Page 11 of Reading Between the Lines
“Wonderful. Just ring-a-ding-ding the desk if you need anything.”
Tallus offered her a wink and spun on his heels, dangling the room key attached to a crocheted cat key chain in my face as he wiggled his brows. “Shall we, lover?”
I glanced at the corpse and his wife before muttering under my breath and heading toward the stairs, anxious to get away from the floral patterns, overwhelming smell, and raucous clocks.
In my desperation to ensure I had secured a civil barrier to stand between myself and Delaney Mandel—AKA Tallus—I hadn’t considered other details about what it meant to bring him along.
Important details.
Details thatshouldhave registered long before I mounted the stairs of Ivory Lace B&B and got to the room reserved for me and me alone.
So when Tallus unlocked the heavy wooden door and stepped inside, I stalled on the threshold, skin prickling with heat, heart rate skipping from ninety to nothing, dread filling my veins.
It wasn’t the abundance of pink churning my stomach—but dear god, it was as bad as the flowers downstairs. The walls were pink. The stacks of bath towels were pink and ruffled. The mini-wrapped soaps were pink. The shampoos, the curtains, the carpet, and the furniture were all various shades of grandmotherly rose.
But no, it wasn’t the pink that made me instantly sick. Nor was it that the incessant tick, tick, ticking from downstairs had followed me upstairs—on a quick scan, I counted no less than a dozen fanciful clocks. Plus, a wooden grandfather clock in the corner with a concerning peekaboo cuckoo’s nest.
No, it was not the pink nor the ticking timepieces that jacked up my blood pressure. It was the enormous king-size, four-poster bed with its ruffled quilt and arrangement of embroidered throw pillows that drew the saliva from my mouth and stilled the air in my lungs.
One bed. The room contained one bed. Of course it fucking did, and had I not been so worried about finances and ensuring I didn’t mess up with the wealthy mother whose son was mostly dead, I’d have been better prepared for this scenario.
One month and thirteen days.
This wouldn’t be a problem for any other couple, but Tallus and I had yet to share a bed overnight. It was an obstacle I’d struggled with since long before we shifted from nonboyfriends to boyfriends. Having sex in a bed was challenging enough, never mind sleeping beside him. It was an intimacy far outside my comfort zone. A line we had yet to cross.
“Well, my, my, my. This is an unexpected surprise.” Tallus tossed a grin over his shoulder as he approached the bed, spun, and sat with a bounce on the springy mattress. He leaned back on his elbows and kicked his shoes off as he studied me with a coy and flirtatious expression. “Let me guess. You didn’t think of this part, did you?”
“No.”
“And you’re having a mini heart attack right now, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Are we leaving?”
I scanned the room, avoiding eye contact and not answering the question. No sofa. No lounge chair. Not even enough floor space for a six-and-a-half-foot giant to stretch out.
One fucking bed.
“It’s king-size.” Tallus smoothed a hand over the bedspread.
I grunted noncommittally, shuffled into the room, closed the door, and dropped our bags on the floor.
“Are we staying?”
I still didn’t answer. Processing, I moved to the adjoining bathroom and poked my head inside. Claw-foot tub, vanity mirror, pedestal sink… frills, frills, frills. Flowers. And more fucking pink.
“This place looks like the Easter bunny threw up.”
“D?”
“And those clocks are going to drive me fucking ballistic.” I picked one off a nearby table and turned it over, searching for a battery compartment or some way to shut it up. But no, it was a windup clock, which meant granny Ivory went about her entire establishment regularly cranking a hundred and one of the stupid things, so they never quit. Who did that?
I debated the cost of smashing them all under a boot. How did anyone think with all this noise? No wonder Herbert looked ready for the grave. He’d lost his fucking mind living under this roof.
“D?”
“Her husband looked like death. It’s these clocks. He’d be saner in an asylum.”
