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Olivia
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The call comes at eight o’clock on the dot to set up a time to come move me. I ask them what opening times they have, and they respond any time Mr. Vega wants them available, they are. Rolling my eyes, I tell them four o’clock. Forcing myself out of bed, I undress as I walk into the shower. Since I need help to get moving, I start with cold water that has me yelping like a kicked dog, then I turn on the hot water until it’s the way I like it.
After a very, very long shower I’m finally drying off as I walk back into my bedroom. It’s pretty pathetic that I’m already packed up. All of my stuff could fit in my car; well, it would take two trips just like Rourke knew it would. Rourke Vega is going to take over every tiny aspect of my life for the next six months. Resistance is futile, only I refuse to give in without some sort of fight.
***
Olivia
––––––––
I’m such a weirdo, apparently I’m a low-key masochist. It’s been five days since I saw Rourke Vega and I’m getting withdrawal symptoms. I’ve read absolutely everything I could find out about him on the internet, of which there was more than I thought. I’m reminded of Patricia’s remarks about the women using Rourke: for those videos and pictures of him with women on a yacht and the balcony of one of his hotels, it was later proven the paparazzi was tipped off by the women. I wasn’t expecting something like that, that women were using him as much as he used them. I came close to watching the videos but the pictures were bad enough, making my stomach twist and knot up. I had no idea I had stalker tendencies; you learn something new every day.
It hasn’t helped that Cheryl talks about Rourke daily. I would be less annoyed if Patricia didn’t agree with absolutely everything Cheryl said. I’m also sure Cheryl has whispered her crazy ideas about me and Rourke to Patricia, because Patricia manages to bring him up in almost every lull in the conversation if I happen to be hanging out nearby while they are doing their therapy. I’ve taken to disappearing when Patricia comes.
I finally introduced the idea of updating the living room to avoid hanging on her every word about Rourke. We started in the living room, now we’re doing my room, then going to the kitchen. I have said about a dozen times I can paint my own room, and every time Cheryl gets offended as if I said I was going to plaster it with doll heads. Apparently, I’m weak and puny and unable to paint on my own.
With a sigh, I give in because I’m not allowed to yell at my patients. I’m allowed to put different swatches of paint we got from the paint store because that isn’t too taxing. An actual paint store with a brand name, not a big box store because those things were hideous, according to Cheryl. I go with a pale gray that will match the wallpaper—that I’m also not allowed to put up myself—of lotus flowers with silver leaves and vines and dark red flowers.
All of my stuff has been moved out of the bedroom, and there are two men in the room painting it. They say they’ll be done in a few hours and while they are using the non-cancer inducing paint, they advise against me sleeping in the room tonight. Cheryl offers up Rourke’s room without hesitation.
“It’s fine, dear. He only uses it a few times a year. He’ll actually be using it in a few weeks, but he won’t mind you using it for tonight.”
My throat closes at the idea of sleeping in his bed, whether he’s in it or not. Then she just casually mentions he’ll be in it in a few weeks. Not just in the bed, but in the house. Rourke Vega, sleeping in a bed twenty feet away from me? A word manages to escape me in a wheeze. “What?”
Cheryl looks up from the wallpaper book she has become fascinated with since she liked my idea of just doing one wall as a focal point. “Oh yes, dear. Did I forget to mention Rourke will be staying here? During the two weeks of the festival. The house is closer to everything. His house is off 360 and high up in the hills, not a great drive late at night when he’s half-asleep. It’s lovely having him home if even for a few hours, I’m lucky if I can get him to sit down for breakfast. He usually comes in while I’m asleep. Then there are times he’s been gone before I even woke up.”
I’m not sure, but I think my body is about to spontaneously combust at the idea of Rourke sleeping just down the hall from me for two weeks. I wonder if he sleeps nude. Oh god, Olivia Charlotte Casey, what the hell is the matter with you?
“Ma’am.”
From the annoyed expression on his face it’s clear the guy has been trying to get my attention, my stupid dirty attention, for a while. “Yes, sorry. What?”
