Page 56 of Married into the Mob
Maybe that could be my getaway driver payment.
I put on a robe that had been draped over the bed and opened the bedroom door. Strewn on the floor was a rumpled blanket, pillow, and gray hairs. I was getting better at interpreting signs of shifters, and Hunter had slept here and shifted.
There was a trail of clothes leading to another closed door—of which there were many in this huge sprawling house. Too big for one guy.
Unlike his uncle’s cabin, the main room was ultra modern, with metal, glass, and neutral fabrics. It gave off a clean vibe, but I’d be worried if I dropped a crumb or left a stain on the glass coffee table. And those corners! Ouch! I’d avoid those. Not that I’d be here long.
In the open kitchen, the counters were sparse except for a scary-looking coffee maker. I had no idea how to operate it. With no phone, as I’d given the phone with the recording to Flint, I couldn’t research it. But I discovered an enormous walk-in pantry and instant coffee.
Without thinking, I grabbed two mugs and, not finding an electric kettle, put a pot of water on the stove. Waiting for the water to boil gave me time to think. I pretended this was my house and wondered what it was like to wake up here, wander the extensive garden and belong to a boisterous extended family. It was a comforting image.
It was me who needed coffee, and yet I was making one for Hunter too. Despite the home’s lack of ambiance that contained none of Hunter’s personality, it was his home, and I was at ease here as I wandered around barefoot.
Could we have more than a friendship? I’d kissed him and he'd responded, but the motivation was fear I wouldn’t return, that he’d be left with no memory of our intimacy.
What if we shared a home, muddled along together so I’d be in his life, not as a lover or partner but… a what? And would it be enough?
I made the coffee and found a tray before carrying them to his room.
“Come in, Odell.”
His voice brought me back to the present. I was a distance from his door, having backtracked.
“Can’t. Holding a tray.”
The door opened. Hunter in the morning was the best Hunter, with tousled hair. Though lunchtime Hunter was pretty good, as I thought back to the meal in the panic room. Late-night Hunter who made a TV dinner was pretty sexy, but the Hunter who held me as I woke from the nightmare was the best Hunter. Or maybe the Hunter who returned my kiss was the bestest Hunter.
“Odell?”
“Mmmm.”
“You were miles away.”
“Right. I was doing a survey in my head of the best… ahhh, coffee.”
“Okay.” The number 11 lines between his brows furrowed, and I was tempted to tell him they should be number… I wasn’t sure.
“What’s the opposite of 11?”
“Minus 11?”
“Of course. Silly me.” My head was full of morning Hunter, the one with his head cocked to the side, contemplating me.
“Glad we got our morning math problem out of the way. Is that a ritual in your home?”
Not in the place I shared with my aunt and uncle. But here, maybe.
The room wasn’t just a bedroom but a suite with sofas, a desk, and attached bathroom. He placed the tray on the table between two sofas and beckoned me closer.
Were we going to talk about the kiss or assume it happened in a moment of stress? What happened on the stakeout before almost getting killed, stayed at the stakeout perhaps.
“I didn’t get to phone Aunt Lousia. She must be frantic.”
He gave me a phone, and we both held it with the hands that bore our mating marks. The warmth from his skin seeped into mine, reminding me of the quilt that covered me last night.
Our eyes locked on one another. An air of sadness hung around Hunter.
“You’re wearing my robe. Looks better on you.”
