The Gamble (Colorado Mountain #1)(9)

I pulled on my underwear and the pair of jeans I bought that Niles shook his head at when I showed them to him. Niles didn’t understand the jeans or the other stuff I bought for my rustic, timeout adventure to Colorado, thinking my purchases would help me fit in with the natives. Niles wore suits to work and large whale corduroys and cashmere sweaters when he was relaxed and at home. I’d never seen him in jeans and definitely not faded, secondhand jeans.

I’d bought them specifically for my Colorado adventure in a secondhand clothing store on Park Street in Bristol that specialized in vintage American clothes. They were faded and there was a tear in the back pocket, the threads bleached white, and I thought they looked hip. They also fit like they were made for me and they made my somewhat generous behind look good. Therefore, I loved them.

I paired them with a wide, tan belt and my lilac, long-sleeved t-shirt that had fitted sleeves so long they came over my wrists and had a boat neck that was so wide sometimes it fell off my shoulder.

Then I gathered all my stuff and walked out of the bathroom and smelled bacon cooking and saw that the dirty sheets had been taken away.

I closed my eyes slowly.

I should probably not have taken time to strip the bed though that would have been rude.

And maybe I should have left out lotioning and, probably, standing under the strong, hot spray of the shower for a full five minutes, just letting the water wash over me and bring me back to life.

Well Max was home and I had no choice, I’d have to thank him in person. No, I’d have to face him, tall, amazing-looking, gravelly-voiced Max Whatever-His-Last-Name-Was who had seen me mostly na**d and took care of me while I was sick then I’d have to thank him in person.

Get it over with, Charlie would say to me. Always good to do the shit stuff fast, get it out of the way.

Charlie, as ever (if he’d been there but, unfortunately, he was not), was right.

I sighed, threw Max’s t-shirt on the armchair and dumped my toiletries in my bag. Then in bare feet I walked to the spiral staircase and descended.

When I hit the living room I saw him standing at the stove, his back to me. He was wearing another thermal, no flannel this time. It was wine colored and it fit him perfectly. Maybe a bit too perfectly. You could even see some of his muscles defined through the shirt and there appeared to be a lot of them. He was again wearing faded jeans. The waves of his thick hair at the back were just as perfect as they were from the front. Maybe even more perfect. Maybe even his hair was the definition of perfection.

I was five feet from the bar when he turned, fork in hand.

His gray eyes hit me, they did a sweep from head to toe and back again, he smiled and I stopped moving.

“She lives,” he said in his strangely attractive, gravelly voice.

His eyes and his voice both felt physical, like a touch, a nice one. I felt blood rush to my cheeks as I lifted my hand to my hair and found it wet and slicked back, so I dropped my hand and my head and, looking at my feet, I mumbled, “Sorry.”

“For what?” he asked and I looked at him again.

“For –”

“You inject yourself with a flu bug?”

“No.”

“Shit happens,” he muttered and turned back to the stove.

Well, I had to admit, shit definitely happened. Though not much shit happened to me anymore. I did my best to avoid that for a good long while but it used to happen to me and I knew it still happened because I heard from my friends when shit happened to them.

“Anyway, I’ll just –”

“Sit down,” he ordered, dropping the fork on the counter and moving to the fridge.

“I’m sorry?”

He had the fridge open but he looked at me. “Sit down.”

“I thought I’d –”

“You need juice,” he declared and pulled out what appeared to be the cranberry juice I bought in Denver.

“Really, I should just –”

He closed the fridge and pinned me with his eyes. “Duchess, sit your ass down.”

Well. What did I say to that?

I didn’t know but I started, “Max –”

“Ass on a stool or I’ll put it on a stool.”

Was he serious?

“Max, I need to –”

“Eat.”

“I’m sorry?”

“You need to eat. You haven’t had anything in two days.”

I forgot about him being somewhat rude and definitely domineering and felt my head move forward with a jerk at the same time I felt my eyes grow wide.

“What?” I whispered.

“You been out of it for two days.”

I looked out the window as if the landscape could tell me this was false (or true). Then my eyes went back to Max.

“Two days?”

“Yep.”

“It’s Tuesday?”

“Yep.”

“Oh my God,” I whispered.

“Sit down, Nina.”

Too shocked by the knowledge that I’d lost two whole days of my timeout adventure, without another word I moved forward and sat down on a stool. Max poured me a glass of cranberry juice and set it on the counter in front of me then he moved away.

“Coffee,” I muttered, “please.”

“Gotcha.”

“Two days,” I whispered to my cranberry juice before I took a sip.