Page 81 of Dream House
My breath leaves me. “Shit. I’m raising a felon.”
“Hardly,” Lark answers on a laugh. “And it wasn’t entirely her fault. Grayson knew about my collection and helped himself to a lapis lazuli.”
“Your collection?” I cringe.
He nods. “Rockhound, remember?”
My stomach tightens. His room—all of their rooms—only lock from the inside. “How big is this collection?”
Lark’s smile lights with pride. Pride looks good on him. “I have about seventy different samples, but only a couple dozen are in display cases in my room.” He gives me a confidential look. “As soon as I saw the princess toys, the empty display boxes sort of leapt out at me.”
“Oh God.” I palm my face. “I’m so sorry.” What kind of mother am I? My kid is always helping herself to things that don’t belong to her. And what kind of landlady am I? I knew those kids had been in his room, and I didn’t say anything. I should have gone to tell him immediately.
Unable to meet his eyes, I stare at my bare feet. “Give me just a minute.”
I retreat back into my bedroom and softly close the door behind me. Maisy’s in my tub with bubbles up to her chin. I’m upset, but I’m also the adult here. I’m really the one who’s failing. Not her. Besides, no one deserves to be scolded while buck naked, so I grab her overall shorts and T-shirt from the floor.
“When you’re done, we’ll have a talk,” I say evenly.
She blows on a handful of bubbles, clearly not thinking about her criminal past. “Okay, Mama.”
I take her clothes to my room and spread them out on my bed. At once, I spot a lump in the back pocket of her overalls. I unsnap the button and fish out a rainbow-striped rock roughly the size of an egg. If I didn’t know better, I’d say someone painted on it. The colors are that vivid.
The texture is coarse, not smooth like an emerald or jade. More like a pumice stone. But the colors are unbelievable. Nothing like what you’d expect to see in rock. I grip it tightly and walk it back to the hall.
Lark is leaning against the wall outside my door, his arms folded lazily over his chest. Biceps bulge and muscles ripple, but he looks relaxed. For a moment, I forget what I’m doing and just look at him. It’s not the first time.
Looking at him is like standing under a hot shower. I don’t want to move and I never want it to end.
Except usually, when I find myself staring, it’s at his profile over breakfast or his back as he climbs the stairs.
Not face to face like we are now.
A slow smile claims his mouth. “It’s okay if you can’t find it.”
“Huh?” And it’s then I feel the weight of the egg-shaped rock in my hand. Behind Lark, I see he’s propped Maisy’s princess gear by her door.
Get it together, Stella.
“Here you go.” I hold out the stone. When he takes it from me, his fingers graze along my palm. Warm static cascades down my spine.
I pull my hand away and ball it into a fist, trying to quell the sensation.
Lark’s eyes narrow on me. “You okay?”
“Fine.” I straighten and cross my arms over my chest to hide my tightening nipples. “Just… rattled. That’s all.”
I try to brush off my reaction to his touch, but it’s not so easy. My gaze drops to his hands. What did they feel when he touched me?
“Rattled?”
I raise my gaze. He looks both amused and curious. And close. Is he leaning in? God, he smells good.
I shake my head, trying to clear it. “Just the situation. Maisy taking something of yours.” It’s true, I am upset about that, but my failures as a mother and a landlady are not what rattled me.
No, I’m flustered because beneath this robe, I’m nearly naked, and my wires are getting crossed. My body is confusing signals. That’s all. Me wearing next to nothing, here in the shadows of the hall. Him standing so close, leaning like that… practically at my bedroom door. My instincts are just confusing the context.
And the context is a four-letter word.
