Beneath Your Beautiful, page 11
My gran tilts her head at the blood covering my left shoulder. It’s seeping into my white shirt. “Cleo, can you get Fox cleaned up? There’s a first aid kit under the sink in the main bathroom.”
Cleo drags her bottom lip between her teeth. I owe her a debt for punishing my own lip. I shake my head. Nope, not happening.
“Sure, Helen.”
Gran smirks. “Looks like we will need that extra breakfast after all.”
Henry’s gaze darts between the three of us like we are an entertaining reality show. His gaze skims over Cleo. I step in front of her, blocking his view and fold my arms.
“I’m staying for breakfast?” he asks hopefully.
Gran spins on her heel and ushers him away. “No, Henry, you’ll be gone before dawn. But there’s a scene I want to act out after seeing that gun.”
“Oh my God,” Cleo mumbles as her lips twitch.
“It won’t be loaded, dear, don’t worry,” Gran calls out.
I’m so confused.
They disappear, leaving me with the mysterious woman and my traitor of a dog that stays on the bed waiting for her. I stride out of the bedroom. She follows, her footsteps light. “I don’t need help,” I grumble. “Go back to bed. We can sort this out in the morning.”
She huffs as she pushes past me into the main bathroom. “Unless you are hiding a third arm in that shirt, you aren’t going to bandage the wound with one hand.”
“You’d be surprised what I can do with one hand.”
She snorts as she returns from the bathroom with the kit. She points at the sofa. “Sit, and stop being a hero.”
I drop my ass onto the end of the sofa and unbutton my shirt. I make it halfway, then decide to tug it off over my head. Cleo freezes and blinks. “See, one handed.”
She rolls her eyes, but sets about cleaning the blood from my chest and shoulder. I take the opportunity to study her more closely without appearing like a creep. She seems familiar but also not. There’s an odd rim around her iris. Contacts. Colored, if I had to guess. Which she wears to bed? Interesting. My gaze trails over her hair. It’s a coppery red, but her eyebrows are lighter. Hmm. She leans forward and holds a gauze over the graze, putting her silk-covered breasts in front of my mouth. Fuck. What is that smell? Peaches and cream, but richer. Warm, like she’s been baking in the sun. Coconut. Peaches, cream, and coconut.
My knee brushes her bare thigh, making her flinch. “Who are you?”
Her gaze darts to my face before she grabs the tape and snaps pieces off onto my shoulder, holding the dressing in place. “Cleo Williams. I’ve been helping your grandmother for nearly five weeks.”
“She didn’t mention you.”
“Did you call?”
I raise a brow at her. She’s right—I didn’t call. Not as often as I should have. But I was dealing with my shitshow of a life and trying to contain it so it wouldn’t taint my family. Gran’s all I’ve got, as my parents are long dead, and I’m an only child. Gran brought me up, and I owe what little humanity I have in my soul to her.
“No, but she tells me everything.”
“I’m sure she would have gotten to it eventually.”
“What kind of name is Cleo? Did your parents have an obsession with ancient Egypt?” I ask, changing tack. I’m curious how quickly she can come up with an excuse on the fly.
Her lips twitch. “No. Did yours have posters on their bedroom walls with little green men and the caption ‘I believe’?”
“Touché.”
She taps on the dressing. “There, all done.” She steps away from me, taking that mouth watering-scent and the heat from her body with her. “Goodnight. We can sort out this living situation tomorrow so that everyone is happy.” She spins on her heel and walks away.
“Cleo?”
She pauses and glances over her shoulder. Her wild hair sweeps across the curve of her ass. Flashes of wrapping it around my fist as I slam into her barrel in my mind. No, not happening.
“Yes?”
“Who is it you’d rather die than return to?”
Her entire body stiffens as if she’s been struck by lightning. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Then she’s out of the room and closing the door to my bedroom. There are no locks, but I recognise the thud as she jams a chair under the handle. Sure you don’t, Cleo. Looks like I’ve found my new hobby while I’m lying low.