This guy seems to be the boss: he’s a dick with a ton of muscles he likes to show off by wearing wife beaters even though it’s not hot in here. He did the whole stay-away-from-fatty, don’t-fall-in-love-with-me thing when he first came in. Ever since I ignored him in favor of the nicer guy who was much cuter and not terrified I’d take one look at him and fall in love, wife beater shirt guy has been trying to be nicer.
Yesterday they came in and painted the living room a pretty slate blue. It took two coats and a few hours. Cheryl and I spent yesterday out seeing a movie then having dinner, so we were barely around the guys. I couldn’t care less about either of them. Once burned so badly you’re fried to a crisp forever not interested. Going it alone isn’t just safer, it’s cheaper, and it’s less stressful. All the studies scream it’s the men who get all the benefits in relationships, while it’s the women who get the negatives. I haven’t been on a date since I divorced. I had one forgettable one-night stand almost five years ago to prove something to myself I couldn’t remember the next day. Not once have I thought I missed a thing, until Rourke.
I follow wife beater guy into the room. It’s a huge room, I thought so even with the furniture, a queen bed, standing dresser, pretty antique writing desk, and a soft cloth wingback chair in a blue I can’t stand. “We’ve taped everything and done the color twice. I wasn’t sure if you wanted us to let it dry and do a third. What do you think?”
“Wow, it looks almost dry already. I love it. It’s exactly what I was wanting. The two coats work for me.”
“Olivia, I’d like to speak with you.” Rourke is filling the doorway. His suit is black, and at a glance it screams expensive, Italian—I’m thinking Armani—then I’m not thinking at all. Because he’s dressed deceptively simply in the black suit, a snow-white shirt and silk black tie. It’s a look a thousand men would wear, but on Rourke it’s so sexy I can only imagine tearing it off him.
I’m instantly weak, everywhere, but slightly scared at the anger vibrating from him. He said my name, but he’s looking at wife beater guy like he’s trying to figure out how to break every bone in the guy’s body with one blow. Wife beater guy takes a huge step back from me. I nod, because speaking takes too many brain cells.
With a last scary look at wife beater guy, Rourke turns and leaves and now light comes back in from the hallway. I follow without a word. Where is Cheryl? I’m not sure if I want to know where she is for protection or so she can’t see me make an ass of myself. Rourke is standing at the edge of the hallway leading to the rest of the house. His eyes run over me, setting off bees buzzing in my tummy, searching for the hot, sticky honey flowing through my veins at the heat in his eyes. I give in to leaning on the wall, because my stupid freaking legs aren’t working. Maybe five feet separate us; it feels like too long and not long enough all at the same time. “Did you not read over the contract in depth?”
I flinch from his anger, the volcano is rumbling. “I did. I don’t understand.”
“You are not allowed to have men in your room or have them to the house. It’s disrespectful to my mother.” Oh damn, his eyes are on my breasts, my stupid swelling breasts with nipples tightening under his gaze.
What?? Like seriously? “Are you serious? Wife beater guy is here to paint since your mom won’t let me do it on my own. Nice guy is also here just to paint. One, I don’t do threesomes, and two have you gotten your eyes checked recently? I have no idea how you took that as me having a man in my room. The completely empty room with paint cans everywhere and a ladder. Seriously?”
Of course he’s not embarrassed, of course he doesn’t apologize; the arrogant asshole just relaxes and nods. “See to it you keep it that way.”
Then he walks away dismissively. I’m really pissed he can just walk away while I’m standing here trying to gain control over my stupid body. “Asshole,” I mutter as I turn around to find Cheryl has just closed her door. I blush.
She just smiles. “Yes, dear, he can be. I’m not even going to ask what he did this time. I did so want to invite you to dinner, but since this is Rourke doing his checkup on you, I couldn’t get him to agree. I’ll see you in a few hours.”
