Page 46 of No Control

I slip through the crack of the door, ignoring the face she makes as I close it behind me. “What can I help you with?”

She blinks a couple of times, still staring at the now-closed off entrance to the cave. “I...”

“You...?” I catch a whiff of her jasmine vanilla perfume and breathe it in as I wait for her to say something. “I know you walked up here for some reason, Lydia.”

She nods, her eyes dropping to her feet for a moment and then back up to mine. “There are people outside putting up a fence.”

I shrug. “Yes. I hired them to do that. I said I would.”

Her brows furrow. “Why?”

“It’ll make things easier for you and your dog.”

“His name is Duke.”

“Okay, for you and Duke.” I give her a terse smile and head toward the stairs, hoping she’ll follow. I don’t have a rule about her coming up here, but I’d rather she not. There’re too many truths that could come out, and my career is the least of them.

“Can you take the cost of the fence out of my pay?” Lydia’s footsteps chase after me. “I don’t want it to set you back.”

“You’re not setting me back, and no, I won’t,” I say, keeping my eyes focused as I make it to the kitchen. The sun is setting already, and so I guess it’s time we discuss the book she’s supposed to be writing. I reach into the cabinet above the stainless-steel fridge and retrieve a bottle of scotch and two glasses.

“I don’t drink.”

I stop as I unscrew the cap. “Interesting.”

Lydia’s teeth dig into the flesh of her bottom lip as she watches me, as if I’m going to ask her why she doesn’t drink. “It makes me feel terrible.”

“It makes a lot of people feel terrible,” I chuckle, swallowing a mouthful of the burning liquid. I leave the second glass empty, making a mental note to never offer her some again.

“It messes with my blood sugar.”

“Are you diabetic?”

She wrinkles her nose at me. “Um, no. I’m not. That was all they could come up with. I went to the hospital when I was eighteen, a freshman in college.”

“Hmm.” I purse my lips as I refill my glass. “You didn’t drink until you were eighteen?”

She meets my gaze as I lift my glass, placing it to my lips. “No, I didn’t. My parents were strict. I had it in my head that I could try out partying when I went to college. As it turns out, I was born to be a designated driver.”

I chuckle again, and her soft pink lips curl into a smile. “I bet your friends appreciated that.”

“They did at the time, probably. But I don’t seem to keep friends for very long—except Emma. But I didn’t meet her until I was twenty-six.”

She’s an open book.

And I fucking love it. I can appreciate the openness of someone, especially when I’m the polar opposite. Though, for Lydia, I might change. Eventually.

“Why don’t you keep friends?” I lean against the counter as Lydia’s eyes stayed glued to me. I run my gaze over her body, taking in her black baggy T-shirt and pale legs clad in a pair of mid-thigh denim shorts. She’s a modest girl—and I can appreciate that.

But for me, she won’t be allowed to be.

A blush grows across her cheeks and visibly, her quads grow taught, her muscles tensing. Her finger trails down the white granite as she takes a deep breath, her eyes moving away and flickering to the backyard. The wrought iron picket fence I had installed today is done, and she stares as the men pack up their things.

“Well?” I quip, folding my arms across my chest.

“Sorry,” she whips her head back to me, the crimson hue even deeper than before. “It’s just a beautiful fence. It pairs well with the house.”

I nod, fighting the urge to touch her, force her attention to remain on me. “So, why don’t you have friends?”

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