But then he bends down and his mouth covers mine. A bolt of pleasure runs through me as his arms wrap around me and I'm lifted to my tiptoes. Our bodies press against each other's and my lips open to his probing tongue. My hands reach up to the back of his neck and I knead my fingers into his dark hair. I feel his long fingers spread out along the small of my back, gathering the material of my uniform, and then bunches it roughly into his fist.
Suddenly he emits a guttural sound and pulls his mouth and body away from me, sending me rocking backward onto the soles of my feet. I almost gasp with shock and blink my eyes open in surprise.
"I'm sorry," he murmurs throatily. "You're drunk."
"I—no, it was me, I, um…" I trail off as embarrassment overwhelms me. "I should clean up." He gives me a curt nod and strides quickly out of the kitchen and down the hallway.
Fuck. Fuck. What did I just do?
Chapter Eight
I know I've got zero chance of getting to sleep anytime soon, so I park myself at my desk and try to write a list down of all the details that I've learned in the last couple days. I've got to get my mind off what just happened, and this wine buzz is fading fast. So far I have:
Mrs. Redmond—Krug Grand Cuvee / vodka tonic, 3 ice, 1 thin lime wedge
Kristine Harrington—red wine only, Cava or Pinot, no Merlot, Mark's fiancé
Mr. Redmond—eats in kitchen when by himself
Not like I'm really going to forget that last one. Ugh, what was I thinking? Even if he was interested, it was still inappropriate of me. But then again, I felt the way his body responded. That was an honest reaction. Those were his hands around my waist, holding me against him. And as far as kisses go, that was the absolute top. Could I really have been all alone in that feeling?
I glance down at my pad of paper and find that while my mind's been wandering, I've drawn a profile next to my short list. A man's profile. Mr. Redmond's. I slowly move my pencil over, shading in the darker areas under his eye and cheekbone, then defining his dark lashes and eyebrows, and getting the slight hitch in his nose just right. There. I slide my hand over, penciling in his hair, then his ear and extending his neckline further down. I add in the top of the sweater he was wearing tonight, using crosshatching to fill in the texture.
I lean back to study my work, then feel an overwhelming sensation of guilt. I remember the last time I made art of any kind, and I don't deserve the happiness it gives me. And, even if Mr. Redmond had actually been interested in kissing me, I don't deserve to do that either.
A sound from the hallway causes me to jerk my head around toward my door. I pause for a second, listening. I heard Aaron and Ms. Mueller come home already, so I don't think it's them. A shiver runs through me as my thoughts turn to Jody Hall. I'm not easily frightened, but I am staying in her old room.
I take a deep breath and stand, then move quickly to the door and yank it open. A small figure turns and jumps in surprise in front of the open linen closet.
"Oh, shit! Sorry, I was trying not to wake anyone up," a woman's voice whispers and moves toward me. "You're the new maid?"
"Cora," I say, trying to get a better look at this person as she moves from the darkness of the hallway toward the light emanating from my desk lamp.
"I'm Whitney. The sister. Probably they forgot to tell you about me," she says, rolling her eyes. I smile at her, even as I'm struck by how little she resembles her brother and mother, with her pale blonde hair and hazel eyes.
"No, no, of course not. I just wasn't expecting to find anyone out here."
"My roommate has her boyfriend over again, so I decided to come home for the night to actually get some sleep. Not that I feel much like sleeping," she adds, bouncing from one foot to the other. "I'm looking for some sheets actually, maybe you've seen them," she explains in a whisper, moving toward the closet. "Pink, with these little dark pink hearts on them. They're my favorite, but there's these plain white sheets on my bed right now and they're not as soft."
I wince. "Oh. I have seen those. I'm sorry, I washed all the bed sheets today, and your mother told me to throw those out."
"Ugh, she's such a bitch sometimes! She was just waiting for the opportunity," Whitney moans. "So I have a couple stuffed animals and stuff still, so what? I don't get why she cares."
"I am sorry," I repeat. I didn't realize I was stepping into their family drama when I tossed the sheets. My eye moves to the linen closet. "This may sound like a silly question, but did you take a pillow with you to school?"
"No, are you kidding? My mom would never have allowed it. Why?"