casually, though his face was anything but. He looked worried, like Julia might crack and break. “It’s just a few more weeks.”
Elliot wasn’t overly impressed to see her so upset either, but he got it. She had a plan and Kelsey just told her it wasn’t going to work. She was freaking out, even if it was over something relatively minor.
She’d told him she was prone to anxiety attacks and when she started snapping her fingers, repeating the words mid-April along with every snap, he knew what was happening. Cole’s eyes cut to his, panic and concern written all over his face.
“Go get Tucker and make sure our supply orders are good for the next phase,” Elliot instructed.
Cole looked between him and Julia, then back again.
“Go,” Elliot ordered.
“Jules,” Kelsey hurried in. “Don’t freak out. We’ll figure it out, I promise. We’re good.”
“Kelsey, go with Cole and make sure we’ve ordered everything Julia wanted upstairs. Double check the bathroom fixtures to make sure we’ve got a line on the right suppliers.”
“I’m not leaving,” she argued. “Jules—”
Cole grabbed her by the arm and began leading her out of the room.
“Hey!” Kelsey yelled indignantly as she was dragged out. “Get your hands off me!”
“Mid-April. Mid-April,” Julia kept saying, her eyes squeezed tightly shut.
Elliot hated doing it, but he took a step away from her. She needed privacy and some time to work things out herself. He didn’t want to interrupt whatever she needed to go through. He wasn’t leaving, that was for damn sure, but he wouldn’t placate her with empty words. He wasn’t going to sit there and tell her it was okay because she wouldn’t believe him.
He reluctantly went into the kitchen and began the annoying process of keeping busy. Outside of her bedroom, Julia’s house was relatively clean, but he found enough to keep him occupied while still keeping an ear out for her. She paced the living room, muttering to herself and banging around in general.
After a long while, she trudged slowly up the stairs, retreating to her bedroom.
Elliot looked at the ceiling of the kitchen, wondering what she was doing up there and what the hell he’d gotten himself into.
Hours later, he found Julia lying on the floor of the second upstairs bedroom, surrounded by what had to be all of her clothing, shoes, and accessories. She’d brought in the pillows from her bed and was nestled among the piles. Her fingers worked the tassel of a leather jacket as she laid, otherwise motionless.
“I don’t know what do with this stuff,” she said, her voice flat and robotic.
“Want some help?”
“No.”
“Mind if I join you?” he asked, not wanting to invade her space.
“I wish you would,” she said softly, her eyes finally catching his.
She looked small there among her mountain of stuff, vulnerable as she laid on top of her armor, unprotected. Elliot felt a fist squeeze inside his chest at the sight of her there. He lowered himself next to her, uncaring that he too now sat on top of her things. Being beside her while she came back from her meltdown, being next to her, was far more important than material possessions.
H
e’d been content to have given her space when she’d needed it, but Elliot was done with that now. Without preamble, he gathered her in his arms and pulled her onto his lap. Her head rested on his shoulder, her delicate hands fisted in his shirt as he held her. He didn’t say anything for a long time, letting her settle into his body and took what comfort she could from him. As they sat in comfortable silence, the night descended outside and the room became dark. Elliot noticed, but didn’t really care. Having Julia in his arms was all he needed to bring back the connection they’d forged.
“It doesn’t happen like that all the time,” she said, her voice coming out in a quiet rush. “I don’t always lose it.”
He shrugged as much as he could while still holding onto her tightly. “Sometimes, I lose my temper and yell every fucking swear word I can think of in every possible combination until I feel better.” He tipped his chin down to look at her. “Sometimes, I bang a hammer against a nail until my ears are ringing and my hand aches.”
She took that in for a few long minutes, digesting what he said.
“I’d like to go to my house to shower and change.” He kissed the top of her head. “Why don’t you come with me?”
She nodded her agreement and made a move to sit up but Elliot held her close, not letting her go. Instead, he cupped the side of her head and planted a hard and fast kiss on her mouth.
“I don’t have my car,” he said gruffly as her breath puffed across his lips. “We’ll have to take yours.”
He helped her up and made for the door before she found her voice.
“Elliot?”
He turned and looked at her, his brows slashed down, a scowl on his face. “Thank you.”
He nodded, his expression lightening a bit. “C’mon Shorty, time’s a wasting.”
Elliot lived in a small two-bedroom cabin on a lake on the outskirts of Troy. It was easy to get to, but out of the way enough that he didn’t get many visitors. He liked it that way, preferring his own company and solitude over having company any day. Granted, his brothers were his most likely visitors but he tired of being around them day in and day out.
“Do you mind waiting while I take a shower?” he asked as they entered the mudroom and he peeled his boots off.
“No.” She didn’t offer to take off the heeled boots she had on and he didn’t ask her to.
“Feel free to look around. TV’s over there. There’s a stereo and some CD’s in the cabinet underneath.”
She hurried to the entertainment center. “Whoa. You still have CDs?” She knelt to look through them, her back to him.
He took that as his cue and went into his bedroom and through to the master. He quickly showered and shaved, not wanting to leave Julia alone for too long. He opened the door to his bedroom and exited in a cloud of steam, towel slung around his waist to find Julia sitting on his bed facing him.
“Hi,” he said as he came up short. “Did you need something?”
She shook her head. “I wanted to see you naked.”
He stiffened, her candor catching him off guard. He held his towel firmly, fisted at his waist. “Now?”
She nodded, her straight hair sliding over her shoulder.
Elliot watched her, trying to gauge her mood. The morning had started off stellar, naked and hot, and he’d take that Julia every minute of every day. But she’d had a tough afternoon, and he didn’t want to add to her stress level by putting any kind of pressure on her. “Why?”
