Kiss and Don't Tell(26)

“And why doesn’t she want you?”

“Not talking about it,” he says. “That’s not why I came out here.”

“Okay, then why did you come out here?”

“Your friend—”

“Winnie. She has a name.”

“Well, Winnie hasn’t said ‘thank you’ to me yet.”

Jesus Christ.

“Probably because she’s terrified of you. Ever think of that? Also, I don’t think she’s left her room all day because she doesn’t want to be a nuisance. She doesn’t want to bother us.”

“It bothers me more knowing she’s here but not here.”

“You’re impossible, you realize that?” I stand from my lounger because I’m not lying here anymore. “Do you know if dinner is done?”

“Do I look like a triangular bell that announces dinner? I have no fucking clue what Stephan is doing in there.”

Not in the mood to argue with Taters, I pick up my water bottle and head for the house. I push the sliding glass door open and am immediately assaulted with a mouth-watering aroma.

Stephan has a bunch of steaks on a plate, lightly seasoned. Roasted potatoes are fresh from the oven, I can still see the steam coming off them, and there’s a large salad brimming with vegetables in a bowl on the island.

Taters can really be a dick, but he also takes care of us, and one of the ways he does that is making sure we’re well fed. I am worried about him, though. I have no clue what it’s like to lose someone you love who’s been in your life for so many years. You don’t just get over it. But he needs to find a way to move forward and not stay . . . ruined. And I have no idea how to help him with that.

“Hey, just the guy I was looking for. Do you know how Winnie takes her steak?” Stephan asks.

“Uh, no.”

“Do you know if she eats steak?”

“No.”

“Do you think you can find out?” Stephan laughs.

I pull on the back of my neck. “Sure.”

I set my water bottle down on the counter and head toward her room, wondering when I became her handler. Hornsby was the one who was adamant about her staying first. I just got sucked into it.

When I make it to her room, I lightly knock on her door. When I don’t hear anything, I knock again.

Nothing.

Did she . . . leave?

I glance down the hallway to the entryway and spot her shoes. I don’t think she’d leave without those, so I knock again. When I still don’t hear anything, I wonder if she’s asleep.

I guess only one way to find out.

I test the doorknob gingerly. It gives under my hand, unlocked, and I slowly, and I mean slowly, open the door.

“Winnie?” I call.

No response.

I crack the door open farther and stick my head inside, just enough to see her bed. She’s not in there.

Huh.

I push the door open farther and scan the room, and catch a glimpse of movement off to the right.

“Oh my God,” Winnie squeals. I turn just in time to catch her clutching a towel around her body.

“Oh shit . . . oh shit, I’m sorry.” I turn away and place my hand over my eyes.

“What are you doing?” she frantically asks.

“I’m sorry,” I say again, feeling my entire face turn red. “I’m not some Peeping Tom, if that’s what you’re wondering. I didn’t even see anything. And I’m not just saying that to make you feel better. I swear, I didn’t see anything, just your towel around your torso. I swear, my eyes are virginal when it comes to your body.”

That’s not true, you stared at her cleavage this morning.

But not going to mention that tidbit.

“Okay,” she says, a little calmer. “I believe you, but what are you doing in here?”

Keeping my back to her, I say, “I was knocking on your door and you didn’t answer. I thought maybe you left or something.”

“I was in the bathroom. I didn’t hear you. Maybe you need to learn to knock louder.”

“I’ll pound on the door next time. Maybe shout your name a few times, as well.”

She chuckles and then says, “I’m all covered up. You can look now.”

I straighten up and then casually turn around as if everything is normal.

But hell, nothing is normal when it comes to seeing Winnie in a towel. Her hair is piled high on the top of her head and her face is completely devoid of makeup like this morning, showing off a light spattering of freckles. And even though my eyes desperately want to scan her in that towel, I keep them north. Very far north. No sense in making this situation more uncomfortable by checking her out.

But hell, do I want to take in every last inch of her in that towel.

I stick my hands in my pockets and ask, “So, uh . . . enjoying another shower?”

She smirks. “No, a bath this time. I had to try out that jacuzzi tub.”

“Yeah, sure. Cool.”

She tilts her head to the side. “Was there a reason you came in here?”

“Oh yeah. Stephan wants to know if you eat steak.”

“I do. I love meat.”

I swallow hard. “Okay, so do I.”

Her smile grows, and I know it’s because she can sense how awkward I feel right now.