in a jar on the tiny dining table. “See anymore of these?”
I glance around in the dim light, spot one on the shelves above the mini-fridge, and bring it to him.
Their flickering flames give off very little light. We sit at the table and eat quietly off plates we find in the cabinet. Memphis pops the cork on the new bottle and fills our glasses. I stare at the red liquid glowing in the candlelight. The crystal glass sparkles. The table is small and the candlelight gives another layer of intimacy. We polish off the croissants, and Memphis slices off a piece of cheese and pops it in his mouth. Then he feeds me a grape.
Neither of us say much, but oddly the silence is comfortable. I steal glances at him and catch him staring at me while he eats. Eventually he brushes his hands off and stands.
“You might as well go to bed.” He passes me a candle. “There’s an extra t-shirt in my pack you can sleep in.”
I stand, and my gaze drops to the bag on the floor. He moves to it and digs the item out. I take it and move to the other room. Setting the candle down on the nightstand, I step out of sight of the archway and strip off my clothes, and then pull the large shirt over my head. I grab the candle and step into the small bathroom. There are some little bars of scented soap and I wash my face and finger comb my long hair. My eyes drop to the reflection in the mirror to the Royal Bastards emblem on the front of the shirt.
I’ve seen a million of them before, but somehow knowing this one belongs to Memphis sends a warm heat through my body. I can’t deny how attractive he is. And when he looks at me, I feel something I’ve never felt with any other man. Not that there have been a ton.
The memory of his lips on mine has me staring unseeing. He’s a good kisser, there’s no denying that, and I wonder if he’s as good at other things.
I stare into the mirror. Stop, Lola. You’re just an errand to him, nothing more. Don’t let him worm his way into your heart and break it.
I take the candle and move back to the bed, setting it down and slipping under the covers. The sheets are as soft as butter, and my head sinks into the goose down pillow. Heavenly.
The honeysuckle scent of the candle slowly fills the room, lulling me. I glance through the archway into the living room.
I can make out Memphis’ shadowy form in the comfy armchair, his bare feet up on the ottoman, and a throw blanket over his torso. Evidently he’s already blown his candle out.
I lean over and do the same, then snuggle down and drift off to sleep.
I’m startled awake sometime during the night by the sound of a loud boom. I sit up in bed, not sure what it was I heard, groggy from sleep.
I hear the chair creak and see Memphis rise from the chair.
“What was that?” I call out.
I push the covers back and climb from the warm bed. The moment I do, I feel a cool breeze blow through the rooms. I walk toward the French doors, the only source of dim light.
“Stay back. There’s broken glass.”
I stop and try to focus. The light glints off the shards and a small tree branch pokes through one of the panes.
I snatch up a small throw rug and toss it to him. “Here, put this down over it or you’ll cut your feet. He takes it and drops it over the glass, then yanks the door free and looks out.
“Tree fell. Barely missed the house. We got lucky as hell it didn’t come through the roof.”
I step closer, trying to see. “Did it do any other damage? Is the rest of the place okay? Miss Ruth?”
“Looks like just this one limb.” He grabs the branch with his bare hands and his muscles bulge as he snaps it off and tosses it away. Then he steps in and pulls the door shut. “You see anything we can cover this broken pane with?”
I spot a stack of magazines and grab one. “Try this.”
He wedges it in the square. “It’s not gonna stay.”
I look around again and pick up a small throw pillow. “Maybe you can jam this inside. The rain will soak it, but we can buy