WhiskeyBottleLover (8 page)

Every mile the car traveled, his compulsion to remain so
close to Chance diminished. He hated sitting beside her in his invisible state.
It made him feel creepy and too much like a stalker. He’d much rather be seen.
It would save her the startling jolts and him guilt. Who was he kidding? It
would simply be nice to be seen by anyone for a change.

When she finally reached a tolerable distance to her home,
he sent himself to the barn and perched in the rafters. He didn’t understand
the hurt he felt when she blasted him today. It had happened before with other
masters and frankly didn’t bother him one bit. Chance’s words sliced at him
though. Genuine hurt filled his chest. Why?

Maybe because he hoped she’d be different, or because she
showed genuine compassion while she doctored his burns? He looked down at her
work area. Just a matter of hours ago they toiled side by side and he enjoyed
it. Chance didn’t appear to mind it much either, allowing him to touch her
precious works of art.

And why the hell was he sitting here brooding over all this
anyway? Simple. She hurt him. He had to remember even as an immortal he could
still feel pain both physically and emotionally. Opening himself like this
would drive him mad and he’d worked hard to keep that from happening. Yep,
stick to the basic plan. Grant her wishes or trick her into freeing him. There
was no room for anything else.

Except for that odd flash of the past he felt earlier today.
It seemed so damn real. He could actually smell her, the dirt floor and taste
the whiskey on his tongue. Just for a moment it all made sense before
everything evaporated and he found himself once again aching for this woman he
didn’t know.

The sound of the car door slamming alerted him to her
arrival. His first instinct was to jump inside the comfort of her home.
Squashing that, he settled into the rafters and covered himself with a thick
blanket. He told Chance he’d wait for her to summon him and that’s exactly what
he intended to do.

* * * * *

Chance half expected to find Hayes sitting at her table when
she pushed through the door. Instead, nothing but silence and emptiness greeted
her. Thinking nothing of it, she put the Styrofoam containers with their supper
on the counter, slipped out of her light jacket and kicked off her shoes. She
noticed a slight chill in the house. Time to start a fire for the night.

It would soon be time to turn the heat on. She hated the thought
of that. Heating costs were rising and her tight budget didn’t allow for the
increase. There were downed trees in woods that butted up against her property.
Maybe she could get permission to drag them into the yard and chop them up. A
fire every night would help cut down the costs. It would also eat up her
creative time in the barn chopping and hauling the wood, but a balance needed
to be struck.

Nothing new there. It seemed she was always trying to
balance something. Living alone had its advantages but having an extra set of
hands around would be great at times. Company would be nice as well. Once she
had a sufficient little kindling fire going, Chance tossed on a log and
strolled back into the kitchen. She looked at the white containers, glanced over
at the old whiskey bottle and then back at the food.

He did say to rub the bottle and he would be drawn back to
her. No. She wouldn’t force the issue. If he didn’t want to be here inside with
her then fine. Chance tossed her container in the microwave for a few seconds
to warm it up, grabbed some silverware and sat down. The roast beef and gravy
smelled delicious, made her mouth water, but she pushed it around, only taking
a few bites.

She knew why Hayes wasn’t here. That look on his face when
she snapped at him said it all. How many times did someone bite her head off
for being in a place she had no say over? Entirely too many to count, that’s
how many. And it hurt. The man may be over one hundred years old but like he
said, he felt pain just like any other.

Chance dropped her fork, sat back in her chair and scrubbed
her face with her hands. This is why she didn’t let people into her life. She
had to watch everything she said and how she acted. Everything she did affected
the other person and she’d had enough of that. She wanted to be responsible for
herself, no one else.

Glancing over at the counter where the roast beef was slowly
growing colder by the second only made the guilt grow. Damn it. She wouldn’t
sleep tonight if she didn’t at least try to make things right.

“Hayes?” she said aloud, hoping he might be silently
hovering around somewhere. “Hayes, I brought you supper. Would you like to join
me?”

