Bed Of Roses (The Five Senses Series Book 4)

by Gemma Brocato

  Leaning away, Gunnar didn’t release her hand. Surprise filled his eyes. He opened his mouth to say something then snapped it shut again. Giving a slight shake of his head, the corners of his mouth quirked up, and he pressed another kiss to her cheek and squeezed her close. “You got this. I watched you deal with Mrs. Aubrey-Smith. You can handle a moody teenager.”

  When her chest collided with his, heat spread from her breasts down her stomach until the sensation lodged between her legs, hotter than a humid, steamy greenhouse.

  It was getting harder and harder to keep this beguiling, intriguing man in the friend zone.

  Chapter 8

  The pounding on her bedroom door jerked her out of an erotic dream she’d been having about Gunnar.

  “Hey, May-lin, you have to take me to school. Track conditioning starts at six-thirty,” Gaby hollered. She pounded again.

  “It’s Mahl-in,” she muttered, silently cursing her stupid name. She should be happy. It was the first time Gaby had said more than five words to her. When they’d returned from the gym, Gaby had declined dinner with an abrupt, monosyllabic answer then retreated to her room. She’d ignored Mal the rest of the night. Fuming about the girl’s not-so-pleasant behavior, Mal had fixed an omelet and had eaten by herself at the kitchen table.

  Pushing the pillow off her head, she rolled to her side and groaned as she squinted at the clock. No one in their right mind got out of bed at five-thirty in the morning.

  Gaby pounded a third time. A hollow thud followed, emanating from the lower third of the door. “Hey, are you awake? I don’t want to be late.”

  The girl had kicked the door. The sensual ache between Mal’s thighs evaporated. The house rules were going to expand to include a no-kicking clause. She couldn’t decide whether it should come before or after the make-carpooling-arrangements-in-advance rule. “I’m awake. Give me a minute. I’ll be right down.”

  “You better hurry. I hate to be late,” Gaby ordered. Her footsteps sounded like thunder as she stomped back to her room. The door shut with a resounding bang.

  Flopping over to her back, Mal crossed her arms over her eyes and counted to ten slowly, whispering each number under her breath, and then followed it up with a curse word that would have gotten her mouth washed out with soap when she was a pre-teen.

  She calculated how much time it would take to make the trip to Gaby’s school in Boston and back and debated whether she should hop in the shower now or wait until she returned.

  Across the hall, Gaby’s door banged open, followed by the slam of the bathroom door. Water gurgled through the old pipes when Gaby turned the shower on. Decision made. Mal made a mental note to add create bathroom schedule to her to-do list. Either that or trade her bedroom on the second floor for the room she’d claimed as her workroom on the first floor. That would be the best solution. Even though the en-suite bathroom was perfect for when she needed running water to make soap, once she moved the production to the Boston location, any inconvenience would be eliminated.

  Pushing the coverlet toward her feet, she sat up and stretched her arms toward the ceiling. The quick twinge from her cold muscles reminded her of time spent at the gym, which swung her thoughts back to Gunnar. A shiver sped up her spine as she recalled the sheer deliciousness of her dream. Her unconscious mind had conjured the erotic touch of his hands, lips, and tongue. The tease of his fingers dancing on and in her. His powerful body moving on top of her. It had all been so arousing. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had such a vivid dream.

  In the bathroom Gaby dropped something on the floor of the shower, pulling Mal back to the moment. She shut down her musings about Gunnar’s hard body with harsh finality. Thinking about him that way was unproductive. Even if thinking about him was a good idea, it was a bad idea.

  Running her fingers through her hair, Mal eased off the bed and stood next to it, debating whether she should pull the blankets and spread into place. When she was younger, she’d made the bed as soon as she rose each day. A habit born of her desperation to please Harriet, to put a smile on the woman’s face. Once Harriet was gone, it ceased to matter. Mal’s bed was almost never made. Except when she had company. Gaby lived with her now—she wasn’t company. Not a good enough reason to start conforming again.

