Written in Stone: Sweetwater Series Book 1 (Sweetwater Security) by A.D. Wilde

Author:A.D. Wilde [Wilde, A.D.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Dark Woods Publishing
Published: 2023-08-07T16:00:00+00:00

Bright morning light streams through the bay windows on the other side of the room. Rays of sun cast warmth across the king bed I’m sprawled out on. I stretch like a cat beneath the satin sheets and glance over at the clock on the nightstand, groaning when I realize it’s nearly noon.

I crawl out of bed and pad over to the ensuite, locking the bathroom door behind me. My toiletries are neatly situated on the vanity. My bath items have taken their place on shelves inside the walk-in shower. Embarrassment unfurls inside me when I spot my travel-sized bag of tampons perched on the back of the toilet.

Joel must have unpacked for me while I was sleeping. Which is mildly confusing considering after I clambered out of the tub last night and went in search of him, he had locked himself in his bedroom and I haven’t seen him since.

When I finish checking to make sure everything I need is here, I get dressed, brush my teeth, comb my hair, and apply a light dusting of makeup. Then I make my way down the hall.

I find Joel sitting at the kitchen island, scowling at his phone.

I approach him the same way you would a wild animal—with extreme caution. “Good morning.”

His eyes shoot to mine and his scowl softens, but only a fraction. “Morning,” he grunts out. “Sleep well?”

“Like the dead.” I smile gently at him, hoping my grim sense of humor will lighten the mood. It doesn’t. I take a seat in the chair on the opposite end of the island from him in case he decides to rip my head off. “What’s the plan today?”

“Hospital,” he deadpans, his eyes fixed on his cell phone again.

“Do you think the PI will have anything useful?”

“Yes. One way or another, he’ll give us something.”

One way or another. My imagination runs wild with ways to make someone talk. “When do we leave?”

“After you eat something.”

Food’s the last thing on my mind and I don’t normally bother with breakfast. Besides, what I’m really thinking about is whether I can somehow snag a neck brace from the hospital to deal with all the emotional whiplash Joel’s inflicting on me.

“I’m not hungry,” I inform him blandly.

“You’ll eat.”

There’s no winning with this guy. He’s impossibly stubborn. Joel rises from his seat and pops two slices of bread in the toaster. I roll my eyes and watch as he slathers peanut butter across the toast and pours me a coffee. He slides the plate and cup across the island at me, then leans against the counter and watches me eat. His icy, blue eyes flare as I make a show of swiping a dribble of warm peanut butter from my chin and pop my finger in my mouth, sucking it clean.

His gaze tracks the movement and he licks his lips. “Keep it up and we won’t be leaving this house,” he threatens. His deep baritone voice echoes through the kitchen and straight to my throbbing clit. And now the peanut butter isn’t the only warm, sticky thing I’ll have to clean up.

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