Cuts Like An Angel (20 page)

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Rosie

Rosie’s heart hammered at the sight of blood.

“It’s nothing.”

She looked up at him, confused with his casual tone. “What happened? It looks bad.”

“It’s not.” He pulled his arm out of her hold, grabbing the other bags and hauling them into the room. She stared as he set them next to the bed.

“Well it looks pretty bad,” she tried again as he looked around the room. 

“Just a nick from when I was trying to clean that room. It’s nothing.” He slid the sleeve up and dabbed at it while Rosie made her way closer for a look. He yanked the sleeve down when she reached his side.

“Let me see,” she cried.

“Why? It’s just a scrape,” he cried back in light assurance before gesturing to her bags. “I’m sure you’d like to unpack. I’ll leave you to it.”

She grabbed his arm and held tight. “Let. Me. See,” she whispered firmly, adding raised brows at his rolling eyes. When he didn’t pull his arm away she took it as silent permission and slid the sleeve up carefully. “Oh my
God.
A
scratch?
This looks like you ran your arm across a knife blade.”

“It actually was a knife blade. Was wedged in the crack of the drawer.” He lifted his arm, examining it before sliding the sleeve back down. “Sliced me perfectly. It’s what I get for hurrying.”

“Did you put anything on it?”

“Of course.” She waited with raised brows and he went on with a shrug, “I spit on it like always.” Her mouth dropped and he laughed, “What? Saliva is best for that.”

“Ewww!” She smacked him on his good arm and the cute smile he gave reminded her she would make a terrible nurse to him. She turned to her bags. “I’ll unpack.”

“I’ll go change my shirt and get us lunch.”

“Oh, I can cook?”

He gave her another one of his mind altering smiles. “You probably should be practicing cooking for me. I’ll let you do tea.”

“Tea,” she said, biting her lower lip to hide a smile.

“You’re laughing at me.” Light offense dancing in his sparkly blue eyes.

“I’m not,” she said, unable to keep from laughing.

“Right,” he nodded, turning to go then turning back with his brows pinched. “What is it you mutts call tea in America?”

“Mutts!” She let her laughter rip.

“Bastards of the Queen? Sister sluts?”

She fought to be offended, gasping with wide eyes. “Okay Mr. Hoity Toity, is that how it is?” She grabbed a pillow from the bed and turned to throw it. “Yeah, you better haul tail, Chief Running Bull,” she yelled. “Run to your Queen!”

She turned with a huge smile and began unpacking her bags. God, felt like she was on vacation at some exotic island. On another planet. In another galaxy. She looked around at the room. His room. She felt nauseous with excitement just being in it. Her smile faded as William’s voice and laugh floated in her mind. She closed her eyes, her stomach tightening. How could she stand there and have the exact feelings for two men? She considered them. No, they weren’t exact. She’d not even met William in person but when she thought about him, thought of that phone call—from the very first—there was no denying the rush of emotions that gripped her. 

And Josh was … well he was sweet and gorgeous and in her face. She couldn’t think past what he was.  

With monumental effort, she shook off the gloom and went about the task of figuring out where to put her stuff. She wanted to put it right alongside of his but that would be weird. Although … if her sister happened to come up there or her nosy mother, she’d want it to appear like they were actually
together.

Rosy went about sticking her random belongings here and there in a natural messy order. When she was down to only her clothes, she went to the closet and hung the things she’d packed, hangers and all. She stared at his clothes, hanging in the closet. He didn’t have much. Unlike her. Something told her it was a matter of taste for him, not poverty. Obviously.

Down to intimate apparel and casual clothes now. She turned to his chest of drawers, eyeing it. So personal. Yeah. His underwear and stuff would be in that. She glanced at the door as she made her way to the drawers and opened the top one. Jam packed, wow. She didn’t feel right digging through the jumbled chaos of material and opened the second one to find the same. And the third. The fourth and fifth were not as bad.

She moved all the clothes from the bottom drawer into the second to last one, having to cram the last few pieces. Now it matched the other drawers. Soon, the fifth one did as well after she shoved her final pair of panties in. “There,” she gasped, breathless. Ah, shit. She needed to change into something suitable to work in.

She began removing clothes until she found a pair of blue jean cut off shorts. Cut off short and crooked, but that was okay. She chose her dingy, old, pink t-shirt with the ratty edges and took everything to the bathroom to change.

Tennis shoes on, hair in a pony-tail, she galloped her way down the stairs. The smell of fish and something fried hit her nose and starving stomach instantly. “Yum,” she sang, as she entered the kitchen.

Josh turned from the stove, wearing a black shirt, reminding her of what needed to be resolved. Her and him. Knowing his actual feelings would help.  Unlike the light blue shirt with the tails, this showed off his body.  She realized suddenly that he was staring at her out-fit and she gripped the door jamb tightly while waiting for the verdict.

“Outside work clothes,” she announced, her sneakers squeaking loudly on the floor as she shifted nervously in place.

“Right,” he said, looking suddenly confused.

“I thought we were working outside,” she said, worried she’d done something wrong. “I mean it’s okay if we’re not, I can change.”

“No. Yes,” he stuttered, perplexed.

“No, yes,” she laughed, too loudly as she stuffed her hands in her back pockets.

“Sorry,” he said, seeming to gather his scattered thoughts. “It’s perfect,” he added, making her smile when he continued staring. “For outside yard work, yes.”

She couldn’t stop grinning at the unspoken compliment he was still giving her. “What smells so good?”

He jerked his attention to the stove and turned the knob. “Chips and … damn near burnt fish,” he announced.

She was back too giddy now. “Well, I’m starving.”