  Stumbling to the closet, she finally turned the light on and squinted hard as her eyes adjusted to the harsh glare. Because she didn’t have to be at the shop until nine, her decision about what to wear was done by rote. She pulled a fleece on over the T-shirt she’d worn to bed. Chill air hit her legs as she shimmied out of her flannel sleep pants. She tossed them into the hamper and grabbed her favorite sweat pants, the ones with OBX embroidered across the bottom. She’d bought them on a trip to the Outer Banks one spring break. They were fleecy and warm, perfect for the long, cold, and she was sure, mostly silent drive she faced to deliver Gaby to school.

  Once she descended the stairs, her priority was to make a pot of coffee. Measuring the grounds into the basket, she paused, wondering if Gaby would drink a cup. Casting a glance to the ceiling, she noted the area over her head creaked, meaning the teen was moving around. Who knew if she’d come down demanding breakfast just the way Harriet had made it for her. Mal could always make more coffee later if Gaby wanted a cup now. The girl would probably want to drive through a Starbucks for a six dollar mocha latte. Okay, Mal, now you’re just being petty.

  While her favorite man, Mr. Coffee, bubbled and belched on the counter, Mal pulled a box of protein bars from the cabinet, fished one out, then deposited the carton on the kitchen table. Breakfast of champions. She had no idea what Gaby would want, or if she’d eat before conditioning. Sam Kerrigan could help her with planning a menu for athletes. Making a mental note to email him later, Mal peeled the wrapper off her power bar and took a bite.

  She was standing at the counter, coffee mug by her elbow, reading her emails on her phone when Gaby finally arrived in the kitchen. The teen pulled up short, the look on her face hesitant, uncertain, forlorn.

  “Good morning.” Mal greeted her. “Did you sleep okay?”

  “Not really. I miss my bed.” She stepped through the door and dumped her red coat and backpack on the floor next to the table.

  Dark circles ringed her blue eyes. Shadows from her long lashes emphasized the sunken quality lurking atop her cheeks. Sympathy shuddered through Mal. The girl had been uprooted from her home not once but twice in less than two weeks. If Mal had a million dollars, she’d bet it all on the possibility that Gaby had cried herself to sleep, missing way more than just her bed. Probably had awakened in tears, too.

  “I realize this isn’t a perfect fix for everything...well, really, for anything...but maybe we could get your bed from home and move it here. Along with anything else you want or need.”

  “Really?” The hope in that single word nearly broke Mal’s heart.

  “Sure. The delivery van should be big enough to fit a bed. If I can talk a friend into helping, I can probably get it soon. Can I have your house key?”

  “I never needed one. Mom was always there.” Gaby frowned and blinked hard. “The code for the garage door is zero-seven-two-three. You could get in that way.

  As soon as Gaby recited the number, Mal’s breath caught on a sudden lump in her throat. Harriet had set the code to her garage opener using Mal’s birthday? Eyes stinging, Mal dipped her chin, hiding from Gaby what she knew had to be shock on her face. Mal refused to cry over this, in spite of the flaring acknowledgment that possibly...maybe...her mother had spared some thought for her after all.

  She cleared her throat. “Um, okay. I won’t guarantee it will get done today, but I’ll try.”

  “Thanks,” Gaby muttered. She focused her gaze on the box on the table and pointed. “Can I have one of those?”

  Mal shoved away from her reclining position at the sink. “Help yourself. Do you want coffee? Or juice?”

  Gaby reached into the box and pulled out a bar. She bent her head, her
blond ponytail swinging over her shoulder with the motion, and concentrated on opening it. “Just a glass of water would be fine. Oh, I need a water bottle. I forgot to pack an extra one. Can I uh… May I borrow one?”

  They were having a nearly normal conversation. Mal hesitated to say anything that would break the uneasy peace between them. Had her attitude toward her pampered half-sister warmed? Or was it because she could feel Gaby’s pain and uncertainty? Either way, it was nice.

  She opened a cabinet, grabbed a water glass, and handed it to Gaby, who took it with a grunt and turned to the fridge dispenser. While Gaby filled the glass, Mal moved to the pantry and reached for one of the spare insulated water bottles she’d stored on the top shelf.

  “Stupid short girl problems,” she grumbled under her breath. “What was I thinking to put those there?”