I nod as I lean down for the kiss on the cheek she gives me. Since I have the house more or less to myself as both guys now seem terrified to come within ten feet of me. I’m looking through my books to find something to read when the front door practically slams closed.
Rourke’s eyes are moving around the room as if he’s expecting to see someone running to hide while naked. “Get dressed, you’re coming.”
My mouth falls open; I want to argue but the words die in the volcano heat spewing out in little clumps of molten lava. Dinner, I can do dinner, Cheryl will be right there. With a shrug I go into my room, and he follows me. I’m in the walk-in closet grabbing the dress Janice suggested for the interview and a pair of black flats that match. Cheryl had been excited about going out to dinner at his downtown hotel, talking about how the food was amazing and the restaurant exclusive. I helped her get dressed in a boring-to-look-at five-hundred-dollars-plus dress. My dress is half that; I hope I don’t embarrass Rourke or Cheryl. He’s in the doorway again. “You can change in the bathroom.”
Like I was really going to strip out of my leggings and stretchy T-shirt in the room with the two guys. He backs up and is back down the hall by the time I’m in the hallway slamming into the bathroom. I want to scream; he’s such an asshole. I wanted time alone but no, he’s forcing me into close contact with him over some insane paranoia that I’m going to get naked or be unable to contain myself around two men who were only here—wait, could he be jealous? The idea is so funny I laugh. No way, it couldn’t possibly be true. He’s just a control freak.
I undo my hair from its braid and sigh. I don’t have the time to flat iron it. With a grimace I scrape it into a bun. Ugh, not a whole lot better. Whatever, this is what happens when you don’t give a woman time to get ready. Quickly I wash my face and cheat by putting on moisturizer with a hint of color, then grab a matte powder and pat it on. I open the door to the bathroom to find Rourke in the doorway of the bedroom again.
“And I don’t want to ever find out you were eyeing her like you were. Got it?”
Holy fuck, he was jealous. He turns to find me standing behind him. His eyes flare, lava is spewing every fucking where; I’m pretty sure I take a direct hit. I sway, and he grabs me by the arm. His hand is so hot it feels like he’s burning me and his grip is almost painful. “It took you long enough. What the hell are you doing with your hair up?”
Pausing in the middle of the living room, he stops and undoes the catch around my bun. My long brown hair falls around my face, down over my shoulders. Black eyes glint as they run over me. His grip tightens and I can’t fight the wince. He immediately gentles, but he doesn’t let me go. “Much better. Let’s go.”
I’m practically running to keep up with him. Um, he’s in the Veyron that only seats two people, a massive ego and a tiny penis. Cheryl hands him her keys. “My Mercedes, dear, it will hold all of us.”
He takes it, pressing a fob, and the garage goes open. A black Mercedes four door, I don’t know what is beeped open. I open Cheryl’s door for her to get out. She has a smile on her face that tells me this whole thing is her fault. “I love that dress, dear,” she says as she gets out of the car. “I’m so glad Rourke thought it best not to leave you alone with two men all evening. Who knew what might happen when you went for the evening swim you love so much?”
Cheryl Vega is a sneaky, manipulative witch. I have gone swimming every night since I moved in, but late at night around ten, before I was going to bed. When I told Cheryl how much I loved swimming she encouraged me to, and it’s been the perfect way to end my night. However, I have never done it early because Cheryl thinks I hate wearing my bathing suit, and I do. Only the real reason I wait until late, when she is in bed, is because I swim naked.
I don’t have time to read her the riot act before Rourke backs up then opens the door for her, I get in before he can open my door. His eyes narrow at me. I can open my own damn door.
The drive is quiet, as Cheryl discusses her future plans for the living room and the kitchen. Rourke agrees with her, but I can feel his eyes on me. I keep my gaze out on the passing street. I’m still having a hard time with the whole Rourke being jealous thing. One half of me is all yes, oh thank god, this is amazing, while the other, saner half of me is freaked the fuck out. If Rourke doesn’t fool around with employees, as he made very clear, then where does that leave us? Sex is it with him. It’s all I would be good for, which should actually be a relief since I haven’t had it in more than five years, only I’ve been pretty good without it and I don’t want to do all the angst and tears, which is kind of a given after an encounter with Rourke Vega.
