New Hope, Old Grudges Read Online Anne Malcom

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary Tags Authors: Anne Malcom Advertisement1

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Hazel eyes met mine. Again, they were intense, filled with concern … warmth.

“Do you need me to help you with your clothes?” he asked.

I blinked. Then I found my anger. “No, I don’t need you to undress me.”

Brody held up his hands in surrender, and although he still looked concerned, I could’ve sworn he was hiding a smile.

“There’s a robe you can wear.” He nodded to a dark-green, plaid robe hanging on the back of the door. “I’ll leave some fresh clothes by the door for you.”

I pursed my lips, stopping myself from thanking him for the kindness. I also stopped myself from refusing the offer. Though my clothes weren’t wet, they felt like they were made of icicles, so I was glad I wouldn’t have to put them back on.

We stared at each other, his eyes still glittering with warmth.

My stomach swirled, and not in a way that was entirely uncomfortable.

“Some privacy?” I asked, my voice now a little stronger.

“I’ll be right outside if you need me.”

I scowled at him. “I won’t. Need you. Ever.”

“We’ll see,” he pursed his lips before he left the room.

I stared at the door, thinking I probably should’ve argued with him, and I definitely shouldn’t have been feeling just a little turned-on when there was a high probability that I was still mildly hypothermic. I told myself it was the hot bath and the hot cocoa that warmed my bones. Not the look Brody gave me when he left the bathroom.

Chapter Nine

WILLOW

I stayed in the bath for a long time, topping up the water every time it cooled to the point where the water level was dangerously close to splashing over onto the tile floor. A petty part of me wanted to keep filling the bath up until it overflowed, leaving puddles all over the floor.

But I wasn’t petty. So if I had done it, I would’ve felt too guilty then ended up having to clean up the mess I made. I was already in the middle of cleaning up a pretty big mess as it was. Therefore, I eventually made myself get out of the bath. My muscles groaned as I did, exhaustion coated my body so even the simple act of drying myself felt herculean.

I wrapped Brody’s robe around my body. It was soft from being washed so many times, and it smelled of Brody and laundry detergent. I inhaled the fabric deeply before I quite knew what I was doing.

Smelling Brody Adams’s robe was not sane behavior. Then again, I had almost died in a snowdrift, so I was cutting myself some slack. I also didn’t beat myself up for sniffing the soft sweats he’d left at the door.

The bottoms were not swimming on me like those women in movies wearing their boyfriends’ clothes. I had hips and ass and was taller than most women, so his sweats weren’t ridiculously loose. Though I had to fold them over a couple of times to keep them on my hips. The Henley he provided was loose everywhere except the chest area. I snuggled into the knit sweater and socks he provided after taking the time to towel dry my hair as much as I could.

I regarded my reflection. Though I was still pale, there was a flush to my cheeks now. Though small shadows remained underneath my eyes, I no longer looked near death. I was still tired, though, my limbs feeling heavy.

The urge to lock myself in this bathroom for the rest of time was very inviting but ultimately not sustainable. I needed to dig deep because I had a lot to get through before I could find my way to sleep tonight. I first had to face Brody, then face my family. So after making sure I’d folded my used towel neatly on the towel rail, draped the bath mat over the bath and wiped up any rogue droplets of water, there was nothing left to do other than open the door.

It led to the long hall Brody had carried me down. To my left were a couple more doors with one on the end that I guessed was his bedroom.

A wild urge to go left and snoop in his room overcame me until a sound from my right pulled me to my senses. It was the clang of a pot, coming from downstairs.

My socked feet padded down the hall and then down the stairs. They gave a view to the open plan living and kitchen area. To the right of the stairs was a large kitchen, to the left was a living room with a fireplace.

The dog I’d heard was a Chocolate Lab, still in its bed, but its head was cocked toward me on the stairs, tail thumping as it wagged.

I loved dogs.

My family loved dogs.

We’d always had them. Until I moved out, at least. And our last old dog, Nyx, a Black Lab, had died. My father had been talking about getting a new puppy before he died.


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