Page 28 of Reign

“Cas, I’m fine. The house is right there. I’ll be back in ten minutes. I want to make another round of drinks anyway. Keep Camila company, I’ll be right back.”

When I get up to the house, I check my phone for any missing texts –there aren’t any – and set about making drinks. I nearly drop the lemonade I’m going to pour over the gin when a door closes somewhere on the first level of the house. I quietly set the bottle down and find myself rubbing a hand over my sternum to calm my rapid heartbeat. A nervous habit I picked up somewhere along the way.

Listening for more sounds inside the cavernous house, I cautiously return to the task at hand.

Fifteen seconds later, I hear footsteps on the hardwoods, not even trying to be quiet.

I know we locked the doors.

I’m about to make a mad dash out the back door when a familiar face comes into the kitchen.

Adam.

The gardener.

“Jesus, Adam. You scared the shit out of me. Today’s Tuesday, what are you doing here?”

“Sorry, Mrs. Guerrero. I planted four new lemon trees along the edge of the pool house. They need to be watered every day for a week before they can survive this heat with their sensitive roots.”

“Oh, well, okay.” I’m tempted to leave it there but instead I ask, “How’d you get in?”

Another easy explanation. “There’s a keypad entry into the first garage bay and the spare key to the washroom is still in the same place it was from the previous owner. I needed the gardening gloves I rinsed and hung in the laundry room yesterday.” He eyes me quizzically and I feel the paranoia threatening to pull me under. “Is everything okay?” he asks as my ears start ringing. I grip the counter and will myself not to pass out like I did in the shed after shooting Willem. I haven’t had an episode since, if you don’t count the back of the Cadillac on girls’ night – which I don’t because I never lost consciousness.

Geez, don’t think about that now.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Must be the heat.”

He comes around to where I’m standing and he smells good. Like really good. He smells like fresh air and oddly, an expensive cologne. Apparently, my nose is a bit of a whore.

Adam’s bigger than I thought. Although his presence doesn’t suck the air out of a room like Cas or Nikita, he’s not a small man either. I guess forty hours a week of manual labor will do that to a guy. His brown hair is light and he has eyes that match.

Brown eyes don’t get enough love. This man’s are like chocolate molten lava cake.

He guides me to one of the barstools with a hand on my back, which is bare because I only have on a bikini top and cotton shorts over my bottoms. His other hand is on my forearm, allowing me to focus on that so I have something to distract my thoughts. I’ve always had a thing for a guy’s hands. I expect dirt underneath his nails but there is none. His nails are perfectly clean. As if hearing my thoughts, he tosses the gardening gloves on the counter as he continues to steady me.

I feel him pulling my hair off my neck just as I hear Cas’s unmistakable voice boom, “What the fuck is going on here?”

Adam drops his perfect fingers from my neck and backs away.

“I came in to grab something out of the laundry and I accidentally scared her. When I came in the kitchen to let her know it was just me, she turned this color,” he says while waving a hand in my direction. “I was just helping her onto the bar stool.”

“Cas, I’m fine,” I hear myself say even though it’s not quite true yet.

God, this is embarrassing.

He stalks over to Adam. All two hundred and twenty pounds of Cas gets right in Adam’s face. “No one fucking touches her,” he growls. I don’t even try to stop him.

Instead of backing down, Adam straightens up. Still an inch shorter than Cas, and definitely without the bulk, he squares up to him anyway. “Would you rather I had let her fall in the floor? Hit her head? Left her there for you to find later?”

I have to hand it to Adam, not many people are stupid enough to get back in Cas’s face, let alone stand there being a smartass.

But he has a point.

I see Cas’s jaw clench and I feel the heat start to abate from my face and neck, telling me the sensation of wanting to faint is passing.

“The fuck are you doing here anyway? It’s Tuesday.”

I point out toward the pool where I can see the lemon trees through the glass French doors. “Lemon trees,” I answer for Adam.

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