CHAPTER 16
HONOR
Beware of thin walls and determined minds.
Adrenaline pumps through my body with nowhere to go, making my heart jump. Boom, boom, boom…like an explosion going off in my chest over and over again. I shake out my arms and roll my shoulders, trying to work off some of the excess energy.
I shot someone. Holy shit, I shot someone.
Duke snores away on my bed, blissfully ignorant of my blooming existential crisis. No, not my bed. His. Fox. “What did he expect?” I mutter to the sleeping dog. “He stalks in here all big and powerful in the shadows, and I’m meant to, what?” I pull at my hair. “Roll over and open my legs? This isn’t a stalker fantasy or stranger desire.” I stride into the ensuite and turn on the shower. “Is that how people conduct themselves these days? Have things really changed in the short time I’ve been married? Did the world wake up nuts? No dinner, no dates?” I peel the silk nightgown from my body and sigh as I dive under the spray. “It’s going to be enough to give me new nightmares for weeks. I should bill him for my extra therapy—if I could go to therapy.” I jerk the loofah into the air. “Ha, I should make him sit and listen to me in penance. If he can’t solve my nightmares, he can fucking share them.”
My hand braces against the wall as the first sob wrenches from my throat. I let myself cry in the shower. It’s the only time I do, because my tears get washed away instantly.
I’m stupid for staying this long. It’s time to move on. My hands cover my face, and I scream into them. I’ve just stopped being exhausted. I convinced myself I could stay here longer. Comfort and safety is a seductive illusion. Nowhere is safe from Gideon and remaining here only puts Helen in danger.
It’s difficult not being able to form any meaningful connections, relationships, and friendships. How can I, when they all have short expiration dates?
I turn the knob, cutting off the stream of water, and step out to wrap myself in a big fluffy towel. My gaze catches upon my reflection in the mirror. I’ve put on a little weight while I’ve been here, reducing the sunken dark rings around my eyes. My skin is flushed and clearer with the quality of food I eat with Helen, and I laughed. For the first time in months—truly laughed.
I check the chair is still wedged beneath the handle of the door before grabbing a set of silky pink sleep shorts and matching cami. The black silk gown I dump in the garbage. No amount of delicate washing is getting blood out of that. I retrieve the gun off the floor, snap the safety on, before sliding it underneath my pillow and climbing into bed. Duke nudges my leg, getting even closer. He’s such a cuddler.
I shot someone. Fuck. I shot my boss’s grandson. Everyone’s okay, nobody’s dead. Right, like that should be the bar for a good day. My thoughts turn to Fox again as I try to get comfortable. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t curious about the only person Helen speaks of fondly. Stop it. We’re leaving, remember?
The glowing clock on the bedside table reads 3 a.m. I bash my pillow with a fist and twist my legs in the sheets before puffing out an exasperated breath. Staring at the ceiling doesn’t bring sleep. Nor does counting sheep or that relax your toes shit. Sighing, I twist and turn on the lamp, then grab the book from the pillow next to me. Romantic suspense is my new favorite sub-genre. I crack it open and fall into another world where the hero who stalks the woman would never hurt her, but will burn anyone who dares to try.
When my eyes start crossing, I glance at the clock and blink at the time. Fuck. I blame the book. My heart hasn’t stopped pounding the entire time. But now I have a full day ahead of me with no sleep. It’s not like I haven’t done it before, but I’m self aware enough to recognize I’m a bitch when I’m exhausted.
Ugh. Swim first. I slip on my red bikini and Duke drags his eyes open, huffs, and rolls over to face away from me. I eyeball the chair jammed under the door and bite my bottom lip. Nobody sane is awake at this time of day. I can be out of the house, into the pool, and back again before he’s even awake.
“Fuck it,” I grumble as I drag the chair away from the door and dart through the sitting room, out of the front door, and into the cool pool. See? Nothing to worry about. I do an extra ten lengths hoping the exercise will catch up with me tonight and knock me out. Once Fox is sleeping in the main house, I’m sure it will be fine. I’ll make a plan and be gone within a week. I have saved enough money to do without work for a few months if I’m careful. That gives Helen time to find a replacement, and if not, she has her grandson now. Is he aware of her condition? I haven’t pried, but she needs the support. Some days are worse than others.
