Royally Chosen Christmas (Royal Sons MC #7) - Elle Boon Page 0,67
kitchen area. The night before, she hadn’t been able to appreciate the craftsmanship of the interior or how amazing the view was. He truly had one of the most stunning ones she’d ever had the pleasure of standing in. If things went according to plan, she would have the right to call it hers as well.
She began to doubt herself and all that she did the more time she had alone. The night before had been amazing. Better than she’d ever dreamed, definitely more than she could ever have envisioned for herself. Now, within the span of twelve hours, shit was spiraling like it always did for her. “It’s as if the universe knows I’m not worthy.”
She walked to the living room with the floor to ceiling windows overlooking the ocean. The wraparound deck looked as if it spanned out over the rocky cliff with several different seating arrangements all along the space. She could see a fire pit at one end and an outdoor kitchen at the other. Hollywood had told her on the other side of the house there was an infinity pool, but with everything that had happened, he hadn’t been able to show her.
The phone rang on the counter, making her jump. “Fuck me,” she mumbled, hurrying to see who was calling her. The unknown number had her jerking her hand back, letting it go to voicemail.
Almost immediately, it began to ring again, the unknown caller. Her hand hovered over the phone, but she didn’t answer. She picked it up after it quit ringing and called Scott, hating to sound like a scared little bitch.
“Hey, baby, what’s wrong?”
His gentle voice made her wish she’d have stayed strong and not called him. Twenty minutes, that’s all he’d been gone, and there she was, bugging him.
“T, what’s wrong, speak to me?”
“It’s going to sound stupid but—” The same number appeared on her screen while she was talking to him. “I’ve had an unknown caller call me three times. They just called again, and I know they let it ring long enough to get my voicemail, so they know who they’re calling.”
“Don’t answer, baby girl. After I secure mom, I’ll be back. Something isn’t sitting right with this shit. I’m going to pick her up and bring her back with me.”
She sucked in a breath, looking down at her bare legs in nothing but his shirt. “Ok, sounds good. I’ll be fine. Be careful.”
“I’m always careful, pourri.” His voice went deep, sending a shiver of longing through her.
She looked back toward the bank of windows then back toward the bedroom. If he was bringing her mother back with him, she needed to be semi-presentable even if she was wearing what she’d had on yesterday. “I’m going to take a quick shower and make myself not look as though I’ve been, you know.” Her hand went to her cheek even though he couldn’t see the blush that was surely heating it.
“Oh, I know alright, and I plan to do it again and a whole lot more. Go get ready and remember not to answer the phone or door. The only person who has access to the house is me, and the only people who should call you should be in your contact list. Love you, baby girl.” He ended the call before she could tell him the same thing.
Back in the master bedroom, she looked at the bed first. The sheets were clean since he’d replaced them the night before, so she remade it, making sure it was perfect, exactly how Hollywood would’ve had it. Next, she went to his closet, looking for something she could borrow that wouldn’t look as though she were wearing borrowed clothes. “Good lord, he’s got more clothes than I do.” She stared at the room he used as a closet. In the center, there was a bench with rows of clothes on each side of it, top and bottom, color coordinated and the shoes, lord he had shoes. A cabinet in the center of the clothing to her left caught her attention. She moved to stand in front of it, smiling down at the rows of watches and other pieces of jewelry he kept locked up. Most days, he wore jeans and leather boots with a black T-shirt and his leather cut with his club patches on it, but damn did the man have clothes that could feed a third world country.
She trailed her hand along the rows of shirts, settling on a blue