I walk through the house, giving it one final look before grabbing my purse, checking to make sure I have my cell phone, and stepping out onto the front porch and locking the door behind me.
“You owe me for this,” I mutter to Faith.
“Call me if you run into trouble,” she tells me.
“Besides the one that’s—” I grind my teeth as I watch Spade drop into the driver’s seat. “This whole fucking trip will be nothing but trouble.”
“You’ll need this,” Faith says, holding out a manilla folder.
“Thank you,” I tell her with as much genuine gratitude I can muster right now because I am thankful. It’s just difficult right now to express it through my annoyance.
In my pettiness, I walk as slowly as I can to the passenger side of my car, trying not to grin when I see him struggling with getting the seat back far enough so he isn’t folded in half like a taco.
I’d never tell him this, but I wasn’t looking forward to the drive this evening. I was dreading having to focus on the road for three long hours as much as I’m not looking forward to knocking on Naomi’s door and telling her that if she can’t get her shit together quickly, I’m going to have to sell the house.
Instead of speaking to him, I climb into the car and plug in my cell phone, pulling up the address on theMapapp.
He grumbles about my car being too fucking tiny, but I ignore him. His attendance isn’t something I asked for, and I feel no need to make accommodations nor excuses for his comfort.
That’s how the entire trip is spent, in complete silence with only the navigation giving direction on occasion.
It should be relaxing, but I’m more wound up as we draw closer to Telluride than I was seeing him on his bike in my driveway.
Chapter 8
Spade
Silence doesn’t bother me. It never has. I prefer it over small talk any day.
The clubhouse is always noisy. Not necessarily in a bad way, but when there are so many people in the same space, it’s difficult to get a moment alone without spending it in my room. So the quiet of the drive was a welcomed one.
What did bother me on the trip into Colorado is how fucking aware I am of her.
Her scent invaded my nose the second she closed herself inside, and it isn’t like overpowering perfume or body spray. The clean soap smell has taunted me for hours, my body betraying me, begging me to lean over and press my nose to her neck and breathe her in deeper.
I know I pulled my eyes from the road a million times, cocking them sideways with each micro-movement of her body. If her fingers moved on her lap, I noticed it. If she shifted an inch in her seat, I bore witness. If she turned her head to read a road sign, I was looking at the delicate skin of her neck.
Hell, she didn’t even have to move for my eyes to drift to her prim little pencil skirt and that tease of a fucking slit up her thigh. I was told we were leaving later in the evening because she couldn’t leave town until she got off work. I know from the smell circling around me that she showered. So why in the hell is she in a pencil skirt. I’d think she wore it to drive me fucking insane—which she is—but it was clear when she saw me in her driveway, she had no damn clue I was told I had to accompany her on this trip. I guess I could’ve argued with Kincaid because being with her every second for the next couple of days doesn’t exactly fit into my plans of getting her out of my head, but when the boss says go,yes, siris the only valid response.
I think I hate myself more than she does by the time her navigation directs me to pull up to a small house.
I close my eyes when I put the car in park, trying to take a second to get her scent and that damn pencil skirt out of my head. I’ve never had a single fucking dirty secretary fantasy in my life, but I’d be lying if I said a few didn’t play out in my head on the drive here.
My eyes snap open when her door opens and closes just as quickly. She walks toward the front door of the house, not bothering with her suitcase and overnight bag I placed in the trunk.
I jump out, confused at her going right up to the front door and opening it like she owns the place because it was my understanding that we were going to deal with her shit-stain of a cousin tomorrow. Maybe she wants to get back to Farmington faster. Maybe she’s honestly just as annoyed as I am with this whole thing.
I doubt she wants to settle this shit between us on my dick like I’ve been considering as the best solution, but hey, we can’t all be full of good ideas.
Refusing to knock because I’m here to protect her, I shove open the front door, drawing my brows in confusion when I find a front desk rather than a regular home like I’d anticipated.
Did I miss a sign out front or something?
A clerk is on the other side of a large window cut out in the wall, eyeing me as I step closer to Sylvie.
“We don’t have any vacancies.”
“I’m with her.” I hitch a thumb in Sylvie’s direction as if it’s not obvious who I mean.