Rourke pulls up in front of the six-story historic hotel which sits on an entire city block. The limestone and brick hotel was originally built in 1896, and for decades it operated smoothly. Until the family who built it died off, and it fell into such disrepair as a slum hotel it was almost demolished. Rourke bought it, then sunk a massive amount of money into restoring it. When the former president had to move while the governor’s mansion was being repaired, he stayed at this hotel, and now every time he’s in Austin he refuses to stay anywhere else. With its downtown location and three different entrances from two major streets, it has quite a presence from the outside.
Inside there is a massive grand ballroom with vintage chandeliers so gorgeous people come from all over the country to get married in it. It’s been the setting for weddings on television and movies and for a Spanish royal family member. There is one lesser ballroom that still holds six hundred people and vintage chandeliers as well; both have also held conferences of everything from writers to politicians foreign and domestic. I’ve only been here three times, once for a wedding, and twice for dinner.
I’m out on the sidewalk, only now realizing I managed to leave my purse and cell phone at home. While I don’t need to be on my phone all the time, I feel a little naked without it. Following Cheryl into the already open door, I smile at the young guy holding the door open. Only seconds later Rourke is behind me, and his hand goes to the small of my back. The shot of electricity causes me to jump and Rourke’s hand flexes against me. After a small stumble, I rely on him to guide me through the restaurant. Blindly, I go where I’m led until we stop, and a chair is pulled out in front of me. I sit with a thump, my legs grateful they can stop worrying about standing.
When Rourke sits down directly in front of me with Cheryl to my right, the anger in his flat charcoal black eyes surprises me. What did I do now? I thank the waiter for the menu then open it, not hungry in the slightest.
“Have you been here before, Olivia? I highly recommend the rack of lamb or you could try one of the tasting menus, one is five courses, the other is seven.”
“I have been, yes. The first time I was so overwhelmed by the menu I got a salad. It was the best salad I have ever had.”
Cheryl laughs, and Rourke shakes his head. “You’ll have the tasting menu, you’ll like it.”
I make my smile saccharine sweet as I look at him. “I’ll have whatever I want to have.”
“Rourke, do allow Olivia to pick out what she would like for herself. How is the castle you’re redoing in Tours coming along?”
Without being the least bit chastised, Rourke gives me a last hard stare before turning to his mother. “It’s not a castle, it’s simply a very large chateau. It’s coming along fine. I believe it should be done within the next few weeks; I may have it open in time for summer.”
“Then why don’t you keep it as a home? The pictures are simply lovely. Now that is a place I would love to visit over that one in Monaco.”
“What’s the matter with the house in Monaco?”
“Everything is white and marble and nothing appears comfortable. I’d be afraid of making a mess.”
He shrugs. “I have been meaning to have it redone since I won it in the card game. For now it’s quite convenient and very comfortable. Tell me more about these updates you’re planning on the house.”
Cheryl puts her hand on mine. “Olivia was kind enough to be honest with me and promised to help me update the living room. Only the more I got to thinking about it, I decided I want to really renovate the kitchen. After the kitchen fire, the redo was just a band-aid, and with opening up the living room and wall to the dining room I would like to see what else we might be able to do. I called in a professional, he’s coming tomorrow. With his help and Olivia’s we’ll get it done before you come to stay for festival season.”
Rourke’s eyes narrow on me. “Once your mom is comfortable in every room instead of just her own, then she’ll be more inclined to spend time outside of her room.”
“Hmm...how sneaky of you, Olivia. How did you know I preferred my bedroom?”
“When I first came to see you, you said the living room was depressing. It’s not uncommon to hole up in your bedroom then get too comfortable there. However, it isn’t healthy.”
When the waiter comes, I order the salmon. Cheryl has the rack of lamb and Rourke orders the roast chicken.
