This time she seemed less sure of herself, more hesitant and it irritated him because it made her warmer, more approachable and unbelievably appealing.
He watched as she looked to the ceiling then asked, “Is Sally okay?”
“Aye.”
Her gaze came to him and her head tipped to the side. “Jason?”
“Aye.”
“Are you okay, um… after all of this?”
He liked it that she asked. Especially since she asked in a way that indicated she cared.
That familiar heavy, warm feeling hit his gut.
He ignored it and repeated, “Aye.”
She stopped speaking then she took in a breath.
With little patience, wanting to be out of her presence, wanting to be outside with his whisky, Prentice asked, “Elle, what’s on your mind?”
She swallowed and then ran the tip of her tongue along her upper lip. His body responded strongly to the sight of her tongue.
More of his low volume of patience ebbed away.
“Elle, I’m tired. I want to wind down after –”
“I have something to show you,” she said quickly, taking two steps into the room before she halted. Then he watched as she visibly lost courage, looked at his whisky and asked, “Can I have one of those?”
Careful to shield his still ebbing patience, he poured her a whisky. They walked toward each other, closing the distance between them and he handed it to her.
She took it and belted back a healthy swig.
Too healthy.
After she swallowed, her mouth dropped open, she sucked in breath as if it burned and tears sprang to her eyes.
“It’s meant to be sipped,” Prentice advised but as he was talking she took another healthy swig.
He stared in surprise.
This was something the crazy Elle who was friends with the mad Annie would do twenty years ago.
They’d get up to anything.
Much like her comment earlier about voting to push Annie off the cliff.
Elle and Annie, twenty years ago, would say practically anything as well (Annie still would), most of it hilarious.
She finished the whisky on a third swig, shut her eyes tight and winced.
When she opened her eyes to look at him, she breathed, “Good stuff.”
God, she was cute when she behaved like this. And he didn’t need cute Elle sleeping under his roof either.
No, he especially didn’t need that.
“Elle –” His patience was running out.
“I have to show you something,” she blurted, interrupting him.
“All right.”
“You’re going to be angry.”
His eyes went to the magazine. Then they returned to hers.
He didn’t speak.
“Likely very angry,” she went on.
He still didn’t speak.
“Probably very, very angry.”
“For Christ’s sake –” he clipped but didn’t finish as she flipped open the magazine and showed him a page.
He couldn’t believe his eyes. On it was a photo of Elle, Jason and him walking into hospital days before.
Jason, he noted with pride, held his body with surprising confidence for a boy his age and, even though he looked worried, he was still a handsome lad.
Elle, he noted with annoyance, held her body with unsurprising poise and, even though she looked worried, she was still a beautiful woman.
He didn’t bother studying himself.
Prentice pulled the magazine from her hand and read the caption.
Then he exploded, “Fucking hell!”
“I knew you’d be angry,” Elle replied swiftly.
He narrowed his eyes on her and snapped dryly, “Oh, you knew that, did you?” Flipping to the front of the magazine and seeing it was a celebrity gossip rag, published undoubtedly on a variety of continents he exploded again, “Christ!”
“Annie says I should talk to you. Explain how I deal with this kind of thing,” Elle said quickly.
He looked at her and his tone was biting when he asked, “Aye? You have sage advice on how I should deal with the fact that my son, without my knowledge and against my wishes, has his photograph in a trashy magazine? You have experience with that, do you?”
He watched her face pale.
Fuck.
His anger and impatience, this f**king situation, the last f**king week, hell, the last f**king month, had pushed him over the edge. He hadn’t thought about his words and he’d gone too far.
Way too far.
“Elle –” he started, instantly filled of regret.
“No,” she cut him off, cute Elle gone, warm, appealing Elle vanished, cool and aloof Isabella in her place.
He wouldn’t have said it two minutes ago but he wanted the other two back.
“As you know, I do not,” she went on. “However, I know what it’s like having my photo in trashy magazines without my knowledge and against my wishes. Nonetheless, I’m not a parent so you’re correct, I don’t have any sage advice for this.”
She bent to put her glass on the table and he knew she intended to leave.
He should have let her go.
But Prentice was f**king tired of letting her go.
Therefore, he didn’t let her go.
He slammed his glass beside hers, caught her upper arm in his grip and was surprised at her reaction.
It was violent.
She twisted her arm in a way that he had to release her or he’d hurt her. Which meant to keep her from leaving he had to find other purchase.
So he did.
He put both hands to her h*ps and yanked her toward him.
Her body slammed into his.
It felt f**king great.
Before he could react to this, she tipped her head back, he saw her eyes flash and she demanded in a voice that was not cold at all. It was heated.
And loud.
Loud enough for the children to hear.
“Take your hands off me, Prentice Cameron!”
Damn, but she looked f**king gorgeous when she was angry.
He didn’t do as she asked.
He shuffled her back toward the open doors. Sliding an arm tight around her waist, he held her front against his side as he reached out, grabbed one door then the other and pulled them to.
Then he pinned her in front of him against the doors.
She was breathing heavily, her br**sts pressing against his chest with each breath.
Through gritted teeth, he said, “Now, if you’ll give me a f**king second before you run away, again, I’ll apologize for being a thoughtless bastard.”
“Fine. Apology accepted. Now step away,” she snapped, giving him a push with her hands at his waist.
He resisted the push by leaning further into her which pressed them together from h*ps to chests.