Rising from the pool, I grab my towel from the side and dry myself off. I’ll make her pancakes this morning and that slow-cooked lamb dish for dinner to help break the news of my pending departure to her.
My lips and throat are dry after my extra laps, so I slide open the back door to the main house and stride into the dark kitchen. The air is coated with the rich scent of java, and I wonder if Henry helped himself before Helen ushered him out of her door before the birds chirped their early song. I open the refrigerator, grab the jug of orange juice, and pour myself a large glass before downing the whole thing and topping it back up.
“Not going to offer me one?” a low rumbling voice asks.
I squeak and spin on my heel. Fox sits at the breakfast bar with his head resting on his palm. My hand pushes against my chest to stop my heart from escaping. “Why the fuck are you sitting in the dark like a creep? Did my shooting you not suggest that it is a deadly course of action around me?”
He smirks as he sips at his mug—the source of the java. I’m an idiot. “I considered it, but I don’t believe you are hiding a weapon inside that bikini.”
My hands fist as I fight the urge to run and cover up from his assessing gaze. “You could have announced yourself as I came in.”
He tilts his head and climbs to his feet. “Why?”
I swallow as he rounds the breakfast bar. “Normal folks don’t sit around drinking coffee in the dark, letting others believe they aren’t there.”
He’s dressed only in a pair of dark sleep pants—no shirt, no shoes—displaying his stupid muscles for the world to see. I wonder if they are as smooth and firm as they appear to be. “You came to drink in the dark. Does that mean you aren’t normal?”
He stalks closer, and my heart races as I back up. “I guess not. What are you doing?”
Heat rolls off him, like he runs a few degrees warmer than the rest of us. It’s making my skin flush. His hands land on either side of me, grasping the countertop. It’s not a cage exactly. I have enough room to duck and run. But I’m not as terrified as I imagined I would be having a powerful man this close to me. Gideon never did this kind of thing. His terror was often in the anticipation that I had failed in the perfection he demanded. The consequences were rarely played out for the world to see. Torture isn’t palatable in the public domain, hence the secret fucked-up room. Gideon’s violence was hidden so well behind a mask even I, after months of sleeping in his bed, didn’t suspect it. I’ll never trust a man that hides himself again. I’m not sure I’ll ever trust any man again.
Fox’s dark gaze drops to my chest. Fucking typical. I don’t know why I’m disappointed by his classic response to a woman in a revealing outfit.
“What do the birds mean?”
I blink and lean back, placing my hands on the counter behind me. Slapping my boss’s grandson or touching his chest like a horny teenager isn’t professional. My brain catches up to his question. “What?”
“The birds, Cleo. The tattoo under your left breast. It looks unfinished.”
The birds are a representation of my escape. Each month that goes by, I find a tattooist to add to the relatively simple design. There are currently five; each new one soars higher and opens its wings wider. I’ve not added another yet for this month. Gideon wouldn’t allow me to get a tattoo, so it’s a special fuck you to the man that tried to cage me.
“They’re birds. No exciting secret meaning.”
He hums low in his throat and licks his lips like he’s tasting my words. “Another lie.”
“It’s not interesting,” I mutter as my gaze flicks to his plump lips. The bottom one is still swollen from my bite.
“Tell me, and I’ll be the judge of that.”
I stiffen. “I don’t have to tell you shit.”
“You do while you are working for my grandmother.”
“My secrets don’t affect my job. I am not here to harm her, only support.”
He tilts his head like he’s processing the cadence of my words. “And I have found my first truth.”
I relax. Now he can back off. “Good, now move. I won’t be intimidated by an asshole with trust issues.”
“Also a truth.”
“What are you, a human lie detector?”
“Near enough.”
My gaze falls to the bandage on his shoulder. There’s a dark stain gathering underneath it. “You need to change your dressing.”