“If you ordered the chicken, then why was I supposed to order the tasting menu?”
“Because it’s an exemplary selection of varied items I wanted you to be able to say you tried at least once. I’m guessing you don’t make a habit of eating quail eggs?” I can’t stop from frowning. “Exactly. However, they are excellent, and my chef makes the best in Texas. If you want to miss out, it’s entirely up to you.”
“I have been here before. There’s every chance I’ll come back again.”
“Yes, but will you be with someone the chef will be sweating his ass off to impress?” His eyebrows go up.
I shrug. “You never know. I never once thought I’d be here with the owner of the place, so who is to say who I’ll be with the next time I come. Or are you saying you’ll never bring me again? One time only, enjoy it now while I can?”
“I rarely have the time to eat here myself. This is only the second time in the month and a half since I’ve been back I’ve eaten here.”
I’m surprised. “Now that sounds wrong. What’s the use of owning such a nice place to eat then never coming here?”
“Rourke usually eats carefully weighed and measured dietician-prepared food. It’s only for me that he’ll relax to eat real food, then I’m sure he goes home to work out every bad calorie.” Cheryl runs her hand over the back of Rourke’s hand.
Great, I’m feeling like the asshole again. “I apologize, you really are concerned about getting diabetes and your health.”
Rourke shrugs. “My father, and likely my grandfather had it. I’m predisposed to it. However the longer, I can hold off getting it the better for me, as it means less stress on my kidneys.”
“Emilio was diagnosed at only thirty-seven, and he fought with me almost every day about what he wanted to eat.” Cheryl sighs. “The doctors think it played a part in his heart attacks.”
“It’s interesting how it seems Hispanics have a predisposition for it, only my mom was kind of chunky and she was forever checking her A1C, her history of her sugar levels, without any issues. My grandmother and my aunts didn’t have any issues either. I think it’s really about diet.
“For my mom it was all about chicken and fish and more of the plate being green than anything. She also did vegetarian dishes for dinner at least twice a week, and she rarely made rice and only used potatoes every once in a while because it was how my grandmother fed them. My grandfather was a doctor from Lisbon, Portugal and into the eating healthy thing long before it became a fad. Yet, if you look at the diet for most Mexicans, it’s mainly rice and potatoes and corn, with very few vegetables.”
Rourke tilts his head. “Maybe. There have been times I was told my A1c was too low, to go ahead and do the splurge day or whatever. Only I find I can’t seem to enjoy it. I’m back in the gym trying to work it off.”
“You won’t for this though, right? I mean roasted chicken and steamed broccoli and carrots. How can that be bad?”
He won’t look at me. “We’ll see.”
***
Rourke
––––––––
Olivia and her questions and her poking and making me think. Christ, I wish I could shut her out. Only I can’t and a part of me would hate myself for doing it, for missing out on a second with her.
I had no idea Mom was so unhappy with the living room it was a reason she was sticking to her bedroom. Seeing Mom now is enough of a progress report to how things are going. Despite my ridiculous attraction to Olivia Casey, I’m glad she took the job. Then again, sixty grand is more than most people would be willing to turn down. I still have a hard time not smiling at how she got me up from fifty to sixty without intending to. From anyone else I would have believed it was just a bargaining tactic, only there was no guile in her horrified look when I increased it to sixty, then sorrow when I told her she talked herself out of the increase. It annoys me how often I’ve thought of the moment, of Olivia Casey, since I last saw her. I knew my desire for her was bad; I had no idea how bad, though, until tonight.
When I saw her standing too damn close to the musclebound guy while she smiled up at him, I wanted to turn the man’s bones to dust. I don’t do jealousy—the emotion is pointless—or at least I thought I didn’t until I saw Olivia and the guy together. Only the way Olivia talked about him with disdain calmed me enough to stop wanting to break things. At least until my mom mentioned Olivia would be running around in a swimsuit in front of the men. It didn’t matter if she didn’t care about them; I wasn’t going to allow another man to see her half-naked in a bathing suit.
