His Contract, page 9
She sighs. “I know. You’re the garbage men for the human race. And no, I don’t need anything before you go take your bath.”
I nod and continue on my way to the bathroom. I think about closing the door, but then I won’t be able to hear her as well. If I can talk to her while I’m in here, it won’t be as bad not being able to see her and make sure she doesn’t try anything.
Running the bath I strip down to nothing and grab a towel from under the sink. If she decides to come over to the open door, she is going to get an eyeful. My cock twitches at the thought of her seeing all of me. What would her reaction be? I shake my head. I can’t be having thoughts like that. I know she wants to stay here for a while longer, just to have a vacation, but that doesn’t mean she’s interested in me. And what I said about the promise is true, I don’t want to be the first Bancroft to break it in over a hundred years. Nor do I want her to be the first Kotov. It’s better if I treat this like how she wants it. Two people who are practically like family hanging out and having a couple of days off from work. A needed vacation. That’s all this is.
My hands shake as I lower myself into the scalding water. The sting of it helps me center myself. There’s too much riding on me needing to not act on my emotions, even though I want to. I dip my head under the water, getting it wet, it’s a bit of a challenge not to get water everywhere as this tub isn’t long enough to accommodate my legs. Most bathtubs aren’t big enough for me to fit comfortably.
The chain slides across the floor and I turn my head to listen. I already know she can’t make it out the door, and if she was able to pick the lock on the chain, she would’ve done it by now.
The squeak of the mattress springs meets my ears, and I know she’s at least sitting on the bed. My mind can’t help but keep replaying what she said about needing me in her life. My brain, or I guess better yet, my heart wants to give the meaning to her words that I’m sure she didn’t mean.
“There’s some books in the other room. After I finish up here we can go look at them. Besides cooking, it will give you something else to do other than stare out the window. We can read together if you want like we did when you were first starting to get into chapter books.”
She laughs softly. “Man, that was so long ago. I was what, seven? I did love reading Narnia and the Nancy Drew series with you. I don’t think I would love reading as much if it weren’t for you.”
I gulp. I would rather not think about her age. I already feel strange being attracted to her now when I knew her then, but now we’re both adults, and that’s what I have to keep reminding myself of. She’s not a kid anymore, not by a long shot. She’s a grown woman and my God does it show. “I’m glad I could pass my love of reading onto you.”
“Do you still read a book a day like you used to try to do?”
I nod and then remember she can’t see me. “I try to. It’s mostly listening to audiobooks now while I’m driving if it’s an appropriate time for it. I don’t know the last time I picked up a physical book, it’s a bit harder to read that way when I’m always on the move.”
“I wanted to be just like you in that sense. I remember constantly trying to read one every day. It took me a few months to get fast enough for it, but soon I chewed through all the classics. I did really well with it for a long time.”
I hurry and run the soap over my body, not wanting to stay in the water too long. “Do you still read like that?”
A snort sounds from the other room. “No. I got out of the habit in college. The assignment load mixed with being stressed out of my mind didn’t lead to a lot of productive reading time. Now, with the bakery, I didn’t want to get a book messy with stuff, and I’m too tired to try and read once I get home. I never thought about doing audiobooks though. That’s a good idea, especially for when I’m in the frosting zone. I tend to put on music during those times with earbuds in, I can just make it a book instead of music.
“There you go!” I smile, liking the fact she wants to try so hard. I lick my lips before I start shampooing my hair. “So you wanted to be like me growing up?”
There’s a long pause of silence, and I worry for a second that I’ve somehow gone over the mark.
“Well, sort of. It wasn’t so much to be like you, more like I wanted you to think...” she trails off.
I raise a brow. Where is she going with this? “You wanted me to think what?”
“Nothing, it’s stupid.”
For the first time since all this shit happened, I’m starting to feel like there’s hope we can remain friends after this. I want to trust her and that she’s not putting on a show to make me do so. These interactions do seem genuine. She’s already admitted she’s mad still. I press on. “No, tell me, I promise I won’t laugh. What did you want from me knowing that you read a book every day like I did?”
“Just that you would think I was cool.”
I frown, there was a slight hitch to her voice at the start of that. Why is she lying about something like wanting me to know she read every day? I briefly remember her telling me that she had read 365 books one year when I was visiting for Christmas one year while I was still living on the other side of the country. I feel a bit bad. Once I moved, I started to treat her more like my younger siblings, brushing her off for the most part. I was in my thirties and rebelling late in life. I was determined I didn’t need to live close to my family to make my job work. And while that was and is still true. When Dad decided to hand over more of his work load it was easier on everyone for me to move back home.
It makes sense but doesn’t stop me from feeling like my younger self was a raging asshole. I would never put up with a guy like I used to be now. I snort, now I’d rather abstain from sex if I can’t make love to the woman I want to be with. She’s right, life really does have a way of fucking people over.
“What is it?”
I blink. “Huh? Sorry did you say something?”
“No, you snorted and laughed. I guess I was really lame as a kid.”
