Fairytale Come Alive (Ghosts and Reincarnation #4)(71)

Prentice needed a whisky.

In case he received a middle of the night phone call with bad news that would necessitate him being alert, he’d refrained since Sally had her accident.

With Sally home recovering, still in possession of all her important faculties, now asleep in bed and with Elle knocking herself out to care for him, his offspring and his home, including throwing a welcome home party for his injured daughter as well as sleeping in a bed not far away from him, he needed a f**king whisky.

He was considering what to do about Elle as he poured it.

This was a departure since for the past week when he wasn’t worried about Sally, Jason and getting the work done on a deadline that was fast approaching, he normally spent his time considering all the things he’d like to do to Elle.

Regardless of the fact that she still looked exhausted and was losing weight mainly because the woman kept so busy she didn’t f**king eat, not to mention the fact that she’d left him and his family four weeks ago without looking back and for reasons only known in that crazy f**king head of hers, he couldn’t deny that he was attracted to her.

He didn’t want to be attracted. He wanted to be over it and move on, as she clearly was.

But he was attracted to her.

Very attracted.

In fact, he thought about this so often and there were so many different options, his mind had automatically started cataloguing the things he wanted to do to her. Where he wanted to put his mouth, his hands, his fingers, the different positions he wanted to try, the various rooms and furniture available.

Christ, it consumed him.

He’d never experienced anything like it, not even twenty years ago.

Then again, he hadn’t had her twenty years ago.

He was replacing the bottle when he heard, “Prentice?”

His eyes cut to the door of his study.

Elle stood there wearing jeans that fit her too well (even if she had lost weight) and a stylish but see-through purple blouse with tiny pleats down the front and a camisole he could see underneath. Her feet were bare, her hair was in a messy bunch that had slid to the back of her head and she’d taken off her jewelry but still wore her makeup.

She looked like she could be photographed for a magazine.

Instead, she was casually standing in the doorway of his study in his home gazing at him with soft, weary eyes and, if he took six steps, she could be in his arms.

On that tempting thought and to take his mind from it, his eyes fell to her hands something he didn’t realize he habitually did and he saw she was not clenching them in fists (something he did realize she habitually did) but she was carrying a magazine.

“Is something on your mind?” he asked, his gaze going back to her tired face.

“Um…” she started then she stopped.

This annoyed him.

The first time she came back she seemed cool and in control except, of course, when they were bickering but even then she’d seemed in control.

This time she seemed less sure of herself, more hesitant and it irritated him because it made her warmer, more approachable and unbelievably appealing.

He watched as she looked to the ceiling then asked, “Is Sally okay?”

“Aye.”

Her gaze came to him and her head tipped to the side. “Jason?”

“Aye.”

“Are you okay, um… after all of this?”

He liked it that she asked. Especially since she asked in a way that indicated she cared.

That familiar heavy, warm feeling hit his gut.

He ignored it and repeated, “Aye.”

She stopped speaking then she took in a breath.

With little patience, wanting to be out of her presence, wanting to be outside with his whisky, Prentice asked, “Elle, what’s on your mind?”

She swallowed and then ran the tip of her tongue along her upper lip. His body responded strongly to the sight of her tongue.

More of his low volume of patience ebbed away.

“Elle, I’m tired. I want to wind down after –”

“I have something to show you,” she said quickly, taking two steps into the room before she halted. Then he watched as she visibly lost courage, looked at his whisky and asked, “Can I have one of those?”

Careful to shield his still ebbing patience, he poured her a whisky. They walked toward each other, closing the distance between them and he handed it to her.

She took it and belted back a healthy swig.

Too healthy.

After she swallowed, her mouth dropped open, she sucked in breath as if it burned and tears sprang to her eyes.

“It’s meant to be sipped,” Prentice advised but as he was talking she took another healthy swig.

He stared in surprise.

This was something the crazy Elle who was friends with the mad Annie would do twenty years ago.

They’d get up to anything.

Much like her comment earlier about voting to push Annie off the cliff.

Elle and Annie, twenty years ago, would say practically anything as well (Annie still would), most of it hilarious.

She finished the whisky on a third swig, shut her eyes tight and winced.

When she opened her eyes to look at him, she breathed, “Good stuff.”

God, she was cute when she behaved like this. And he didn’t need cute Elle sleeping under his roof either.

No, he especially didn’t need that.