The black dress she’s wearing is demure with a boatneck and long sleeves, and goes down to her knees. All I can think of doing is removing it from her delectable little body, slowly. When I touched her, sliding my hand to the small of her back, her jumping at the touch told me everything. And it made my cock harden so badly I’m not sure how I managed to walk upright to the table.
She’s laughing at something my mother is saying. Throaty, full, uninhibited, her laughter is as sexy as she is. She’s thanking the waiter with a smile as he refills her water glass, and I fight the urge to wipe his own smile off his face. When he catches my eye, his smile disappears. Hell, I need to calm the fuck down. He didn’t even realize he was smiling back at her. What the fuck is it about her? I’ve fucked women who were more beautiful, only right now I can’t remember the ways any of them could be more beautiful than Olivia. There have been women who were more intelligent, graduates of elite universities, only none of them have a mouth as smart as hers, a wit as quick and snappy and no woman has ever fascinated me the way she does.
Fuck. My mother has to ask me a question again. Her smile is knowing as I answer her. No, she doesn’t fucking know a thing. She has no fucking idea and she can never know.
My entire body is coming alive; I’m fully energized after simply going through the motions of every day since I last saw Olivia. Now that I’m seeing her again I need to commit every move she makes, every sound escaping her to my memory so I can recall it for the time when I won’t be able to see it and hear it.
Wait, what did she just say? “Olivia will be sleeping in my room?”
“Yes, dear. Just for tonight.” As if she were warning me. “While the paint dries in her room. It isn’t safe for her to sleep there. You don’t mind, do you?”
The thought of Olivia in my bed has my cock jumping again. Clenching my jaw tight, I work to get myself under control. “No, of course not. I just wasn’t sure why she needed to. I apologize, I still have work on my mind. I’m actually considering staying at the hotel for the two weeks of the festival, things are so hectic right now.” Really, it was to keep the hell away from Olivia and temptation. Except the relief on Olivia’s face is clear, and because I’m an asshole I want to wipe it off immediately. “Although we are completely booked, so it will only be if someone happens to cancel.”
For only the second time tonight Olivia looks directly at me. “Is a cancellation likely to happen?”
I have a craving for melting chocolate. “Highly unlikely. The time to cancel and not be charged passed a week ago. Even if someone can’t come the room rarely goes unused, they’ll sell it to someone else rather than be out the money.”
“I heard you make people book a week at a time and you jack up the cost of the rooms to twelve hundred dollars on your cheapest rooms. How can you do that?”
“I can because I need to. Any day of the week, the least expensive room in this hotel is four fifty and it’s never below eighty-five percent full. I only raise the rates to be on par with the others in the city that are doing the same thing. The need to have people book for no less than a week is because there are people who want and need to be here for the entire festival, those are the bookings that matter. I’m not going to lose out on them for those just coming down for a weekend look and see. I’m not doing anything any other hotel doesn’t do during a high-traffic event.”
Her little mouth purses. “I just think it’s avaricious. But maybe that’s why I do what I do and you do what you do.”
My mother pats Olivia’s hand. “It’s the way of the world, dear, and both of you are necessary to weigh each other out. However, Rourke chooses to leave out that unlike the other hotels, half of the proceeds of one week goes to a fund set up for young filmmakers to apply for grants, and the other half goes directly to a charity for the homeless who are unsettled by all these people in their area. Rourke spent yesterday meeting with others in the city to set up areas and add another building where some of our homeless can go to sleep. My son is very good at only letting people see what he wants them to.”
“No, Mother, it’s more that I don’t care what others think of me enough to try and get them to see me any other way than what I am. What would you like for dessert?”
We’ve already lingered over dinner for more than two hours, so I’m not sure why I’m annoyed both women decline dessert in favor of ending the evening. This is actually good, I have shit to do. What I wanted to know, I have confirmed: Olivia is working out. My mother is the happiest I’ve seen her in years, so there isn’t a single reason why I should spend another minute with either of them.
