Baxter sighed, and brushed my cheekbone with his thumb, which seemed to be a favorite gesture of his. “Go sleep, babe.” He then stepped back, dropping his hand to his side, and when I hesitated, he jerked his chin at the B and B behind me. “Go on. You’ll see me tomorrow.”
I sighed in amused irritation at his presumptuousness. “I will, will I?”
“You will, will you.”
I laughed, despite my irritation. “Good night, Baxter.”
“Good night, Eva.”
I went inside, turning the knob as silently as I could, and made my way up the stairs to my room, stepping softly, and closed my door behind me. It wasn’t until I’d climbed into the bed still clothed that I realized at some point I’d stopped insisting he stop calling me Eva. And then I realized I kind of liked his nickname for me, and all the terms of endearment he called me. Presumptuous, and a little sexist, perhaps, but for some reason, I didn’t mind.
I’d expected to fall asleep immediately, but I didn’t. My eyes were burning, but they wouldn’t stay closed, and then when they did, all I saw was Baxter. His body, the lines of his muscles, the craggy perfection of his jawline. His manhood. His eyes, hot and chocolate brown and intense. Seeing me far too clearly.
When I fell asleep, I dreamed of him. Of touching him. The dream, when I woke up abruptly with my core throbbing and my breasts aching, only served to reinforce that what had happened had been real. Almost too real, maybe.
I did eventually fall asleep again, and Baxter was there once more.
3
Baxter
Iwasin the dining room of the Kingsley’s B and B by ten, which I felt wasn’t too early or too late, given the lateness of the night before. It was empty, everyone else staying there having eaten and gotten on their tourist way by then. So, I sat and sipped coffee and chatted with John and Bev, discussing the changes to Ketchikan over the last few years, and sports, and the weather. Unlike most of my other brothers, I’m naturally garrulous and have no problem making small talk, and I can make it charming. When you’re built like I am, and have my somewhat brutal-looking and rugged features—as women I’ve known in the past have thus described me, mind you—you have to fight against stereotypes; people tend to assume because I have twenty-inch biceps and I shave the sides of my head, and because of the scarring to my face and knuckles from all the fighting that I must be a meathead mouth-breather capable of only the most basic of verbiage, like “ugh” and “punch” and “Bax hungry.”
This one time, in Calgary, after a game, I was in a bar hitting on this chick, buying her drinks and such, prepping to chat her up and see about taking her back to my place for a few hours. She gets her drink, gives me one up-and-down scrutinizing look-over, and then starts talking to me in a loud voice using small words, like I was a dog or a child, or like some assholes talk to people for whom English is a second language. I hadn’t even spoken to her, only bought her a drink from across the bar and made my way over after the bartender pointed me out as the buyer. I told her to go fuck herself in French first, to make a point, and then in English.
But by eleven a.m., even my ability to make small talk was waning, and Beverly clearly had other work to do and was getting antsy, so I told them I was content just waiting for Evangeline to wake up.
By noon, I was done waiting.
I made sure John and Bev were both elsewhere, and then I went up to her room—which I’d promised myself I wouldn’t do, but hey, this is me we’re talking about. Her door was unlocked, the silly, trusting girl; John and Beverly’s house was an old one, restored to look as close to the original Victorian style as possible, so all the bedroom doors featured manual locks as opposed to the newfangled electronic keycard kind, which I figured Eva was used to and, being sleepy, just forgot to lock it behind her. So, after peeking in to make sure she was still in bed and that she wasn’t, like, naked on top of the covers or anything, I left the B and B, zipped up to the local coffee shop for a couple cups of coffee and a nice toasted bagel with local lox and cream cheese.
When I returned, Eva was still sleeping. Still clothed, too, dammit. I let myself into her room and crouched on the floor beside her bed. She was fast asleep, and goddamned beautiful…just fuckin’ lovely as hell. Made the pit of my stomach flip-flop, just looking her. She’d left her hair loose and it was all in her face in fine glossy black strands, and her face was at peace, her lips slightly parted. Her hand was curled into a loose fist under her chin, and she had the blankets tugged up to her shoulders, lying on her side facing the room.
I took off the top of one of the paper cups of coffee and wafted it under her nose; she made a soft grumbling sound, and then wrinkled her nose, sighed, and stirred. I unwrapped the bagel and held it near her nose, and the freshly toasted scent had her stirring and moaning. The moan, though? That shit went straight to my dick, and I went hard as a rock in an instant, hearing her moan like that.
She stirred again, and I switched the bagel for the coffee. Another even more temptingly erotic moan, and I put the bagel up near her nose again.
Her eyelids flickered and fluttered. Emerald eyes peered at me, sleepy, confused. “Mmm…bagel?” I held half of the bagel up to her mouth, and she parted her lips and took a dainty, genteel bite. “Mmm. Mmmm-hmmm. ’S good.”
“Local lox on a freshly baked bagel,” I said. “Fit for a princess.”
She blinked at me, and then took the bagel and rolled to her back, shimmying upward into a partially reclined position. “You show up in all the best dreams, Baxter.”
I laughed. “Oh god, not that horseshit again.”
She devoured half of the bagel in a few bites, and then licked the cream cheese off her fingers, at which gesture I may or may not have audibly groaned. “What?”
I eyed her. “What, what?”
“I’m confused.”
“Me too,” I said.
She rolled her eyes at me, spied the lidless cup of coffee on the nightstand, and snagged it, sipped carefully. “This coffee is amazing.”
I winked at her. “Only the best for you, babe.”
I was still holding the rest of the bagel in my hand, and she was eyeing it hungrily. “About that other half of the bagel…”
