“No. I’m back. I had some things to do and I—” She floundered, out of words, and shrugged. “You want me to go?”
The question slipped out in a trembling voice and her face flamed with heat. She couldn’t look at him, instead focusing on the tall, dark-haired beauty smiling at her.
“No, I thought—” He stopped speaking and her gaze slammed into him, shocked he hadn’t found words. Radcliffe was a lot of things, but unable to express himself wasn’t something Sheri expected. He cleared his throat and the second shock slammed through Sheri, bringing her hand to her mouth to cover her suddenly trembling lips.
He’d shaved, turned his unibrow into two distinct eyebrows, and he was startling in his handsomeness. Like the wedding picture she’d found in the old newspaper, this man was a stranger. All the attraction she’d felt for the grumbly, unkempt hermit boiled, heated by the full weight of his cobalt gaze and strong jawline.
“I. You. Um.” She couldn’t find words for everything, her thoughts tumbling upon one another like an avalanche she couldn’t possibly control.
“Well, I thought you might…” Again he cleared his throat, shifting and stuffing his hands into his pockets to slouch—a familiar movement in a foreign appearance.
“Hi, sorry.” The dark-haired goddess shoved a hand out and Sheri blinked at it, not sure how to proceed. “Radcliffe should introduce us, but I’m Candice, his assistant. You’re…?”
“Sheri.” Sheri answered at the same time as Radcliffe and her gaze locked on his, asking questions she still couldn’t find voice for.
“Pleasure to meet you. So you stay here?” Candice raised a brow, slowly taking back the proffered hand Sheri never shook.
Sheri hated her, both for her beauty and her ability to speak while she couldn’t seem to string together an entire sentence. He’s hired an assistant? She’d only been gone a day…what changed?
“Yes.” Again, she and Radcliffe answered at the same moment and heavy silence between them followed the single syllable. Candice seemed to wait for further explanation neither offered.
“Well, hello. Okay, Radcliffe, I’ll be back in about an hour. I’m getting groceries.” Candice smiled, the sheer perky perfection of her making Sheri all the more aware of her rumpled, slept-in clothes and her unbrushed hair tugged into a glob at the back of her head. “Is there anything you’d like me to pick up while I’m gone?” The kindness of the offer didn’t decrease Sheri’s automatic and violent hatred of her, and she hoped her face didn’t give away her loathing.
“No.” Pushing past both of them, Sheri headed upstairs as if she had all the right in the world to do so. She heard a few more words exchanged before she made it to the top of the stairs—Radcliffe’s tone far more kind than anything he’d ever graced her with as he spoke to the damned perfect woman. Not that Sheri should be surprised—after all, she’d foisted herself off on him, forced him to deal with her and picked at all of his painful bits with her questioning. The goddess had been hired. Sheri hadn’t exactly encouraged kindness from Radcliffe, but it stung that he demonstrated social graces he’d never bothered to show her with the goddess.
The door closed downstairs as she reached her room and she paused, leaning on the doorframe, not sure why she’d been so shattered that he had another woman in his home. It shouldn’t matter, not really, but—
“Sheri.” His voice rang up the staircase and she straightened her spine, refusing to let him see he’d hurt her.
“Yeah,” she answered. “You want me to leave?”
“No. Please. I—want to apologize. For the other night. I was out of line. You’re welcome to stay—” He went silent and she didn’t dare look at him, this stranger with the clean-shaven face and manners. She’d shatter. She didn’t want to look too deeply into herself, to think through why it mattered, but she recognized she couldn’t let him know.
“Thank you.” She should be happy. She’d helped him, obviously, based on the manners and the woman and the shave. She’d made him want to try, which was her goal, after all. “I didn’t get much sleep last night. My brother’s couch—” She remembered his hatred for banal banter and then wondered if the new him would care about her babbling or not. “Anyway, I’m going to sleep. I’ll see you both later then?”
She didn’t mean to make it a question, but if he’d fixed himself while she was gone, did she need to stay? Wouldn’t she be better served to move on?
The thought of leaving, of not seeing him, sent a shard of pain through her and she didn’t wait for his answer. She simply closed herself in the room and crumpled to the floor to cry.
The impulsive hiring of Candice Winters as his personal assistant could be considered one of the few decisions he’d made that he immediately regretted.
When she changed from Internet stranger to warm-blooded female on his doorstep, he made the split second decision to paste on his conference face—the polite falseness he wore to keep people from really seeing him—and keep it in place as long as he possibly could.
He’d honestly thought Sheri wouldn’t come back. That he’d scared her and she’d ran from him…
Just like Lila.
But worse, somehow, because Lila hadn’t understood what she signed on for, facing the reality of his life unarmed. Sheri? She’d known he wasn’t fit for polite company, that he refused to bow to trite manners which meant nothing in the great grand scheme of things and were kept in place for societal norms and control rather than because anyone wanted to pretend to be less than base animals stuck to a rock for such an insubstantial portion of time.
And she’d left anyway. He’d driven her away. He’d taken her picture of him, the devil-horned picture that showed his true self more than the clean-shaven reflection in the mirror and hung it in his office as a reminder.