  “I’ll get it.” Putting her glass on the counter, Gaby reached past Mal and grabbed a bright pink bottle.

  “Not fair you got Harriet’s height.”

  “Life’s a bitch, isn’t it?”

  Mal sent a sharp glance at her sister. She’d get better at this, once they knew each other. But for now, she was unable to tell if Gaby’s tone was mad or teasing or somewhere in between. She shrugged and shut the pantry door, then looked at the clock on the microwave. “I guess we’d better get going. I’m not sure what kind of traffic we’ll run into this morning.”

  Gaby grabbed another bar and shoved it into a pocket in her backpack before walking to the fridge to fill the bottle. The morning’s pleasantries appeared to have reached Gaby’s pre-determined allowable limit. Mal silently echoed the teen’s favorite expression. Whatever.

  Mal snagged her keys and jacket from the hooks by the door. As an afterthought, she grabbed a pad of paper from the junk drawer. She handed it to Gaby after the girl finished pulling on her jacket. “While I’m driving, how about you make a list of things you like to eat? I have to do a grocery run today.”

  The first ten minutes of the ride to Gaby’s school was spent with Mal asking questions and Gaby issuing one-word answers. Mal finally gave up when Gaby turned the radio louder. Instead, she concentrated on the route to the pricy private school Gaby attended. The silent drive came to an end as she turned into the circular drive. Mal parked in front of the school’s gym.

  “Here’s the list of food I like. I get out of class at three-thirty this afternoon,” Gaby announced, dropping the pad of paper on the console. She opened the car door.

  Mal nodded, already dreading the ride back in. With traffic, each round trip was going to cost fifty minutes in her crowded days. Yeah, it was going to get old fast.

  “Hang on,” Mal said, digging in her purse. She pulled out her business card and a pen. She scrawled on the back. “Here’s a card for the shop and my cell phone number is on the back. I’ll be there all day. Call if you need anything.

  Gaby hesitated, then took the card and shoved it in the pocket with her water bottle. “Thank you for the ride.”

  Mal chewed on her lip as the girl jogged away from her, heading into the building. The child was complex, minding her manners but barely grunting in response to any questions. As if each answer cost more than she could afford to give. Malin wondered if the Gaby she’d driven to school today was the same girl Harriet had dealt with daily.

  She put the car in gear, then pulled out of the drive and headed back to the crowded highway. Dealing with the rushing drivers suddenly seemed more appealing than speculating about Gaby’s relationship with their mom.

  * * * *

  “What’s she like?” Dad asked when he finally arrived at the store at two in the afternoon.

  His eyes were bloodshot, he hadn’t shaved, and his clothes were stained and rumpled as if he’d slept in them. All classic tells Mal recognized. He was late because he’d been sleeping off a hangover.

  Anger over his lack of willpower rattled her lungs, making it difficult to breathe. “Too soon to tell.” Her tone was clipped, cold.

  “Aw, don’t be like this, girlie. This chilliness doesn’t suit you.”

  “It’s all I’ve got time for today, Dad.” She shook her head. “You’re late, and we’re swamped. Are you okay to drive?”

  “I’m not drunk, if that’s what you’re asking. I had one too many last night, but that was hours ago.” His belligerent tone matched his expression.

  “Well, lately, I never know, Dad. I have to ask. I can’t spare Chloe from the shop today and someone needs to make the deliveries.”

  “I’m fine.” Dad crossed his arms over his chest, the corners of his mouth turned down, eyes snapping.

  He had no reason to be angry. From the minute she’d gotten her driver’s license, she’d never allowed him to endanger himself or others. By the time she’d turned eighteen, she’d learned to be very creative about hiding his car keys and wallet where he’d never think to look. Allowing him to drive under the influence or distracted by a hangover was a bad idea.

  She held out the keys to the van, then gestured at the six arrangements waiting to be delivered. “I might be gone when you get back. I have to pick Gaby up from school at half past three. You can start at the Laurel Glen, then make the rounds.”

  He jerked the key ring from her hand, his frown deepening to a scowl. Stomping away, he muttered just loud enough for her to hear, “I know how to do my job, girlie.”