Except as I pull into the garage and round the car to open the door for my mother, the sight of Olivia getting out of the car, her eyes wide as she looks up at me, stirs up a longing to stay. It’s that longing that has me handing the keys to my mother and refusing to go into the house as I walk to my own car without looking back. The roar of my car’s engine answers the roar of the blood in my veins. Driving away, I promise myself a long night buried in work so I can fall asleep without remembering the ghost of a smile that played on Olivia’s soft mouth.
***
Olivia
––––––––
I watch Rourke walk away and I can’t look away until the car is well out of sight. This is not fair, completely unfair that he just comes crashing into my day, my life, leaving me in all this turmoil, then leaves without even saying goodbye. Anger fills me as I go into the house through the garage. Cheryl is all the way down the hall, almost to her room.
“You have to give him time, dear. He’ll come around.”
Her words stop me cold. No. Crap, no way. I swallow hard. “Do you need help undressing?”
“No, thank you, dear. I am going to have a small shower though and get right into bed.”
“Please leave your door open then. I’m going to make some tea. Would you like some to help you sleep?” Cheryl didn’t like help bathing. Although it was required the first few weeks after the stroke, over the last week, with her physical therapy progressing, the help of a shower chair and a lot of careful patience, it wasn’t necessary.
“I am so tired I won’t need the tea.”
“Okay.” I put the kettle on to boil and go through the steps of making tea not because I want it but because I need something to do. I look into my room to see the bed is back in the center of the room where all of the paint and wallpaper was before. Turning around in the room, I’m really happy with the way it turned out. My comforter is red and gray while my sheets are a dark blue that goes well with the gray. I can imagine bookcases set up with all my books then flinch from the idea immediately. I can’t get too comfortable here. Not after dinner, a few hours I was sure would be miserable but weren’t, yet still made everything worse. Once my six months are up, I have to leave. If I even manage to make it that long unscathed.
“Good night, Olivia,” Cheryl calls before closing her door with a firm click. I wander out of my room; I can’t believe I stood in there for so long. Did the paint fumes get to me? Back in the kitchen I see it’s been almost an hour since we got home and my tea is cold.
I’m spurred by the need to cool off. I strip out of my dress and grab my old tattered toweling robe I only use for swimming. I have another I use for when I’m in the house. Usually I’m so inhibited about my fat ass I hate seeing myself naked in the bathroom, but when it comes to swimming naked I love it, mainly because I hate my swimming suit so much. It’s a basic black tankini to hold up my heaving stupid breasts. I’ll wear my swimsuit during the day, but at night I love how free it feels to swim naked with all the lights off except the pool lights and a lone dim light above the sliding glass door. It takes a minute to get the swimming cap on, to keep my hair from getting wet. The pool is salt water and heated and it feels absolutely delicious.
Well over an hour later, I’ve done so many laps my arms hurt and I’m still no closer to settling my chaotic mind. It’s almost eleven. I use the outdoor shower to rinse off the salt. Once I’m back in the house I go into my room to change into a long sleeping shirt and panties.
Going into Rourke’s room, my whole body tightens in need. The feeling is so foreign I’m confused by it. The room is him. Stark white walls, the window coverings heavy damask silk in a blue so dark it’s almost black. A large king four-poster bed in a dark wood is the entire focus of the room. It’s massive, heavy, with each post carved beautifully. While the sheets are a creamy white, the comforter matches the window covering. Hesitantly, I pull back the sheets then pull out the stepstool hidden beneath the bed so I can climb into it.
Once I’m on the bed, I feel like I’m on top of a mountain surveying the world around me. There is a lone dresser and a small closet. Okay, the bed is impressive and soft, crazy soft, but everything outside of it feels empty, without color. I’m surprised at the sudden sleepiness that hits me. I lie down then cover up with the silky sheet and comforter. I feel safe, secure, shockingly comfortable as I breathe in the scent of Rourke all around me. Leather, grass, rain, and something that is him alone. Closing my eyes, I slip into sleep instantly.