No one could love the beast, could tame him, or bear his presence.
Better to hide behind the mask and not be alone than wrestle demons he’d never control.
Candice—perky, peppy, fake as her spray-on tan and obvious boob job—bounced in and steamrolled through his house with a tablet in hand, making lists and organizing. She’d hammered out a schedule, accessed his overflowing e-mail inbox, and planned to answer all the varying requests in it and simply notify him of things he absolutely needed to attend to. Besides that, she planned to hire a crew to help move most of the things towering in piles to storage—so he might never have to deal with it all. Not a fix, not really, but a reallocation of miscellany, not that he told her that.
“With a gift like yours, what we really want to focus on is giving you as much writing time as possible. To create an environment that is stimulating to your muse and allows for your process.” Flipping her inky black hair over one orangish shoulder, she grinned up at him. “Sound good, Mr. McQueen?”
It sounded like typical industry babble, buzz words, rather than actual independent thought. “Radcliffe.” He’d tried to smile back, but the expression felt nearly as plastic as his assistant looked.
He’d spent the better portion of the morning trying to avoid her, eventually locking himself in his office and peering under the door to watch her feet pause outside and then briskly pace away.
When she’d knocked and demanded a grocery list, he’d lifted his hands in surrender and rattled off as much as he could think of simply to guarantee she’d be gone for a while.
The sight of Sheri on the porch, the jaw-dropping shock of her expression when she took in his improved appearance, should have pleased him.
She didn’t look impressed by the changes he’d been sure would make her happy. Instead, she looked like he’d kicked her proverbial puppy, her injured expression and lost-eyed gaze driving the stabbing guilt from his bad behavior deeper. She’d escaped upstairs…and he’d camped out at the bottom of the steps, waiting for her to awaken.
He heard the front door open and Candice calling his name but ignored i
t. Apparently his assistant didn’t guess that he sat on the steps because she didn’t find him. He made a mental note to use the spot again in the future since it’d worked so accidentally well this once.
After an endless vigil, marked only by the tick of the regulator clock at the head of the stairs, Sheri emerged and trudged down the stairs. He stood, brushing off his pants, and folded his hands behind his back. Clearing his throat, he hoped to alert her to his presence.
Instead, he startled her yet again, making her jump and clench her hand at her throat. “You surprised me.”
He didn’t point out that she stated the obvious. Manners, he reminded himself. “Sorry.”
Her brows furrowed and her lips turned down. “What do you want?”
A loaded question if there ever had been one. You. Again clearing his throat, he bit his upper lip to keep the word in. “I…”
He didn’t know where to go from there. I shaved for you.
Lame. Hardly impressive to point out that he’d taken basic care of his appearance since it would only highlight his sloth previously.
She came the remainder of the way down the stairs, stopping one step above him so they stood at almost eye level. “You…?”
The sweet scent of her, like some flowering thing that would bloom only with the touch of night, seemed to fill the air between them. The memory of her hand on his cock, of his lips against the soft skin of her neck shimmered to life in his mind. He clenched his fist on the rail of the stairs, willing himself to find the right words to kill the awkwardness between them. “Since I have an assistant now, I thought we should discuss the times we’d use to work on your project.” On me. He really wanted her to work on him, in a way that not a single one of his heroes would have dared imagine since it would have made them no doubt unredeemable if a woman read how filthy some of his fantasies were. She was so tiny, he could practically lift her by her thighs and bury his face in her—
She took another step, moving within what she no doubt considered his “bubble”. It shouldn’t have surprised him that she’d invade his personal space—not when she hadn’t stepped back when he’d been drunk and angry—but it sent a shiver of pleasure up his spine anyway. “She’s lovely…your assistant.”
He snorted, an automatic response considering the most tempting woman he’d ever met was within arm’s reach and his assistant was hardly a candle to the bonfire of attraction he battled being this close to Sheri. “I thought we could go for another walk, perhaps after dinner?” A polite question, worded appropriately as a request rather than an order.
“So you’re willing to allow me to use my methods…” She drew the word out, raising one hand to hover over his chest but not touching. “…to help you now?”
He swallowed, his mouth dry. He’d told her not to touch him. She only obeyed his own command. “Yes.” He bit the syllable out between clenched teeth. “I’m going to try to be far more considerate in my handling of the situation. You should be pleased—it’s no doubt a mark of your skill that I’ve progressed as much as I have.”
Progress…he faked it and she must know—
Her lips curled. Not a smile, since no happiness reflected in the expression. Rather it seemed a derisive smirk, a look far more in place on his features than her delicate ones. “We’ll see about that.”
The hand finally made contact with his chest and pushed. He backed away, allowing her the control, and she slid past him to head to the kitchen. “I smell food,” she tossed over her shoulder. “Candice cooks too?”
He didn’t answer.
Glancing back at him, she raised one elegant brow. “You coming?”
He reminded himself of his manners and didn’t snap that he wasn’t a puppy to be called when he lagged and instead held firm to his mask of civility. “Of course.”
And then Candice swept in, taking his arm and leading him to the table. She crooned over him and talked excitedly about further things she planned to better streamline his workday. Sheri sat across from him at the small table and didn’t say a word.
