Beneath the Scars (Masters of the Shadowlands #13)(84)
“Holt.” She looked up at him, had a moment to see the pleasure in his gaze, and then his lips were on hers and he kissed her with all his devastating skill. When she sagged against him, he took her weight with an approving hum.
“I can’t leave Carson alone.”
“Does that mean you’re inviting me over to your house?” He had a wicked glint in his eyes.
“You know, Master Holt, you’re awfully sneaky.”
“I am. And I can’t think of anything nicer than spending the evening with you both.”
The sincerity in his smooth voice shook something deep inside her, and it took her a moment to recover and keep her tone light as she said, “You’re not fooling me, Sir. You simply want someone to serve you your food, don’t you?”
He brushed the backs of his fingers over her cheek. “Yes, sweetheart. I’d like that very much.”
Chapter Seventeen
On Thursday, Josie poured herself a glass of sparkling cider left from yesterday’s Christmas dinner. As she walked down the hall to her office, her footsteps echoed in the empty house.
Since Carson had winter break from school, she’d agreed he could spend the night at Isaac’s house. Their move to this part of Citrus Park meant her boy didn’t get to see his buddy often. Although Carson had new friends, it would be a shame to lose the old ones.
Like Josie had lost hers. Because of Pa. She shook her head. After Mama left them, her father had decided Josie spent too much time on “frivolous” activities like being with her friends, and her friendships had soon withered from lack of contact. She’d do her best to keep that from happening with Carson and Isaac.
Even if it meant the house felt hollow-hearted. She frowned. Funny, she never thought much about Mama—her abandonment had cut deep. Her mother had always been busy, a whirlwind of noise and activity, singing and humming, cooking and cleaning. After Mama ran off, their house had been cold. Unhappy. Josie’d come to hate empty houses.
Josie and Carson’s apartment buildings had been filled with noise, and she never felt totally alone, even when Carson started school. Maybe that was why she’d never wanted to move into a real house before.
For a couple of hours, she worked on her book, right up until Laurent started flirting with Tigre. Again. The heroine sure wasn’t listening when Josie scolded her and said, “No romance.”
Frustrated, she abandoned the manuscript and took a shower instead. Only her long hot shower turned into a short one when she started thinking about empty houses and knives and Psycho.
Having an active imagination had a serious downside.
Grumpily, she pulled on her great-uncle’s old work shirt and pajama shorts—her comfort clothes—and stomped into the living room. Watching a movie by herself wasn’t appealing. Maybe Oma would want to have some hot chocolate or… No, Oma wasn’t home. This was her church group night.
The woman had a better social life than Josie did.
Josie huffed a laugh. When she grew up, she wanted to be Oma. A brilliant career, a loving marriage before losing her husband to a heart attack, then working overseas for years, and… Josie’s smile faded. In a way, Oma had taken those international assignments to escape her own empty house.
Josie looked around the living room. Last night, Holt had been on that couch, arm around Josie’s shoulders, teasing Carson about the excessive collateral damage in a car chase scene. The evening had felt…different…with him there. Fuller. Richer.
What would it be like to have a man around? Someone to talk with in the evenings, to cuddle up to on the couch. To cook for and have the joy of seeing him enjoy the meal she’d made. She didn’t need a guy, not for doing chores or fixing things—she’d learned how to do stuff herself and to hire people when needed.
It was tough to hire someone to assuage loneliness, though.
Or to help with parenting. That was a biggie. She got so tired of making all the decisions. Like earlier when she’d tried to decide whether to let Carson spend the night with Isaac. And when she was trying to figure out why her boy was being so quiet and whether she should try to discuss his moods or leave him alone. It was…scary…to be a single parent.
It was even scarier to realize she was whining and dragging her mood even lower. With a grunt of exasperation, she abandoned the hollow-sounding house and went outside.
Here was noise. Finding a smile, she walked over to the tall maple and leaned against the trunk. Frogs croaked in the ditch behind the fence. With quiet cheeps, birds were settling in for the night. A hum of traffic came from the distant highway. She could hear a sitcom’s laugh track from Percy’s house next door. Rock music drifted from across the street with occasional discordant notes. Wedge was practicing his bass guitar.
Small neighborhoods were never truly silent. And she’d been lucky in her neighbors. Even the dominating, Harley-owning hottie was quiet. Smiling, she glanced over the fence. She’d hoped he might come over after he got off work, but his windows were dark. Maybe he went somewhere else.
As she turned, she spotted a motionless form on his patio.
Intending to tease him about his silence, she wandered closer to the fence and frowned. Usually, he sat on his patio with his feet up, head tilted back to enjoy every moment of being outside. Tonight, he was hunched forward, leaning on his forearms with his head down.