Fuck. She thought that was at her. When I snorted at myself. “I was just thinking about the time I spent living on the other side of the country. I’m sorry I was such a dick to you back then. I know I brushed you off a lot. That’s what I get for letting my dick think for me. I hope I’m not that bad now. I still remember that Fourth of July party, you’d been trying to get my attention, and the woman I was with was a bit much. Once I got her handled, you were gone. I had wanted to spend time with you before you went off to college. Give you the big bro talk, that if guys broke your heart I would be there to break their dicks.”
An almost tense silence invades the space.
She coughs and clears her throat. “You don’t have to worry, my brother gave me that speech before I left.”
I dip my head under the water, making quick work of getting the shampoo out of my hair, before I stand I grab the towel, securing it around my waist before I step out and reach in for the chain attached to the plug and pull it out. “So, do you have any past flings I need to talk to?”
I stare at myself in the mirror as I run my hand through my hair, slicking it back. I then run it over my face. Man, I need to shave. At least the swelling on my nose has gone down. It doesn’t even ache anymore. I guess I did a good job setting it myself. No weird bumps to worry about. I’ve never cared about being attractive or anything, but I do like having a straight nose.
It takes me a second to notice she hasn’t answered me. “Jo?”
She sighs. “What I told you at the Christmas party is true. I didn’t have time to date.”
The thought of not dating in college is foreign to me. All I did was date; I was a dog. “Understandable. I was the opposite, but it showed with my grades. I did just enough not to get kicked out. What about in high school? I don’t remember seeing you run around with anyone other than your girlfriends. Unless you’re... I mean, it’s cool if you are.”
It’s never crossed my mind that she might be a lesbian, she’s never come across as one, but I haven’t met a lot of lesbians where I know they are one. If she is, that might make things easier on me. At least then I would know I have no chance in hell with her. Even if the thought of seeing her with another woman turns me on.
“No, no. I’m not a lesbian. I didn’t date in high school either. I just didn’t want to date anyone who would ask me out. I didn’t have a connection with any of them, nor did I feel like trying to build one.”
I open the duffle bag to pull out my shaver when a thought strikes me like a bolt of lightning that leaves my head spinning. If she’s never had a partner of any kind, does that mean she’s a virgin still? I have to lean onto the counter and focus on every nasty thing I can think of not to spring a full erection here and now. The thought of her being pure from any other man’s touch is such a turn on.
I shake my head, just because she hasn’t dated doesn’t mean she’s a virgin. My first hook-up was at a party, I never saw the girl again, she went to a different college or something and I hadn’t gotten a chance to get her number. I want to ask her, but that question might be too personal even for us. I’m sure she doesn’t want me to know if she is a virgin. She’s twenty-two for crying out loud. That kind of thing comes with stigmas, even though it shouldn’t.
After thinking about what it was like to go into anaphylactic shock for the first time when I was six and how painful it was, my cock finally shrinks back into a flaccid state.
I then look at myself, the shaver poised above my skin.
“Don’t.”
I jump and look at her. I’d been so focused on trying to get myself to calm down that I didn’t even hear her come to the doorway of the bathroom. I turn to her. “Don’t what? What did I do?”
She lifts her hand and points at mine holding the shaver. “Don’t shave, at least not all of it. I think you would look good if you grew a beard out. If you kept it styled and trimmed, it would look sophisticated.
My right hand comes up to rub at my jaw before I glance at my reflection. I’ve never had trouble growing facial hair, but I don’t think I’ve ever grown it out to see how it would look on me. I’ve shaved nearly every day since it started to come in fast, and my dad would make me shave. All the Bancroft men have clean-shaven faces.
“You think?” I look back at her and can’t help but notice her cheeks flush before her gaze goes down to the floor. Was she checking me out while I stared at myself?
“Yeah.” She shrugs. “You don’t have to listen to me. If you don’t like having facial hair, it’s your body. Sorry, it had been a while since I heard the tub drain. I thought you would be dressed.”
I glance down to make sure I didn’t get another erection, all good. She’s just being shy. It’s cute. “You’re fine. It’s not like you haven’t seen guys without their shirts on before. You used to swim all the time at the summer parties our families would throw.”
Her cheeks grow redder at that and she turns to move back to the bed. “Yeah, it’s been a while since one of those for me. I’m no longer required to attend the small functions unless I want to. It’s one of the perks of no longer having to live at home.”
I set the shaver down. I think it’s too early in the growth to start refining the edges. With it just being her and me for the next week or so, I can give a beard a solid try. If I don’t like it, I can shave it before my dad sees it, or keep it. I’m thirty-three, he can’t tell me how to look anymore. It’s not like clean-shaven faces are needed to make a hit. At least not with most. Not with how we do them.
I make quick work of getting dressed. “Trust me, I get it. I love our families, but they like to throw special events too much.” I come out of the bathroom in a white shirt and another pair of black sweatpants. She sits on the bed, her face still pink. I had no idea seeing me shirtless would offend her so much. Based on her reaction, I have to think that my theory is true. She’s never had sex.
