Page 47 of Heartsick & Lipsticks
“You don’t have to do that.” I knew that I’d told her before that she didn’t have to do the dishes, but I wanted to remind her that it wasn’t her job.
Her eyes lifted to meet mine, and it felt like a punch in the gut. She was so fucking beautiful that when I looked at her, I felt a physical reaction.
“Do what?” she asked.
“The dishes. You can just leave them in the sink. Carmen will be here soon.”
“Oh no, that’s okay. I couldneverlet someone clean up after me.” No sooner had the words left her mouth than she began to backtrack. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that. I just mean, I couldn’t. I mean physically, I couldn’t. I have control issues.”
“What sort of control issues?” I asked. The question wasn’t sexual in nature, but that didn’t stop my head from making it dirty. I wondered if she liked to be in control in the bedroom or if she wanted to relinquish that control. As someone who needed to have control in both places, I found myself holding my breath for her response.
She lifted her hand and brushed a piece of hair behind her ear. “I don’t know; I just need to make sure things are done and done right.”
“And that means you have to do them yourself?” Now my mind had taken a detour to her pleasuring herself.
Her left shoulder lifted in a shrug. “Well, yeah, because if it’s not, I’m going to be the one who has to deal with it.”
I didn’t have a complete picture of Skye’s background, but I would definitely say the outline of her life was coming into focus. Her mom had her young; she liked to party, which meant Skye grew up fast. Then she became a mom when she was barely out of her teens, which meant that she was thrust into adulthood with the responsibility of a child.
This conversation only made me want to ask more about Callie’s father. It frustrated me that Maddox hadn’t been able to find out who he was. I could just ask her about him. That would be the most straightforward thing to do. But Skye reminded me of a skittish wild animal. I was scared that if I made any sudden movements or said anything wrong, she’d dart away and I’d lose her. And I wasn’t talking about physically, although she was prone to quick exits whenever I came into a room. I was talking about her shutting down emotionally.
She had walls up. The problem was that I wasn’t sure if I should scale them, walk around them, break through them, or avoid them all together.
“I’ll let you know about Saturday,” she said before walking around me to leave the kitchen.
When she did, a bubble of panic rose in me. I didn’t want our conversation to be over. I didn’t want her to retreat. “How was your night?”
Her head turned, and she looked over her shoulder. “Oh, it was fine. Good.”
“How is Naomi doing?”
“She’s tired. Sleeping a lot.”
I nodded. “Is that normal?”
I knew that it was, but I was just grabbing at straws to keep talking to her.
“It is, yeah.”
She turned again and made it two steps before I said, “And just to clarify, you don’t look ridiculous. You lookbeautiful.”
“Thank you.” Her cheeks flushed once more before her head turned back and she walked away.
I feared that I’d crossed a line of professionalism and hoped that I hadn’t offended her or made her uncomfortable.
Leaning back against the counter, I ran my hands through my hair in frustration. This woman was driving me crazy, and I had no idea how to regain my sanity. That wasn’t entirely true. I was acutely aware of one way to ease the sexual tension coursing through my veins, but that would entail us being naked, and that woulddefinitelycross the line of professionalism.
