Chloe groaned, managing to maneuver her aching legs so the
heavy blanket slid partway off her lower body. A small sense of pride from the
movement, but she’d take it. God, what was that scent? She couldn’t consider it
good or bad until she assessed the food with her eyes. But she was too afraid
to open them, unwilling to let the world tilt beneath her again.
Half-tangled in
blanket, she slowly pushed herself up onto her elbows wincing when the leather
couch squeaked. The flesh of her back peeled away from the surface as if she’d
been sleeping on a bed of gum. What a lovely thought to wake up to. At least
she knew never to have a repeat of last night. She groaned and rubbed her
forehead with small, soothing circles.
Didn’t do a damn thing.
Fine, perhaps it was time to face the big bad. Besides her
throat was aching, sandpapery, and squeezed tight. With a deep inhale she eased
her eyelids open to face the day. Someone had gone ahead and closed all the
curtains over the large, open room’s floor to ceiling windows. Well—that was
nice of them.
Wait.
A prickle of apprehension tickled her lower back making her
pulse push harder against her temples.
How had she gotten on the couch? The man from last night—this sure as shit
didn’t look like any spa she’d ever set foot in—and she’d been to a lot
courtesy of a picky mother. No pamphlets lying out on the coffee table, no
check-in desk to welcome guests, no banner proclaiming some kind of healthy
living promotion. Not even a measly vase of fresh cut flowers.
All in all, the room was exactly like any other beach house
living room she’d ever been in, except for the lack of chipping paint, and the
sweet, tart scent of apples. Maybe her mother had given the driver the wrong
address? Because this house didn’t have enough rooms that she could see to even
begin to cover a spa’s wellness needs. Without another thought, she eased her
head between her legs taking deep breaths.
“So the cooking did wake you up? Good, I was wondering how
long I’d have to deal with your snoring. Anyone tell you your nasal passages
sound like the engine room of the Titanic?”
“Who are you?” she accused, sitting up fast enough that she
clawed at her knees with her fingernails to keep her vision from clouding over.
“I’m the guy who saved your ass last night. I’m also your
host for the next three days. And I made food. Looks like you won the morning
lottery.” He smirked.
He placed down two steaming plates on the coffee table in
the front of her, throwing the towels he used for potholders across the room.
At least the man knew world class hangover food. In front of them sat two
plates piled high with pancakes, fresh berries, whipped cream, and six slices
of bacon each on the side. Someone liked their protein, though she couldn’t
blame him. Bacon was totally a food group.
“Look’s good.”
“Well, you paid to be here. Part of the job description to
feed you.”
“Aren’t you a ray of sunshine in the morning.”
She cracked her neck and winced.
“Sorry, you get what you get until Polly comes back.” He
shrugged.
“Polly?”
She drew her gaze away from the mouthwatering food long
enough to frown. Taking a good, solid look at his face brought back a tangle of
memories from last night. But a majority of them took a backseat while she
studied the handsome stranger slash possible kidnapper. Her impression of him last night hadn’t been too off—he
was as tall as a damn lumberjack, at least 6’4. Lean and well-built, what her
mother’s trainer would call “naturally thin and trim” with confidence in his
words that didn’t play out in his body language.
He dug his hands firmly into a pair of wrinkled, faded
jeans. A fawn colored cable knit sweater brought out his large, walnut brown
eyes. Thin, black wire frame glasses, dark stubble, and a wiry mass of unruly
black hair completed the librarian look. From head to toe he was geek chic,
down to bare feet that, thankfully, were perfectly manicured. His eyes shot
back and forth, gaze never landing during her scrutiny, mouth tilted down in a
frown.
“I should go get the orange juice,” he cleared his throat,
turned on his heel, and walked through the door she assumed went into the
kitchen.
If she looked at him in the right light, with his glasses
off, his high cheekbones and long eyelashes made him look akin to a leading man
she’d seen in a Shakespeare movie a while ago. A play of Romeo and Juliet with
one of those waifish, blonde actresses dressing up as a man. All the while she
was secretly playing the leading man’s muse. Not much else rang a bell.
Chloe shrugged and picked up her fork. What was the harm in
chowing down and then calling a cab to drive her to the nearest airport? If she
played it safe for the next week she should have enough money in her savings to
get her back to NYC safe and sound. No way could her host argue, because he
didn’t exactly seem thrilled to have company. She heard the slap of male feet
on the hardwood as she tucked the first delicious bite into her mouth.
“Here we are.”
He put two garish plastic cups advertising some Atlantic
City hotel on the table.
“Who’s Polly?” Chloe re-asserted her previous question
covering her mouth full of pancakes.
“My sister. She runs this place.”
“And this place would be…what?”
“You’re all paid up for three days and you don’t know where
you are? Seriously?”
“Looks that way.”
He cocked his head to the side, licked his lips, and
shrugged. Watching him uncurl from his place in the large, overstuffed club
chair was kind of an Olympian feat. But it wasn’t nearly as entertaining as
watching his tight, delicious ass while he headed back into the kitchen with a
finger raised over his shoulder. One moment.
Yeah, with these pancakes half-way
devoured, she might not have many more of those left before it was time to
skedaddle.
He strolled back through swinging kitchen door with a smile
on his face a mile wide. Which was kind of nice. Okay, his pearly whites were a
little more than nice. Mainly because his eyes lit up behind his glasses,
leaving her wobbly knees in the pudding spectrum. But was lusting after some
rebound really in her best interest right now? Not when she was making tracks
the minute that last bite of syrupy deliciousness coursed down her throat.
Chloe nodded to herself, decided, while he slapped a pale
pink flyer down on top of the coffee table next to her plate. His knuckles were
sprinkled with tiny, golden hairs. Her gaze tracked back to the flyer as if
she’d been caught sneaking a glance.
Without further comment she watched out of the corner of her
eye as he deftly folded himself back up into the chair and took his plate into
his lap. How it all fit together in the small space must have been a balancing
wonder revered by the circus. She shot him a half-smile and tucked in the last
bite of pancake moving onto the bacon.
Before the strip made it halfway to her lips her mouth fell,
fingers slipping on grease, while the bacon lay unnoticed on the floor. A slap
of adrenaline made her blink a few times. No, no way. There had to be a
mistake. Her hands fisted into the sides of her hair and she bit the inside of
her cheek as a slice of pain flashed inside her mouth.
The Ex-Retreat
Clear the Mind to Cleanse Past Heartbreak
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