With a jerk, she stepped back, mumbling, “I have to get my tights and boots.”
I drifted behind her, standing in the doorway of her bedroom, struck dumb. When she swung the door shut in my face I was still standing there.
I’d been right, her bedroom was a hedonist’s dream. Like the rest of her apartment, it was a kaleidoscope of color, but all I could remember was the bed. Fuck, that bed. It was burned into my brain. It had to be a king-size, though I didn’t want to consider why Hope would need a bed that big. Definitely an antique. Fashioned of heavy brass with four posters, Hope had piled it with pillows, covering the whole thing with a thick blue velvet duvet.
She’d look like a princess in that bed. And, of course, my perverted brain immediately thought about the convenience of that brass frame, of tying her to the bed and joining her there. Touching. Tasting. Making her beg. That was the kind of bed we could lose a weekend in.
That bed was coming to Heartstone Manor.
I was still a little stunned—and more than a little aroused—by the time Hope emerged, tugging up the zipper on her knee-high boot.
Have mercy. The red dress and those boots were going to kill me.
Swallowing hard, I tried to play off the lust practically choking me. “Let’s get a move on. I want to hear whatever Edgar has to say and then get some breakfast. We still have to go by Harvey’s and then face the house before we drive to Atlanta.”
The thought of the day ahead chased the lust from my brain. I hadn’t calle d anyone in Atlanta to let them know what was going on. I wasn’t ready to see them, to set in motion the end of that life and the beginning of this one.
I didn’t have a choice. Or, rather, I’d already made my choice. Now, I just had to see it through. It tugged at me as I ushered Hope from the apartment, locking the door behind us.
I wanted to go home. I didn’t want to stay here, to take my father’s place, to deal with my siblings. I didn’t want any of it. But when I imagined chucking it all and going home to Atlanta, I kept seeing Hope by my side.
Wouldn’t it be ironic if, in trying to punish me, my father ended up giving me the one thing I never knew I wanted? The one thing I needed most?
He would have hated that.
At that thought, a genuine smile spread across my face for the first time since I’d arrived back in Sawyers Bend.
Chapter Eleven
Griffen
Edgar had his office in a brick building a block from the town hall. Hope was quiet on the ride there, staring out the window and fidgeting with the ends of her sleeves. I followed her into the lobby, bumping into her as she swung open the office door and stopped abruptly. A woman sat behind the desk in the outer office, her hair in a steel gray bob, a pen tucked behind her ear.
“Can I help you?” she asked.
Hope didn’t appear to have a response. I nudged her in the back, not sure what was going on. Finally, she swallowed hard and said in a choked voice, “Who are you? What are you doing at my desk?”
The woman rose from her seat and held out a hand, appearing unruffled by Hope’s question. “I’m Peggy Carmody. Mr. Daniels interviewed me for the position a few days ago. You must be Hope. He’s expecting you. As requested, I put your things together.”
I noticed a cardboard box on the edge of the desk, the leaves of a plant sticking out of the top. What the fuck? I knew Edgar was cold, but this… Hope looked from the box to Peggy Carmody. Drawing in a deep breath, she turned to me. Her eyes were blank, all emotion locked away.
In a cool, perfectly-controlled voice, she said to me, “Would you sit out here for a moment?” Not giving me a chance to answer, she strode to Edgar’s office door.
Peggy moved as if to stop her, then appeared to think better of it. Maybe I should have taken a seat and waited, but I followed Hope, lingering on the other side of the door, close enough to eavesdrop.
“Can I get you anything?” Peggy asked, the sound of her voice drowning out whatever Hope was saying to Edgar.
“No. Be quiet or get out,” I said. She shut up. I listened. I couldn’t catch everything.
I’d planned to let Hope handle Edgar herself, but when I heard him demand, “What the hell are you wearing? You look ridiculous,” I changed my mind.
Shoving open the door, I found Edgar rising from behind his desk, scowling at Hope. She stood in front of him, her spine so stiff I thought it might break, her face completely blank. Her expression showed nothing, but her eyes were fractured pain. How could Edgar not see it? His glance flicked to me, and he sank back into his seat with a sigh of satisfaction.