She needs a good spanking to let go of all the tension and reground herself—or let me ground her, bring her back to earth, and release all the anxiety. But if I suggest that, she’ll come unhinged, worsening the situation. Instead, I stifle my inner Dom and follow her commands. I put down the paint she’s already forgotten and help her shove furniture to the center of the Lupine room, covering the rustic wood pieces with drop cloths in preparation for paint.
Her phone rings, and she startles. “Hello? Uh. Sunflower B and B. How can I help you?”
Her recovery is quick, but she’s off her game. I ache to help her beyond pointless redecorating. The rooms are nice already.
“No, I’m sorry. I don’t have any rooms available for those dates, but I hope I can host you in the future.” She’s quiet, listening. “You might try the Alabaster B and B site. A-B-B-Association dot org. Several inns are linked there.” She pauses, so polite to people who aren’t her guests. “My pleasure.” She ends the call. “Sorry. Give me a minute, and I’ll be able to focus.”
Not likely.
She doesn’t wait for an answer before she taps her phone and records a new message about the inn being closed for renovations for the next thirty days and to please check her website for availability.
“You’re busy.”
She lifts her gaze from her phone, wide-eyed and still lost in the customer service fog. “I have a lot of repeat visitors and word of mouth. That, along with Katherine’s redo of my website, and I’ve—we’vegot phenomenal occupancy rates for not being directly in Aspen.”
I adore the way her chest puffs a bit. She’s proud of what she’s done here, and she should be. “I was shocked when you told me this had been your dream. I worried you wouldn’t find the reality as rewarding as the fantasy.”
“It’s more work than I planned, but I do love it. I get the nicest people here. I think because I’m not in Aspen. Their clientele is a bit more demanding.”
“Rates are a lot higher too.” Along with property costs, and there was no way I could relocate her to a busy tourist location where she might be discovered. Running an inn was already a risk. Alabaster was the best I could do, but she’s made it work.
“True.” Amy laughs for the first time since I’ve been here. Her eyes crinkle, and her lips part. She’s radiance and light. In a second, her face shifts back to serious, and I miss her smile. “You and the guys have to be out of here by the time I reopen. It’s my busiest season, so I make most of my money during those four months.”
“We’ll go when I know you’re safe and not a moment before. If you need money, I can cover you.” Even though she’s only asked for help when she reported the Brambillas. Never since.
“It’s not just the money. This is what I do. I’ve already given up one career for these creeps.”
Better a career than her life. After that scare with the car, she has to know.
“I have friends again. I’m finally feeling comfortable in my life.”
Getting comfortable is the problem. The situation is more dangerous than ever. Something I need to remember because the more time I spend with her, the easier it is to see our future together. But I’m not a part of the future she agreed to. Not really. Even if she said I do, she didn’t mean it. I have to change the subject before I say something I regret. “The walls aren’t going to paint themselves.”
“Right.” She turns her back, giving me a view of her sweet peach of an ass.
The jeans hug her cheeks. I’ve never been envious of denim until now. My palm itches to turn her ass red again. I want to pull those old paint-splattered pants down and leave my mark on her. To make her aware of me the same way I’m aware of her.
Not happening.
I shake out another cloth, covering the bare floor to minimize the potential mess.
* * *
With two coatsof pale yellow paint over a coat of primer, the room is bland. I don’t want to criticize, but the warm olive color she had in here before was better. What do I know about decor, though? “How were you going to do all this yourself?”
My back is barking. I keep myself in good shape by running and working out, but keeping up with Amy might kill me.
“It would have taken longer, but I have my ways.” She winks at me. “Ready for lunch?”
And a massage therapist and a hot tub. I nod and follow her to the kitchen.
The sandwich break is over too quickly. I help with cleanup, hoping the next thing on the agenda is a nap. It’s late afternoon, though, so I ask, “Are we moving the bed and furniture back now?”
“No. We’re done for today. I’m actually ahead of schedule since you’re helping.”
I feel a little better about myself and feeling out of shape after hearing that. And I’d like to see the spreadsheet I’m sure she has with all of the tasks meted out so she can track the project to the minute.
“The new bedding won’t be in for a few days. And the artist I’m featuring isn’t supposed to deliver the art until the end of the month. I have some work on the computer—”