He’d be amazed if he could resist snapping in temper before Candice served the meal.
Chapter Eleven
Impeccable manners, nothing thrown, well-groomed.
The man Radcliffe had become in the single day she’d been gone seemed more distant and more of a stranger than the grumbling old man she’d found the first day in the grocery store. She kept waiting for him to snap out of it, to chew out Candice for her peppered questions and unending cheer. Instead, he smiled at her, passed the gravy—because the bitch made gravy—and hardly spared Sheri a glance through the entire uncomfortable meal.
Her nails dug half-moons into her palms and not a bite of the perfectly prepared meal crossed her lips as she sat through it, waiting for the real Radcliffe to make an appearance.
Which was the mask? The frowning hairy creature who asked for—demanded—honesty even if it were brutal or the smiling handsome man offering to help with the dishes and talking—knowledgeably, no less—about reality television?
Candice, because she was perfect and athletic and polite and could cook, shoved Radcliffe away—he didn’t complain about her hands on him—and told him to go back to writing, she had the clean-up covered.
To which, Radcliffe smiled, turned and waggled his brows frantically at Sheri.
Her own brows dropped and her head tilted. Was he really waggling at her and expecting her to follow him?
She crossed her legs and arms and relaxed back against her seat.
“Sheri, our walk? As Candice pointed out, it’s important not to break routine simply because she’s here.”
Since when was an after-dinner walk part of his routine? She smirked at his obvious lie and stood, bowing her head to hide her smile. “Of course. After you.”
Following his hulking frame out the back door, they walked in silence, him leading and her trudging after him, wondering what in the hell he was up to.
Once they’d crossed the creek that ran near the house, he spun on her. “Look, I’m trying to be polite, the least you could do is not make it harder.”
“Pardon me?” She tried to keep her own temper from rising to meet his. Instead, she bit the inside of her cheek hard to keep from smiling. Ah, here’s my Radcliffe.
“You’re the one who has the project, who wants to fix me. You came back, so obviously you’re still sure you can help me. If you’re dedicated to your self-claimed calling, one would think I wouldn’t have to practically beg you to go for a walk so we could be alone.” He pointed at her.
That jabbing finger frayed what was left of her control. “Really, Radcliffe? You’re going to throw what I do back in my face? What’s the reality: Mister Calm, Cool and Shaved or the asshole I’ve come to know? With Candice you’re all sugary sweetness, and you ask me to walk with you so you can, what? Lecture me?”
“No, dammit.” He shoved a hand through his hair. “But I can hardly see how you’ve supposedly helped others if this is how you go about your renovations.”
He sneered the last word at her and she stomped her foot. “Lie down on the ground.”
“Excuse me?”
“I said, lie down. On your back on the ground.”
He stared at her, a silhouette against a backdrop of night. She couldn’t read his expression and didn’t need to. In their time together, she could guess at the incredulity marking his face.
What shocked her was that he obeyed, lying down on the ground without further complaint. She copied him, placing her head just touching his on the bed of grass and let the blanket of silence and darkness fall around them. She could hear him breathing behind her, but she neither moved nor said a word.
“Is there a reason we’re lying in a hay field staring at the sky?”
Her lips quirked. She knew he wouldn’t be able to lie there in peace for long. “Firstly, I’m
giving you a minute to get your temper under rein since you’ve obviously lost it.”
“Hmm…” He grumbled the sound and shifted, his head moving against the crown of hers. “Is this part of your usual method?”
She didn’t answer, instead breathing in for a count of three. When she exhaled she closed her eyes. “You didn’t ask me why I left or where I went.”
The crickets sang and the rustle of creatures in the night were her only answer for so long she almost sat up to see if he’d fallen asleep. Finally, he shifted again before speaking. “I assumed I knew why you left. I got drunk and basically attacked you.”
She snorted. “Hardly. Honey, if that was an attack, you’re all growl and no bite.”
He made a noise similar to a growl and moved again. He couldn’t seem to lie still, which amused her to no end.
She waited.
After a few minutes of more silence, he spoke again. The intimacy of his voice in the darkness, his warmth against the top of her head made her shiver. “So where did you go?”
“I went searching for answers.” Night song erupted around them again, hardly disturbed by her soft answer.
“About me? You were researching me?”
Again, the low rumble of his voice seemed a physical thing that reached out of the inky blackness to stroke across her nerves and she shivered. This time when he moved, he sat up to loom over her. She blinked up at him. “Of course. I told you, I help people. You weren’t giving me answers. I went looking for them.” She couldn’t keep from shivering again.
“You’re cold.”
She wasn’t. She also wasn’t about to admit the sound of his voice affected her, so she shrugged, inhaling deeply the scent of grass and cool air. “I’m fine.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. This exercise is obviously better practiced in warmer climes or perhaps not by cover of night. Come here.”
Rolling to her side, she peered at him over her shoulder. “Thought I wasn’t supposed to touch you?” Not that you gave Candice any such rule…
While You Were Writing: Watkin's Pond, Book 2 Page 8