  It was like having two teenagers instead of one. She clenched her fists and propped them on her hips. She used to be in complete control of her life. Now, everything had spun away from her axis of calm straight into chaos. Drinking Dad was back, she’d become guardian to a teen who seemed to be stuck in the terrible twos, she needed to grocery shop, and it was two weeks before Valentine’s Day.

  “Somebody shoot me now,” she whispered.

  “What did you say?” Chloe asked as she scooted past her on the way to the back room.

  “Nothing. How are we doing with those orders?”

  “Only three left for you to slap together. Ben is going to come back for a second wave of deliveries. Jeez, he was a grump when he blew out of here to get on the road.”

  “He’s drinking again. Harriet’s death threw him, and he’s dealing with it his way. Stupid.” Why couldn’t he have turned to exercise? He could run away the desire for a drink the same way she had. But he’d taken the easy way. She leaned against the counter, weak in the knees at the thought of the hard work she’d have to do to get him back on the wagon. “Chloe, I’m going to have to be out of the shop more until I get Gaby situated. If you smell alcohol on him and I’m not here, do not let him drive. Hide the keys or find something else for him to do. Do you understand?”

  “Got it, boss.”

  “I’ve called Selena, my friend from design school, and she is going to be in to help pick up the slack starting tomorrow.”

  Chloe grinned. “The more the merrier.”

  “Remind me to give you a raise. I like your attitude.” Mal made a writing motion with her finger against the palm of her other hand as if making a note. “Oh, I’m going to bring Gaby back here this afternoon if her homework schedule isn’t too demanding. Will you show her some stuff? Like the cash register, the stock room, that sort of thing. She’s bright. I think she could help out, too.”

  Chloe rubbed her hands together. Today she’d put in violet-colored contacts, and her eyes sparkled like amethyst crystals. “I’ll make her my little mini-me.”

  Malin laughed for the first time all day. “You’re going to make me rethink the idea of Gaby working here.”

  “Nah, we’ll be fine. Why don’t you finish those arrangements so they’ll be ready before you have to go? I figure you’ll be out the rest of the afternoon.”

  Mal shrugged then stepped over to the worktable, picked up a vase, and started prepping it for a bouquet. “I’ll try to get back. I’m not sure if she’ll want to run to her house for anything. If not, I should be here by four-fifteen.”

  Chloe waved her hand in
the air as she walked into the back room, light winking off the multiple rings adorning her fingers. “Either way.”

  Glancing at the clock, then at the orders waiting for her on the counter, she gauged her time and started working. She pushed everything else away and lost herself in making a statement through flowers.

  * * * *

  Thanks to some political hotshot’s motorcade disrupting traffic along Beacon St., she was ten minutes late picking Gaby up after school.

  The girl glowered at her when she finally braked in front of the imposing façade of the school entrance. Jerking the door open, Gaby threw her backpack to the floorboards and climbed in, narrowed her eyes at Mal, and reached for the handle.

  “Don’t slam the door,” Mal cautioned, anticipating the violent noise.

  Gaby’s mouth dropped open, but she eased the door shut less forcefully than she might have been inclined to. “You’re late.”

  “I know.” Mal shoved enough pleasantness into her voice to choke a walrus and forced a smile. She’d kill her new sister with kindness. A better option than just killing her.

  Gaby twitched her fingers against her navy and burgundy plaid uniform skirt and ducked her head. “Thank you for picking me up.”

  Mal pulled her eyes from the road and glanced at Gaby. The whole kindness thing seemed to be working. “You’re welcome.” She looked left again then turned right onto the road. “Do you need anything from home, I mean your house? Pillows, blankets? Anything you need to get by until I can pick up your bed. We can swing by there if you want.”

  “I... I can’t. It’s too soon. I haven’t been back since...”

  Before the accident, Mal was certain Gaby would say if she’d continued the thought. “I’m sorry. I thought, you know, since you had clothes, you’d been there.”

  “My friend Gillian’s mom picked up my things before the funeral. I didn’t want to go inside and have my mom not be there. It would have been too weird.” Gaby’s voice got small and quiet. The snark Mal had gotten used to hearing had diminished to the point of sadness.