Hold You Close (Seattle Sound Series Book 3) by Alexa Padgett

Author:Alexa Padgett [Padgett, Alexa]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781945090103
Publisher: Sidecar Press, LLC
Published: 2016-11-13T22:00:00+00:00

The day passed in tiny increments. Even though I wanted to ignore him, Murphy refused to let me. His constant supervision grated as did his desire to check my room any time I went in there.

Alpie was snuggled on the couch next to me, preening her feathers.

Murphy glanced at her, then back at me. “Why a bird?”

“She needed a home.”

He raised an eyebrow, his way of telling me he was calling bullshit on my answer. I stroked my hand over her head. Alpie turned and nipped my finger, lifting the crown of hot pink feathers.

“Noelle took me to this bird sanctuary and Alpie hopped onto my shoulder. When Noelle wanted to leave, Alpie wouldn’t get off my shoulder. She kept saying, ‘No. You.’”

“The bird chose you and you accepted? I didn’t think you liked birds much. And don’t cockatoos live for decades?”

Another one of those moments of raw honesty. None of the last few days had turned out how I’d expected. “You were gone.” At the dark look he shot me, I held up my hand. “Arguing over why doesn’t change the fact I assumed our relationship was over. I never planned to fall in love again. I can’t have children, so Alpie seemed like a smart choice. I’d have her for thirty to forty years, and then when I needed more medical support, she’d be gone.”

“You planned to be a spinster with a bird?”

I glared, refusing to answer. I’d wanted Murphy, but I’d tried to move on. Alpie helped heal some of the worst of my emotional scars. On cue, Alpie climbed into my lap and shushed. Murphy waited, but I ignored him. Instead, I picked up the remote and turned on the telly.

By three that afternoon, I strung out too tight, even my skin ached with desperate need for another pill. The stress of close quarters wore me down. While Murphy spent time at the piano—he wasn’t as bad as he’d led me to believe—and bent over his notepad, I moped. Daytime telly was horrendous, even with a million channel options. I watched two movies I couldn’t recall by name. Now, out of sheer boredom, I pulled out my laptop, planning to start searching for a new house.

Murphy’s phone beeped again, the seventh such text. I’d peeked at one earlier—it was a former lover. Three other women called him, but he brushed them off easier than old lint. My scowl deepened as he sighed, mumbling something about territorial craziness. Oh, so the women were crazy for thinking the sex meant something?

I slammed my laptop shut. Murphy glanced up from his notebook, pulling the sleek black spectacles from his nose. I huffed out a breath, annoyed by how sexy the man was, even in eyewear. Hell, there was nothing he didn’t look good in. Kill me now.

Everything about him screamed sex and sweaty nights—but since our talk at breakfast, he hadn’t gotten any closer to me than absolutely necessary. Ergo, he no longer found me attractive. And I suffered—suffered!—from near-constant desire laced with anxiety.

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