“You saw me naked,” she reasoned. “I want to see you, too.”
He mulled that over, one eye still on her as he took the few steps to his dresser and plucked out some clean clothes.
“I tend to not like many people,” he said conversationally as he threw the clothes on the bed beside her: socks, underwear, jeans, and a sweater all in a heap next to her. “They bug the hell out of me.” He continued to talk as he dropped the towel and began getting dressed, ignoring the fact that he was, in fact naked, in front of her. Trying to ignore the fact that she was watching him intensely with her emerald eyes as he pulled his boxers up and then his jeans. “I mean, I love my brothers. I don’t know what I’d do without them but God, do they drive me crazy. That’s why I live way out here, so I can have some space.”
“I know how you feel,” she admitted.
“I know you do,” he replied, slipping a T-shirt over his head. “I like that about you,” he said as he leaned in to grab his sweater and bent over her, her head tipping up to look at him. “You and me, we aren’t that different.”
Her eyes were wide but she boldly leaned into him, pressing her lips against his. He cupped the back of head, holding her to him and kissing her back. The tip of her tongue touched his lower lip in almost polite question and he let her in without hesitation. She took control in her own way, not forcefully or frantically but more searching. She explored him and as she did, her hands wrapped around his neck tightly. Her lips moved over his, experimenting on tilting her head from one side to the other, sucking his bottom lip between her teeth and stroking her tongue along his.
By the time she pulled away, her mouth was puffy and slack, her eyes wide.
He held in a smile and kissed her one last time before brushing his palm down her hair. “We can do that anytime you want.”
“Kiss or me seeing you naked?” she whispered.
“Both,” he said, holding in a laugh. “I’m starving. Let’s eat.”
She followed him to the kitchen where he took out a pot and started filling it with water. “Do you like pasta?” he asked.
He turned in time to see her shake her head as she settled herself at a seat at the kitchen island. “No, thank you. You go ahead and eat.”
He continued to fill the pot and put it on the stove. “Aren’t you hungry?”
“I’ve got some stuff in my purse?”
“You brought dinner in your purse?” he clarified. “Seriously?”
“I, um…” Her fingers started nervously twisting around each other, fidgeting. “I have some control issues.”
“With food?” he asked as he resumed taking things out of the cupboards.
“Mostly.” She nodded her agreement.
“Why?” He looked up at her curiously and he worked. “What about food makes you feel out of control?”
“It’s not that I feel out of control, so much. I’m afraid to give anyone else control.”
He nodded as he thought about it. She was very private and very self-contained, so it would stand to reason that she’d be that way about many things in her life.
“Do you have an eating disorder?” he asked boldly, knowing that she’d answer the question. He knew she was damn thin, but he didn’t think she was sick thin. Then again, what the hell did he know?
“Not in the way you’d think,” she explained. “It’s not about how I look or losing weight. I have toxiphobia,” she admitted. “It’s a fear of my food being tampered with. Being poisoned.”
He stopped in the middle of taking two forks out of the drawer to look at her face. She was looking away from him now, out the dark window into the nothingness of the night.
He opened his mouth to ask her a question, but she beat him to it. “My grandmother used to drug my food.” It came out loudly, a big rush of words and emotion filling the room around them and then dropping them into silence.
“She what?” Elliot asked, his tone low with deadly intent. The idea of someone violating her like that making him go still with fury.
“It’s a long story.”
“I have plenty of time,” he said, his eyes glued to her.
She just shook her head. “Not yet.”
Not yet wasn’t never, he thought. She hadn’t said no or refused to tell him. Not yet just meant she’d tell him later, and he found a bit of comfort in the fact that she saw a later for them.
She’d taken off her leather jacket while he’d been filling the pot, and it hung on the back of her chair. Her sweater was a muted green color, that set o
ff her eyes, and it had a deep V in the front, that from his height gave him an incredible view of her bra.
He dumped his pasta in the boiling water, letting their mutual thoughtful silence ease his worry about her past. He turned to the refrigerator and pulled out some fresh vegetables and put them in front of her with a knife, then grabbed a cutting board.
When she looked up at him in confusion, he said, “So you know it hasn’t been tampered with. We’ll cook it when you’re done.”
She took the knife and began slicing, concentration written all over her face as she made perfectly straight cuts. He was more of a chop-and-go kind of guy, but she could do whatever she wanted. He tossed a frying pan on the burner and clicked it on, letting it preheat.
Elliot grabbed a stick of butter out of the refrigerator and she stopped mid-slice, her eyes on his hands.
“Is butter okay?” he asked, sensing her distress.
She took a deep breath and swallowed once before answering. “Can I see it?”
He handed it over and watched her inspect it from all angles. To him, it was just a regular old stick of butter still wrapped in paper. He wondered what she saw.
She handed it back to him with a small nod like she approved, but he could see from her face that she didn’t. He put the butter back in the fridge and pulled out an unopened bottle of white wine instead.
“Want to open this?”
She shook her head no. He opened the wine and added it to the frying pan, letting it sizzle and steam. He tossed in the veggies and some spices and let them reduce while the pasta boiled away.
“Talk to me about the clothes,” he suggested. “Why do you need so many?”
She’d stiffened defensively at first but within seconds, deciphered the smile on his face.
“Because I have a hard time deciding on what I like best, so I just buy them all.”
He raised a brow. “Doesn’t seem like overkill?”
“I try to donate to them to worthy causes when I’m done with them,” she said defensively.
“Does that make you feel better about buying too much shit?”
Elliot: The Williams Brothers Page 10