VLAD (Noir MC Book 2) by Celia Crown

Author:Celia Crown [Crown, Celia]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-01-27T06:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

Mavis

She didn’t finish all her food, but Vlad made sure she had that glass of water in her tummy.

She’s proud of herself for eating more than her usual portion, she hates wasting food, but her stomach would have exploded if he didn’t take the rest of untouched waffles.

Mavis was going to leave the dishes in the sink, but mom didn’t raise a slob. She insisted that she’d clean since he cooked for her, he indulged her with a kiss on her temple.

Sharing responsibilities, she had said.

He’s outside shoveling the mountain of fresh snow while she finishes the dishes.

The kitchen is nothing too fancy; standard equipment and adequate spacing without forcing a sense of professionalism in a bar setting.

She dries the plates and utensils with a towel before putting them back into their space, which she had to open several drawers and cabinets to find the right places.

When he went back up in the bedroom, he retrieved her shoes and her coat. He knows she wants to help with shoveling as it looks tiring from the way he bends to his waist to pick up the pile of snow.

Spreading the wet towel on the counter next to the sink for it to dry, she washes her hands because she may not have any discomfort when touching Vlad but touching everything else brings back unease of dirtiness in her hands.

She moves out the kitchen and locks eyes with the obnoxiously red coat laying on the barstool. The coat is a gift from her boss, it’s from expensive materials and made by the hands of a famous coat-maker.

Mavis didn’t think the title exists, but it does.

Tugging the coat on, she digs into her pockets for the pair of gloves that’s been a hermit the day she got them. With her gloved hands opening the door, iciness stings on her thighs and she mentally groans.

She’s not wearing pants again.

Vlad turns around with the shovel stabbing into the ground. He voices her thoughts as his dark eyes take in her underdressed appearance.

“Why do you assume I never wear pants?”

He said plainly, “Because you don’t.”

She pouts at him, stepping further into the snow. A quiver tumbles down her shaking body, her body is not used to Nevada temperature when Miami is dryness and burning heat every day.

The snowstorm stopped sometimes during their three-hour breakfast; they talked and talked, she thinks because he’s Vlad, she believes that she’s not the socially awkward scientist everyone paints her as.

With a clean slate of snow around them, she breathes in the cleanliness lingering in the air as sunlight reflects on the tiny flakes, creating a natural glow around them.

It’s a change of scenery she likes, her heart thumps steadily when Vlad cocks his head in silent inquiry. His wide shoulders fill in the sleek leather jacket with his black boots contrasting the ivory snow. Gentle breeze sweeps pass his hair as they sway with the rhythm, he stabs the shovel into a pile of dense snow to make it support itself.

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