Page 30 of Whiskey Darling
Chapter Eleven
Allie
An incessant buzzing wakes me.
Rolling over, I see my phone on a bedside table. Beside it is a carafe of water, a cup, and a bottle of aspirin. Sunlight filters through a pair of French doors in a room I don’t recognize.
My phone continues with the annoying sound until I shut off the automatic alarm that gets me up in the mornings. Rubbing my aching head, I get my bearings and throw the covers back.
I’m wearing an oversized black t-shirt emblazoned with the emblem of an old eighties rock band. LA Guns.
Oh, what the hell?
My clothes are neatly folded and placed in a chair beside the French doors, my boots on the floor beside them. My purse, along with my laptop bag, rests on top of my clothes.
There’s a vague recollection of lounging by a fire on the terrace in Flynn’s arms. I think he carried me up the stairs, sat me upright, pulled off my clothes. The warm cotton of this shirt had tangled up my arms before my head emerged from the opening and I could breathe again. I remember him laughing softly, laying me against the pillows, smoothing my hair when I mumbled what I hope was, “thank you.”
Propping myself against the headboard, I pour myself some water. There’s a note beneath the aspirin bottle.
I take a deep breath before reading it.
Anything you need for a shower is in the bathroom. A fresh robe is on the counter. If you’d rather go to the cottage, text me and I’ll run you down there. Whatever you want, it’s up to you.
You might wonder why I didn’t take you there last night. I can’t explain why I didn’t, other than the fact I wanted to be close in case you needed me.
Don’t worry. Although tempted, I did not touch any part of your body I shouldn’t have touched. You helped me when I removed your clothes, but that’s all we did. So, no cause for alarm.
But did I mention how tempted I was, Allie? Tempted. Extremely tempted…
Flynn
I feel my face turning red. I was ready to ride Flynn like a wild bronco pony last night. Had it not been for the wine, I would have.
He kept his hands off me when he could have taken everything I offered.
I can trust him.
Or maybe he’s only waiting for the right moment to pounce.
After taking a shower in the attached bathroom and brushing my teeth, my head is no longer pounding. The Turkish cotton robe, brand new and still packaged, is sized for a woman. The hairbrush must be Flynn’s. It’s sweet that he lent it to me.
After a period of indecision, I pull the t-shirt over my head and the robe over that.
Instead of texting him, I venture out of the room where I spent the night. Padding down the hall in my bare feet, I take in the grandeur of the upper floor. I have no idea where I am in relation to his room because the staircase is one of two, each on opposite ends of the long corridor.
I take the stairs closest to me, gratified when I end up near the kitchen. The aroma of coffee drifts in the air along with the sounds of banging pots and pans.
Peeking around the corner, I swallow hard, pulling the robe’s sash unnecessarily tight around my waist.
“Good morning.” My greeting startles him.
Oh, dear Lord.Why isn’t he wearing more clothes?
“Hey.” Flynn gives me a wary half-smile, placing a pan on the stove before grabbing a mug from a glass-front cupboard. For the few seconds he’s turned away, all the muscles of his nude back are on full, glorious display.
“Thanks for the robe.” I twirl the sash ends nervously.
“No problem,” he replies, keeping his back to me as he opens a drawer and pulls out spoons. “It was a gift for my mom. She loves the company that makes those, but I’ll just order her another. You keep that one.”