Nothing but the crackle of the fire filled the small area.
Chance rose from her chair, walked to the counter where the whiskey bottle sat
and stared at it. Twice she reached for the glass only to pull her hand back.
Ugh, she hated the thought of touching it again. Finally she mustered up the
courage, snatched the bottle off the counter and gave it a quick rub.

Nothing. Well, hell. He told her to rub it. He stood right
there and said rub the bottle and I’ll come back. Chance frowned, gripped the
bottle tight in one hand and ran her fingers over the glass with the other. A
slight vibration filled her palm but as soon as she stopped, so did the
movement. Chance repeated the caress of the glass and smiled as warmth and
tingles raced up her arm, across her shoulders and down her spine.

Weird, but it felt pleasant, almost like being stroked by a
lover. In fact, it felt so good she stood there lightly strumming the glass and
reveling in the sensation for long minutes, almost forgetting her purpose for
it in the first place. The warm tingling covered more of her body, racing down
the backs of her thighs, wrapping around her legs and even tickling her feet.
Her stomach fluttered, her heart palpitated and even her nipples reacted.

Suddenly a large presence filled the space in her kitchen.
She felt him before actually seeing him materialize in front of her. This time
instead of jumping, she only met his gaze as her fingers continued to stroke
the bottle. Something appeared different about him though.

He seemed to be standing taller, his muscles bunched tight
and oh, look at that, his hands were balled into tight fists at his sides. He
couldn’t be that angry with her, could he? She let her gaze roam up his rising
and falling chest, slide up his neck where the muscles were strained and
frowned when she noticed his nostrils flaring.

Yikes, the guy looked incredibly intimidating, yet she
didn’t feel scared at all. No, fright didn’t describe what was churning inside
her body. Hunger maybe, heat, curiosity. Yeah, curiosity.

“Give me that,” he grumbled, reaching out and taking the
bottle from her hands. “You’re supposed to rub it, not tease the damn thing.”

Chance arched an eyebrow, masking the disappointment she
felt now that the wonderful, thrilling sensations vanished. With her mind
slightly clearer, she realized if she could feel the unique effects, maybe he
did too. He was connected to the bottle after all. Interesting.

“I wasn’t aware I was teasing it. In fact, I didn’t know a
bottle could be teased.” What an interesting development.

Hayes rubbed his face with his free hand, combed his fingers
through his dark mane and struggled for composure. Chance took a quick peek
down and yep, that answered her question. He felt it if that bulge in his jeans
meant anything.

“Is there something I can do for you, Master?”

Oops, he pulled out the “Master” title again. Her nastiness
today hadn’t eased in him yet. “I brought you supper. Are you hungry?”

She couldn’t help but smile at the quick confused, shocked
look on his face. In a matter of seconds he replaced it all with that blank
mask of his. Oh she didn’t like that look on him, not at all.

“I appreciate the gesture, Master. But I will decline your
hospitality for the evenin’. When you’re ready to make your first wish I will
gladly grant it. Until then I’ll leave you in peace.”

Just like that he vanished. She noticed the bottle had
returned to the counter but where the hell did he go? Chance picked it up and
peered down inside, not that she could see anything. Well, this wasn’t going to
work. She wanted to apologize and she couldn’t do it with him hiding. An idea
struck. If he felt her gentle strokes on the glass, then he would feel other
things she did. It made sense.

Chance gripped the bottle around the neck, jerked it off the
counter and smiled. Anxious to see what would happen, she turned on the water
faucet, let it run until it was lukewarm and then shoved the bottle under the
stream. A memory of dipping another sleeping child’s hand in a bowl of water
rushed forward. She’d gotten punished for it when the girl woke up screaming,
her pajamas wet. Would that happen to him?

Chance turned the bottle to make sure the whole body got
good and soaked before removing it. With a giggle, she stroked up the glass all
the way to the opening. There, take that.

“Are you having fun?”

His deep, rumbling voice brought every nerve ending to life.
When she turned and found him standing there dripping wet and bulging from his
jeans, she lost all train of thought. Good Lord, did he make an erotic picture.
His shirt clung to his upper torso so tight it was like he didn’t wear
anything. And his jeans were hugging his thighs, those thick, concrete-crushing
thighs.

