Page 32 of Covetous

I don’t wait for a response from Esme. Not at this early hour. I open up Liv’s text message and tap reply.

Me

What’s the tea?

My money is on it having to do with Victor and Esme.

Without any pockets on the particular dress I’m wearing, I carry my phone on my way to check on Isabella, who meets me on the stairwell, wrapped in a blanket. “Morning,” she says, her voice scratchy and her eyes smeared with yesterday’s mascara.

“Feeling okay? Can I get you anything?”

“No, I’m good. Need more sleep,” she groans on her way to her room, closing the door behind her.

Unlike her brother, Isabella James is not a morning person. Speaking of Victor. Someone’s making coffee. Its aroma hits me like a cool breeze on a hot summer day. And unless he had company last night, that someone is him. My legs want to follow the rich, bold flavors, while my mind tells me to go the other way. In the end, the power of coffee wins over.

It’s like déjà vu, except that he has a shirt on this time as he prepares his Keurig. A thin white undershirt that molds to him like skin. “Morning, Skylar.”

How do you keep doing that? How can he tell it’s me if he’s facing the other way?

“Morning.” I approach the island. “Have you been home for a while?”

He’s wearing a different pair of pants than the ones he had on last night, which means he’s been in his bedroom. But when was he up there? When I was still in his bed, or while I was in the guest bath taking a shower? I’m too embarrassed to ask straight out.

“Just a few hours.” He reaches for another cup from his cabinet.

“I can explain,” I say as I shoot Esme a quick text.

Me

He got home a few hours ago.

“Explain what?”

I look up from my phone. “For accidentally falling asleep in your bed. Seems like I had too much to drink?—”

“And smoke.” The warmth in his voice carries a smile, so he’s not mad. If he were mad, would he be fixing me a cup of coffee like he’s doing now?

“I only had a few hits. But we sort of finished your Hennessy.”

He nods. “The entire bottle?” Turn around, damn it. Seeing his face will give me a better sense of how he’s reacting.

“Not the whole bottle. We dropped it, and it spilled. But we cleaned it up.”

He finally turns around with two cups of coffee in his hand.

Whew. I thought I was ready, but I so was not. His handsome face catches me off guard—the light stubble on his angular jaw looking lickable—and I nearly swallow my tongue, but I gather myself enough to say, “And I promise to buy you a new bottle.”

“You don’t have to do that.” He sets my cup in front of me, giving me a whiff of his clean scent. He’s showered. But when? Where?

“I do.” I sip my coffee, almost closing my eyes at the bold flavors with just the right amount of sugar.

“Hungover?”

I’m about to shake my head but nod instead. “A little.”

The corners of his mouth quirk upward. “I didn’t take you as a party girl.”

“I’m not. I don’t even drink much…often.” I nudge my glasses up my nose.

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