“Good thing.” He wiped his hands on his chest, maybe a habit when he was trying to focus. “I made enough for a small army.” He took up the metal spatula and began dishing said food onto a platter layered with paper towels.

Rosie made her way to the small table and pulled the chair out then paused. “Should I get the drinks?”

“Sure. Just dig around. I’ve grocery shopped properly, so there’s plenty to choose from.

Rosie was already at the fridge. “Wow,” she gasped when she opened it. “You’ve got this baby packed!” 

“You sound shocked.”

“Ohhh, orange juice,” she sang, working the carton out of the mini-food mall. “I just haven’t seen this much food in one spot.” She straightened with a happy smile and immediately realized. She sounded like a poor bum. “My uh … mom wasn’t a big food shopper.” She turned to the cabinet on her right and touched it. “Glasses?”

“There.” He pointed two doors down.

Rosie worked two red disposable cups from the bag.

“I need proper dishes.”

“Oh, I love disposable,” she said, dropping the entire bag. “Less mess I say.” She retrieved them and put them back.

“You can eat anything here, no need to ask,” he said lightly.

Rosie was back to embarrassed as she returned the cups to the cabinet. “Thank you,” she said, trying not to sound too grateful as she set the plastic china on the table. “My mom was very frugal. She only kept what she was going to be using
that
week in the fridge. Or day even. Sometimes.” She looked at the cabinets again and pointed. “Plates and silverware?”

“There,” he pointed to the opposite wall. “Silverware is in the drawer beneath. Royal plastic,” he warned.

“Plastic is wisdom’s finest china,” she said, feeling bad for lying to him. But she wasn’t about to tell him she’d been starving off and on since she’d arrived in The Mother Land.

“I plan to get proper everything,” he said, bringing the platter of food to the table. “So we eat lunch and tackle the garden?”

She nodded with a smile, watching him load her plate with food. “Oh that’s plenty,” she cried, laughing.

“You’re starving,” he reminded.

“I am,” she admitted, pulling the plate to her and bowing her head for a very quick prayer and zippity-doo sign of the cross that amounted to weird hand jive at her chest. “Sorry,” she said at seeing his raised brows. Imagining him not so impressed with her poor religious manners, she formed the sign slower before grabbing her plastic fork and digging into her food. As she fed her face with a shameless orgasmic intensity, she realized he’d not done the praying thing. It then dawned on her for the first time that he might not even be religious.

She watched him pour the juice into the cups and was suddenly dying of thirst. “My God this is amazing,” she cried around her stuffed mouth, putting a hand over it to hide any food hanging out.

“Thank you,” he said, smiling while eating at a sane, non-starved pace. She tried to slow down but her hand kept shovelling and her mouth kept opening. She managed to not guzzle her orange juice at least. It was so hard. She’d not had any that tasted that good in forever. The hospital’s brand tasted like one orange per gallon of water. But it was better than the zero oranges per gallon of water she had.

“Tonight, I’m cooking,” she said licking the grease from each of her fingers as he watched her. “What? People don’t lick their fingers here?”

“Not usually,” he chuckled.

“Well, when it’s good food, I do.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” he said, lifting his napkin and dabbing at his mouth with his pinkie sticking up.

She stared for a few seconds in amusement before seeing the laughter in his eyes.  “Oh lord!” she snickered and hit her hand on the table. “I was about to say.”

“What were you about to say?” he said, standing to gather their plates.

“Nothing, it’s a saying.”

“Say it,” he said, walking the plates over.

“No,” she laughed. “I mean
I was about to say
is the saying.”

He paused at the trash, turning a perplexed face to her. “You have a saying that is … I was about to say?”

She laughed and took their cups to the sink. “One of those things you don’t realize is stupid till you think about it.”

“As stupid as you washing throw-away cups. Bring those here.”

“Hey, these are
good
plastic cups,” she argued.

“Right. And I’ve got eight-eight more just like them.”

She brought them to the trash and tossed them. “You can wash the pot if you must wash something.”

“Is that how it works in England?” She turned on the sink on and washed her hands, eyeing him. “The husbands cook and the wives clean?”

He made his way over and she tensed with his every step. He stopped just before her and leaned his hip on the cabinet. “It’s however they want it,” he said, staring down at her with a small smile that said he liked the topic. “You tell me how you want it.”

Her heart hammered against her chest. “Well I hate cleaning.”

“You want to cook?”

She squinted a little, thinking. “Okay I hate doing dishes but don’t mind cleaning. And I like you cooking.”

“You like my cooking?”

She snickered at him. “I said I like you cooking.”

“You like me cooking,” he repeated, crossing his arms over his chest.

She had the sense to shut the water off then had the nerve to face him, hip against the cabinet like him. “I do.”

“What do you like about me cooking?”

The soft challenge in his voice said he liked this game and wanted to keep playing. “I like … “Uh oh. Shit. “The way you look.”

“Is that right?” he said, his voice even softer as his eyes locked on her mouth. 

Oh dear. Kiss. Kiss time, oh my God. His eyes rose to hers and she panicked. Had he asked a question? Is that right he’d said. She nodded, not chancing words.

“I wonder what you look like cleaning?”

He might as well have said I wonder what you look like cleaning while naked. That’s what her mind heard. Or body. “I guess I’ll have to show you.”

“I guess you will.” She swallowed at his tone, feeling a real heat between them, most of it coming from the spark in his blue eyes. “You ready?”

Ready? Now? “W-what do you want me to clean?”

The slow smile he gave made her legs weak. “The garden?”

The garden? The odd word threw her for two whole seconds before she remembered. The garden dumbass. “I’m ready, yep,” she said. “Was just thinking after the garden of course.” She turned and put her butt against the cabinet now. “My mother will be here— “