“Why do I get the feelin’ you ain’t as sweet and innocent as
you want people to believe?”

Chance jolted from her hypnotic state. “Oh, oh my gosh, I’m
so sorry.” What did she do?

He crossed his arms over his chest, scowled down at her and
dripped all over her floor. “Somehow I don’t think you are.”

Well, no she wasn’t, but that was beside the point. “Do you
have something else you can put on while I dry those clothes?” An image of him
naked popped into her head. Chance literally shook the vision away. What the
hell was she doing?

“You sure there ain’t somethin’ else you’d like to do to me
first? Maybe boil me then peel my hide off? Make an ice cube outta me?”

Okay, so she didn’t think this connection to the bottle
thing all the way through. “I really am sorry, Hayes.” She grabbed some towels
from the drawer and placed them around his feet to soak up the dripping water.
“I’ll get a blanket you can wrap up in and I’ll wash your clothes.”

“No need,” he grumbled and with the flick of a finger his
clothes were dry.

Chance frowned, sniffed the air and winced. “Ugh, that
whiskey smell is worse.” She leaned forward and took a whiff of his clothes.
The water only made the stale alcohol aroma intensify. “Seriously, let me wash
your clothes. It’s the least I can do.” She ran to the living room and grabbed
her biggest, thickest blanket. “Please?”

Hayes snatched it out of her hand. “I’ll use your bathroom.”
He stomped toward the tiny hall, stopped and then turned. “Leave the bottle
alone,” he commanded.

Chance held up both her hands. “I won’t touch it, I swear.”
As soon as he closed the door she slapped her hand over her mouth to muffle the
laughter. Did he look perturbed or what? She glanced at the bottle again and
then shook her head. Nope, he’d been through enough for tonight.

Instead of tormenting him further, Chance warmed his supper
and set it on the table. When he walked out with the blanket wrapped around him
like a too-small cocoon for a gigantic butterfly she nearly lost it. And then
she took in the entire picture. The material came down to mid-thigh and barely
covered his chest. Miles of taut, sun-kissed flesh was exposed, teasing her,
heating her blood and reminding her she was a woman after all.

“Your blanket is a little small,” he said, trying to tug it
closer and close up the gaps.

“I see that,” she answered in a breathy voice. “I think I
might have another one. You can wrap one around your waist and use the other to
cover your shoulders.” It seemed a shame to cover him up like that but reality
knocked on the brain door. She didn’t know this man and there he stood all but
naked.

Chance fished for another large blanket, found one and
handed it to him. “I really am sorry, Hayes. I had no idea this would happen.”

He grunted, turned on his heel and returned to the bathroom.
Leaving made quite the scene. With the blanket pulled tight around his ass, she
could tell it was nothing but pure muscle. Hell, she could probably bounce a
quarter off it.

“Stop it,” she whispered to herself. Game time ended. Be
serious. To busy herself, she tossed another few logs on the fire, not that she
needed any more heat but he could be freezing.

“This is better, thanks.”

Yeah, not that much better. The blanket draped over his
shoulders, leaving his broad chest exposed. She quickly noted the line of
black-as-coal hair that ran down his lower abs and disappeared beneath the
blanket wrapped tightly around his waist. Speaking of abs, dear God, she’d
never actually seen a six-pack on a living, breathing man before. Her fingers
itched to touch them.

“Chance? What’s wrong?”

Wrong? She was standing here drooling over a
one-hundred-year-old man built like a marble god who lived in an old whiskey
bottle and said he’d grant her three wishes. What could possibly be wrong with
any of that? “Nothing. Are you hungry? I warmed up your food. Eat, I’ll put
your clothes in the washer.”

Eager to put some distance between them, she ran to the
bathroom, snatched up his wet clothes and ran down the stairs to the basement.
After jerking the chain to the single light bulb over her washing machine, she
stood there. This wasn’t good. None of it. Him, half naked, being here and
awakening feelings she’d successfully pushed aside. Twenty-four hours and
already she’d lapsed back into her mischievous stage. This was one main reason
she kept to herself.