Being in front of her helps me control myself a bit better. It’s still difficult to not get an erection, but I don’t want her thinking I’m going to come after her or anything for sex. The last thing I could ever want is to make her think I’m going to jump her. No, I’ve always been a guy that needs consent. Once it’s clear that we’re both willing then the games can start, if that’s what my partner is into. Like that chick from the Fourth of July party. She liked things rough. It was nice. Not all women are willing to be choked or fucked until there’s a hole in the mattress.
Stepping over to her, I pull the key out of my sweatpants. Crouching, I undo the lock on her chain taking it off.
She stares down at her ankle. “What are you doing?”
I stand. “I said after I bathed you could come out so we can get edible food, and you could find a book, or if you want to read together, we can both pick one out.”
Chapter Twelve
Josie
Leaning over I rub at the spot on my ankle where the chain was. It’s been on less than twenty-four hours, but it feels odd to not have it there anymore. I look back up at him, and the heat returns to my face. Hell, I hadn’t been expecting to see him in a towel when I went to the door. I figured he would be dressed. It takes me less than five minutes after a shower to get dressed. He’s a chatty slowpoke.
All I could think while I stared at him was how desperately I wanted to reach out and run my hands over his muscles. He’s gotten more defined since that party. Rippling abs, and an Adonis belt barely visible above the fold of the towel. I’d never wished more in my life for a gust of wind to blow it off him.
The fact he even brought up that party has me wetter than before. I don’t think he saw me that day like I thought he might have. I guess it was my imagination. Surely he would’ve said something about me being a peeping Tom.
“Are you coming?” He stands at the door of the room, glancing over his shoulder at me.
I stand and follow him. God, he probably thinks I’m so weird. Maybe I should just tell him. About that party and how I want him to fuck me like he did that floosie. Is there anything I can do to make him throw caution to the wind? Make him see that an old promise between two men who are dead isn’t a promise we should be forced to keep. We didn’t make the promise, we shouldn’t have to honor it. I came to that conclusion while he was in the bath and debated with myself on just walking in there and laying it all out on the table for him. I chickened out halfway to the door.
Now that I can see all of the place, it’s clear there’s no second room off to the side that would’ve been out of my view.
“I thought you said there was a bed for you to sleep in?” I eye the sofa. I don’t want to sit on that thing let alone sleep on it. It looks like it’s infested with all kinds of wildlife. The mattress in the bedroom is new. If I didn’t know better, I would think they brought it here while I was unconscious. How did they find the time? Though, I guess one of his brothers could’ve brought it with them. Aren’t mattress stores a part of the mafia life? I’m sure they have something like that and have more mattresses than they need.
He nods and points at the couch. “Yeah, my bed is right there.”
I grimace. “You can’t sleep on that thing, it’s not even long enough to accommodate your giraffe legs.” I go over to the fridge with him and open it up.
He snorts. “I don’t have giraffe legs, you’re just short so you think they’re longer. That’s not my fault.” As if to prove a point, he rests his arm on top of my head.
I bat it away. “Knock it off. I’m five-three, that’s near average.”
He takes his arm off. “Are you sure that’s average? I think you’re saying it’s average but it’s not.”
I ignore his ass and look at the contents of the fridge. Sandwich bread, French bread, cheese, lunch meat. Onions and peppers. Along with milk and eggs. I turn my attention to the freezer. Some ground beef, beef roast, pork roast, and a bag of flash-frozen chicken breast.
He moves to open a cupboard. “We also have some canned soups, pasta, flour. Garlic, and potatoes. I think my dad was hoping you would come around and cook because he sure as hell knows I wouldn’t be able to cook most of this stuff. I grew up with a personal chef in the house, and if I’m in a pinch where I can’t get takeout or something else, cold soup from a can has never steered me wrong. I doubt you would be into that though.”
I shake my head. “That sounds gelatinous and disgusting. And also, how First-World sounding of you, having a personal chef made it so you didn’t have to learn. How did you ever impress a woman with a fancy dinner?”
He shrugged. “Takeout staged to look like I went through the effort and cooked it, when in truth I warmed it up in the oven so that the place would smell like I had been slaving all day for the meal.”
My jaw drops and I stare at him. “What the hell did you do once you dated a while and they learned you couldn’t make more than microwave quiche and canned soup?”
A smirk pulls at his lips. “They never had a chance to find out. I never dated much, just slept around a lot. Some girls I would date for a few weeks if there was a family event I wanted to take them to, but none of them lasted past that.”
Wow, he’s more of a player than I thought he was. I frown. “I haven’t seen you with a woman hanging off your arm in a while. At least you haven’t come to any of the parties with someone.”
Instantly his brown eyes look away from me and he turns his attention to the living room. Striding into it, he leaves me behind. “The bookshelf is over here. It looks like there’s enough material here to get us through the next week or longer, even if we read one or more a day.”
I stare at him. Well, I think I struck a nerve. I’ve never seen him try to change the subject like that.
I’ll drop it for now. I still want to know why he hasn’t dated anyone for a while when it’s clear that he used to play the field. What changed? Maybe he’s being more selective because he wants to find a woman he can settle down with? He is thirty-three, I bet his need to pass on his genes is setting in, and he doesn’t want to sow his oats with just anyone.
