Page 54 of Castaway Whirlwind
Elliott grunts and shrugs his massive shoulders.
I poke Russell’s side. “Admit it. He scared you, too, didn’t he?”
That earns me a half-barked laugh out of Elliott. If I were in a better mood, I’d preen at the achievement.
“Who is that?” Cora asks, shushing Gauge as she rubs his back to soothe him when Russell goes to his brother, the two of them carrying on a low conversation as they fade into the shadows.
“Russell’s brother.” I move to the luggage, separating what’s mine from Cora and Max’s.
“Is he as rich as Russell?”
“Don’t know,” I say curtly, hefting Russell’s duffel bag over my shoulder.
“Why do you want to know?” Max asks innocently, though his hand tightens on the handle of his suitcase.
Rolling my two suitcases I stole from Steven toward Russell’s bedroom and heading off the tension brewing between Cora and Max, I tell them, “One of the rooms upstairs belongs to Russell’s son, but you can choose from any of the other three.”
Max’s right eye twitches. “How old is his son?”
Knowing my answer will lead to more questions or disapproval, I rush to say, “Twenty-one. Goodnight.”
The black herringbone tiles of the shower that take up nearly a third of the large bathroom glitter when I turn on the water. I strip and step inside as if I’ve done this a million times and this isno big deal, simply standing beneath the waterfall shower head, my muscles uncoiling beneath the hot water. And I stand there some more. Then even longer, staring through the spotless glass door, waiting for Russell to join me with mounting disappointment that I most definitely shouldn’t feel after he’s done so much for me today.
Though the water never cools as it does at my apartment, I eventually give up waiting for him and actually wash myself. Wrapped in a fluffy towel afterward, I sort through my luggage until I find my toiletries, then neatly set them up between the double sinks on the natural stone vanity and begin the tedious process of drying my curls.
I step through the door to Russell’s closet,oohingandahhingat the spacious interior. Russell’s shirts and jackets hang neat and tidy next to a wall of cowboy and work boots, some nicerthan others. “Fancy,” I murmur to myself when I pick up a particularly expensive, gleaming pair of brown boots with a pointier toe that I’ve never seen him wear.
I didn’t get a chance to snoop earlier, and since Russell hasn’t returned, I take my time poking through his drawers, blushing when I find the one containing his boxer briefs and socks. The drawer beside it brings a rush of heat to my cheeks and lower belly. Nightgowns in silk, lace, and cotton in every color imaginable—all of them with their price tags still attached—are neatly folded within, the other half of the drawer devoted to sexy underwear that are little more than tiny scraps of fabric. The three drawers below it are as empty as Russell’s kitchen cabinets.
Questions burn at the back of my mind when I drop my towel and slip into the pastel pink silk nightgown from the top of the pile and rip the tag off:whendid he buy these? Three years ago when we met? Two, when he moved in? Or the first time he saw me in one of my old nightgowns? Any of those options has me fighting the sudden, urgent need to slip my fingers between my thighs.
I’m still alone in the bedroom when I slide into Russell’s plush bed, the dark beyond the glass doors unnerving me the longer I remain alone. I toss and turn, trying to ignore the creepy feeling like I’m being watched, my muscles tense as if ready to throw myself off the bed should another rock come sailing through the glass again.
Within thirty minutes, I’m so spooked that I slide out of bed and rifle through my suitcases until I find my white teddy bear. I recoil when I bring it to my nose, though, my adrenaline spiking at its familiar scent. It’s like saying a final goodbye to a family member when I shove it back in my suitcase beneathmy clothes, then tiptoe out of the bedroom and up the stairs. I take one of the spare bedrooms that faces the backyard but doesn’t unnerve me as much, leaving the door open a crack so Russell can find me.
At the window, I scan the yard, too keyed up to fall asleep yet, until I see Russell and Elliott walking across the lawn from the right side of the house, stopping near the pool with their heads bent toward each other.
* * *
Russell
Elliott’s keen eyes shift about, even though we double-checked that the house and property were clear. “I had my suspicions. Started looking into it before you sent me that text.”
“Should’ve known,” I say, hooking my thumbs in my belt loops. “Find anything?”
“They’re from the same county, though their ages are off. Different circles. I’ll keep looking.” He darts a look over my head, narrowing his eyes at a second-floor window. “Think your woman’s waiting for you.”
Elliott shouldn’t be able to see Layla in the bedroom, even at night with any of the lights on, after I dug deep into my pockets to have every door and window retinted in one day. My dick jumps at the thought of Layla waiting for me in bed.
I clap my brother on his arm. “Best get to it, then. Thanks for sticking around so much. I know you’d rather be out on the road.”
“Eh,” is all he says, then disappears into the pitch-black woods that separate his property from mine, carrying his shotgun in both hands, ready for anything he might meet in the dark.
Layla is asleep on her side facing the window, farthest away from the door, by the time I set the house alarm and make it upstairs, sliding under the covers beside her in my clean sweatpants. I want to sweep back the short strands of hair that have fallen over her cheek, but I fear if I do that, I won’t be able to stop touching her.
I’m treading water in a deep well of agony as I lie on my back and stare up at the ceiling fan with my hands crossed under my head to prevent them from drifting toward her. I did more than just touch her while she was asleep last night. I took what I wanted from her body when she couldn’t consent after she’s already suffered so much with Steven.
I taught my son thatthe absence of no doesn’t mean yeswhen we had the birds and the bees talk. So why couldn’t I stick to it myself? I have half a mind totake care of myselfaftertaking careof Steven when he gets out of prison. If her dad weren’t already dead, I’d do the favor for him, too.
