I was going to make the bed for him, had actually leaned over about to begin that process, but instead I tossed the bedding at the bottom right bunk and pushed past him, actually shouldering his chest in the narrow space between the bunks.
“Sweet dreams,” I grumbled and gave him a high middle finger as I headed out of the room.
Suddenly, the door shut in front of me. He pushed it shut with his hand over my head. I bristled.
His arm hooked around my waist from behind me.
“Gonna sneak in here tonight, too?” he asked against the ridge of my ear, pulling my back against him.
My nipples went hard, and goosebumps rose everywhere. I ignored it. Or tried. Common sense won over because I hadn’t forgotten the way I’d felt when he’d thrust me into the hallway after pulling the fire alarm.
“No.”
“No?”
He felt my shiver; he didn’t believe my no.
Was that humor in his voice? Because it sounded like humor mixed with a warning for some weird reason. And fuck, this room felt claustrophobic to me right now.
“You like to be on top or on the bottom?” he asked in a deep voice that vibrated directly between my legs.
“Fuck off,” I said sweetly.
“Thought you seemed tenacious, but you already gave up?” he asked, his voice husky.
My lungs and sinuses burned, and I fought to keep my voice even as I replied. “You made your feelings about me trying to get your attention pretty fucking clear. What’re you doin’ right now?” I asked, trying to shrug him off me. “You testing to see if despite treating me like shit, I come back for more? Because you’d be wrong in that assumption.”
His arm around my waist tightened. I looked down and saw his bare forearm. I’d seen when I woke that he was in his leather cut and wearing a grey long-sleeved t-shirt, shoved up to his elbows.
Why was his forearm so beautiful? Thick veins and a light dusting of golden blond hair; a black hair tie and leather gimp bracelet around his wrist. What the fuck was he trying to do here?
“You sure you wanna be let go?” he whispered against the ridge of my ear. His beard was touching my skin.
“You had your chance, Forker.”
“No second chances?” he asked. “What if I want one?”
“So, how about you do the chasin’ for a bit and we’ll just have to wait ‘n see if I let you catch me.”
“My chances good?”
His hold tightened and he kissed behind my ear.
And for some reason, it infuriated me.
“Not very fucking likely.”
I thrust my elbow backwards and heard him grunt as I connected with his gut.
I guess he took a step back, because his heat was no longer felt at my back and his hand was no longer pressed against the door so I yanked it open, stormed out of the room, and went directly to my room, slamming my door. I immediately twisted the lock on the doorknob. I was furious. What the fuck was that?
I couldn’t wrap my head around it, so I started making my own bed. When my task was accomplished, I realized my phone was out in the great room, so I went back out and tidied up my mess before going to the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge.
“Jojo.” He was now in the kitchen with me.
I glared at him.
His eyes moved from my feet to my face and he smirked.
“Nice outfit,” he said.
I sucked on my teeth and leveled him with my best dirty look.
“You mighta been intimidating with that look on your face if you weren’t wearin’ polka dots and Pom Pom socks.”
“What do you want, Forker?”
He scoffed. “So, I’m Forker now. Not Christian?”
I ignored that and how the tone of his voice made my belly take a swoop. What I wanted to say was ‘yeah, because Forker sounds like fucker and that’s what you are. A fucker.’ But I didn’t say it, because as silence stretched between us, his face was gentle.
I had to get out from under the uncomfortable spotlight it felt like I was under.
“What’s your problem?” he asked, finally, looking perplexed.
Was he for real?
“My problem? I came up here to get away from my problems. One of them just decided to fucking show up.”
He stared, expression unreadable to me, one eyebrow up. Way up. I flung my hands up in the air animatedly.
“There’s beer in the fridge. 7-up. Sandwich stuff I brought up, potato salad. Help yourself.” I gestured to the fridge. “I woulda been an accommodating hostess making the bed and making you a sandwich if you hadn’t decided to be an asshole. Excuse me, please.”
He did not move. He stared at me and if I wasn’t mistaken, he looked a little bit puzzled.
“Are you gonna move?” I snapped.
“I’d rather stand here ‘n watch you make me a sandwich,” he said, deadpan.
I narrowed my eyes at him.
“And I fucked up. If I’d kept my mouth shut, coulda watched you bend over to make my bed.”
I folded my arms across my chest.
His eyes dropped to my cleavage.
“I’m about two seconds from stomping on your foot,” I informed.
He looked down and chuckled.
And the deep baritone of it made the little hairs on the back of my neck stand up. It was a nice sound. His massive shoulders jiggling as he did made it even nicer.
“That wouldn’t get you the best results since you’re in Pom Pom socks and I’m in steel-toed boots.”
“Well, I’d make the effort anyway. Move.”
He stared.
“You wanted to make it clear you didn’t want my attention, so I stop giving it and now you’re bein’ like this? What the fuck is this?” I snapped.
His cockiness melted off his face. He moved just enough for me to get by.
I stomped back down the hall with my phone and the charging cord and slammed the door and went to bed.
But, did I sleep?
Not for hours.
Hours I tossed. Hours I stared into the void. I heard kitchen sounds at first and knew he was making a sandwich. And then I heard the water running in the kitchen, the water running in the bathroom, the toilet flushing, the sound of him going down the basement stairs, and then coming back up immediately before the sound of him directly across the hall.
I needed noise. I needed one of those noise machine things or something because with no television in the room, I was listening for any noise and listening far too much to the noise in my own head.
I turned over and threw the blanket over my head.
And then my phone rang.
I answered it in the dark. It was 3:31 AM.
Deacon calling…
I debated letting it go to voicemail, but found I just couldn’t. It could be an emergency. It could also be that he was worried about me and I didn’t want him to be.
“Hello?” I croaked out before clearing my throat.
“You good?” my brother’s voice sounded hoarse, too.
“Not really.”
“Couldn’t sleep. Did I wake you up?” he asked.
“No.”
“You at the cabin?”
“Yeah.”
“Be safe,” he said softly.
“Mm hm.” I said, feeling myself get choked up.
“Really fuckin’ pissed at you, little sister. But, it’s because we love you and we don’t want nothin’ hurtin’ you. You’re a gorgeous girl and this calendar is gonna bring a lot of unwanted attention. Likely, it’ll bring all of us some bruised knuckles, too. We don’t want more enemies right now, especially with not knowing what’s up with the enemy we already got.”