Flesh 02 Skin(25)
Nick winced and adjusted himself before the zipper of his jeans did him damage.
He scratched at the door again. A plea from the randy dog locked outside in disgrace. Probably would have gotten off easier if he’d just pissed on the rug. He drew the line at whining and pleading. Or at least, at obvious pleading.
He could go in there after her. Force the door open and force a confrontation. What would it prove? She’d been behaving, and the minute she gave an inch he pushed for the full country mile. Because he was an idiot, clearly. An idiot who would do it all again in a heartbeat for the chance to get close enough to touch her.
Nick slid down the wall with a sigh. Hung his head and rubbed the back of his neck. Got himself comfortable.
It was going to be a long wait.
CHAPTER NINE
Roslyn didn’t end up sleeping in the bath. She wanted to, but she didn’t. There was every chance he’d storm in and she didn’t have anything suitable for barricading the bathroom door. So she gave him the silent treatment instead. A brick wall couldn’t have competed. Even when hunger gnawed at her guts, forcing her to leave her haven, her lips remained pressed tightly shut. Every time he tried to talk to her she turned her back.
Untrustworthy, manipulative, repugnant piece of shit that he was.
After the hundredth mumbled apology he’d slapped the chain back around her ankle with a long-suffering sigh and gone off to wash up.
Poor him, so fucking maligned.
Kissing her had crossed a line. The memory of his breath on her face and his mouth against hers kept twirling about inside her skull. She hated him. She did. Loathed his firm lips and reviled his steady hands. Abhorred the sound of his voice and detested the scent of him. Every piece of him repulsed her.
Despicable fucking man. The rant went on and on inside her head. She’d drive herself insane at this rate. When it came time for bed she lay down and hid her head under a pillow. Her very own cone of silence. In a surprisingly intelligent move, Nick slept on the couch. It still took her hours to get to sleep.
He’d disappeared again the next morning when she woke. Everything lay quiet. No footsteps or wood-chopping or anything. She and her chain were alone by the look of things. But he’d be close by. Of course he would.
Roslyn climbed out of bed, stretched, and wandered around. The back door was closed. She ambled over and turned the handle, the metal cool against her skin. He’d locked it. The big front bi-fold doors overlooking the cliff stood open, exposing a cloudy sky.
Where was he?
More of the floury rolls waited on the bench, neatly set out on a plate. A jar of raspberry jam sat beside it and one blunt-edged butter knife. The kind of knife that’d do no one any harm. Well, not without a hell of a lot of effort. He’d even left an elegantly folded napkin.
For the fun of it she checked the utensils drawer. There were spoons of all shapes and sizes: dessert, soup and tea. He apparently didn’t even trust her with forks anymore, because they were gone. Afraid she’d do a Betty Blue and stab him in the arm, perhaps. Nothing but an egg-whisk and a plastic spatula inhabited the second drawer. Tea-towels sat neatly folded in the third and a stack of placemats in the fourth.
The chain was thick, but there had to be something that could damage it, something to lever apart the padlock. People usually kept tools under the kitchen sink.
When she looked there, she saw nothing but a dusty old cockroach bait and some dishwashing detergent.
Frustration beat at her chest, making her blood race. He’d be back soon. This was her chance. Time to get the hell away from him before kissing and cuddling turned into anything more persuasive.
She sucked in a sharp breath. Invasive. She’d meant invasive.
As if he could persuade her to do a damn thing. The cupboard with all the clothes, maybe there’d be something in there.
Hurry, hurry, hurry.
Her breathing sped. She threw open the big doors and started dumping shit onto the floor, clearing it all out. Behind her a bower of clothes and accessories grew. She had to climb up some shelves to check out the back of the top one properly. Her socks slipped, but she persevered. Up she went. Out it all came. Jackets and sweaters and scarves and hats hit the floor. He must have emptied out entire shops in town to outfit her. Did he really think collecting all this stuff was going to get him somewhere? His mind was warped.
Nothing.
Shit. There must be something.
She climbed down before she fell down.
He wasn’t going to be happy with the state of the place. As if his happiness mattered.
Quickly, she searched the rest of the kitchen cupboards, pulling everything out, piling it up on the kitchen benches and generally going crazy. Double-checked the bathroom even though she knew its contents back to front, thanks to the time she’d spent cloistered in there the day before.