“You need to change my dressing.”
“I thought you could do everything one handed?”
“You are the cause of the damage, Cleo. You can take responsibility for fixing it.”
“Fine. But you’ll need to back up. I can hardly redress it while you have me pinned to the kitchen counter.”
He chuckles, stirring the hair on the crown of my head. His thumb grazes the edge of my little finger, setting off sparks of sensation that whisper up my arm and prickle the back of my neck. Oh no, not after months of no libido. I cannot lust after Fox Alderidge. “I’m not touching you, Cleo. If I was pinning you, you’d feel every inch of body against yours. I’m merely cataloging your responses. I’m observant. Remember that when you spill lies from your pretty lips.”
“Well, observe me from a distance.”
“But I wouldn’t be able to see the flutter of your pulse in your neck as you lie.”
Joke’s on him—I’m a master at shielding my body’s responses. I had to be in order to survive, and I can draw upon it again. I dig deep, pushing down any swelling panic into that place buried inside of me. My hands unclench from the counter, and I drop them to my sides as I draw in a steady breath.
Fox’s lips twitch. “You think you can fool me?”
I know I can. “Perhaps.”
“You just got more interesting, Cleo.” He drawls my name out in a heavy Southern accent, emphasizing he knows even my name is bullshit. I one hundred percent need to run. He will put my history together soon. Helen knows I’m lying and has let me keep my secrets, but her grandson is a different beast. He won’t stop until he knows everything.
“I’m not even the slightest bit interesting,” I counter.
He pushes away and steps back, taking his heat with him. He runs a hand through his hair like he’s wrestling with his own demons. “I’ll grab a shower, then you can replace the dressing.”
“Okay,” I breathe.
His hand digs into his back pocket, and he pulls out a small business card. He offers it to me. I take it with a frown. “What’s this?”
His lips twitch. “The name of a great therapist. You know, since I’m responsible for your new nightmares. Perhaps you can discuss that stalker fantasy with him. Or with me, if you’d prefer—the choice is yours. Don’t be embarrassed.” He winks. “Bill me.”
My mouth falls open as he spins on his heel and disappears out of the door. He heard me ranting in the shower? My mind replays my words. Fuck.
CHAPTER 17
FOX
The things you don’t say speak louder than the words you let loose.
Iwait for Cleo to emerge from her shower as I wander through my pool house and note the changes she’s made. The sideboard, dining table, and kitchen window ledge are all cluttered with stacks of books. Most of these, I suspect, are novels she’s borrowed from my grandmother given the abundance of half naked hot dudes on the front. I don’t judge people’s preferences. I pick up one with a pink cover which holds a bookmark in it. Hmm, so this one she’s still reading. I think I’ll put this somewhere else. After securing it in the guest bedroom, I click on the TV and select a streaming service, expecting it to be full of romantic, soppy shit. I bet she watches Christmas movies in June.
My eyes widen as I take in the recently viewed. Oh, Cleo, now you’re tempting me. Flicking the TV off, I sit on the sofa, unable to keep the smirk from my face.
She tumbles out of the master bedroom in a frantic hurry, the mouthwatering scent of peaches and coconut strong from her shower. She freezes when she spots me sitting like one of her half naked dudes on her book covers.
I jerk my head at the new dressing I’d laid out so I can feel her soft hands on me again. “As promised.”
She huffs. “We need to make it quick. I’m going to be late making Helen breakfast.”
“Consider spending less time in the shower.”
She levels me with a blank stare. That’s right, I hear everything you say in there.
I’m desperate to see the real color of her eyes. Green is wrong for her.
“Doesn’t seem too bad,” she mutters as she replaces the dressing and tapes it up.
I arch a brow at her. “Do you have medical training?”
She scowls. “No.”
“So how would you know?”
Her hands land on her hips. “Would you like me to call you a doctor for your boo-boo?”
“Doctor Maggie would scold me for getting shot and scaring a woman.”
“Sounds like my kind of woman.”
I shudder. “I’ve had drill sergeants less scary.”
