Chapter 7
Seven
Marie
One second, he’s grinning, laughing along with my teasing.
The next, his expression flattens out, goes completely blank, hazel eyes turning cold and hard, amusement gone.
My mind screeches to a halt.
What the hell happened?
What the hell did I say?
“Are you?—?”
He blinks and charming is back…albeit behind a thick wall of ice. “Enjoy the cereal,” he murmurs, reaching for his bowl, his laptop and phone. “I need to do some work so I’ll just catch up with you later. Let me know if you need anything.”
“Jace—”
He’s already striding away, barely pauses to glance back at me over his shoulder. “Yeah?”
A terse question.
And I’m reminded that I don’t know this man at all.
The circles beneath his eyes are a dark black, the lines around his face and mouth heavy and deep.
Some weird urge has me wanting to tell him to not stay up too late.
An even weirder one has me wanting to close the distance between us and hug him tightly.
I don’t do either of those things.
Instead, I find myself saying, “Thanks for the cereal.”
A flicker of humor, of light in those hazel eyes, and for a moment, I think I’m going to break through.
But he just replies with, “You’re welcome,” before disappearing down the hall.
And as I sit in the empty kitchen, slowly polishing off my bowl of cereal, all I can think is that I really should have gone with the Frosted Sugar O’s.
Because this healthy stuff tastes like shit.
Hours later, I prop open Jace’s door and move down the hall.
The vacuums haven’t run for at least a half hour and the lights are dim, the space quiet except for an odd humming sound.
So, I take the chance to look, to see if maybe I can sleep in my own bed after all.
But what I find isn’t exactly conducive to that.
The cleaners are gone and while they’ve mopped up most of the water, they’ve also opened all the windows and brought in a bunch of big ass fans that are currently creating a wind tunnel in my condo.
It’s damp and loud and freezing cold.
No, I won’t be sleeping here tonight.
The question is, though, should I sleep in Jace’s guest room?
I could call Jean-Michel or Chrissy or Rory. They would offer up hospitality in a second. But…they’re newly coupled up, just starting their happily ever afters, they don’t need me cramping their style.
And anyway, I don’t need to be across town in the morning.
I need to be here, down the hall, ready to deal with this mess bright and early.
So, I close and lock the door, pad back to Jace’s condo, doing the same there, though I pause before I head to the guest room and peel off my now wet socks. But when I start forward again, I realize the hems of my pajama pants are wet too, leaving trails of moisture on his gorgeous hardwood floor.
I pause just inside the guest bedroom and push them down, leaving me in my oversized hoodie, underwear, and tank.
Then turn for the bathroom, intending to hang them and my socks up to dry.
It’s my turn that has me spotting it.
Hearing it.
The faint sound of music. The narrow bead of light.
Curiosity…
Well, I guess it got the cat and me.
I move toward the music, toward the light, and?—
My breath hitches when I catch sight of him, his big body sprawled out on a brown leather couch…sleeping.
And he looks…
Peaceful and beautiful and I don’t know why, but my feet carry me forward, carry me toward that big couch and the sleeping man on top of it.
I stop when my toes bump against the leather, and it’s only then that I realize how close I’ve come, how creepy I’m acting (oh, the irony). I slam the lid on my curiosity—and on my creepy —and start to retreat.
Only…he looks so much younger like this, eyes closed, lashes casting shadows on the tops of his cheeks, face relaxed, those lines around his mouth, scattered on his temples softer. Quiet and peaceful and a little disheveled, his clothes wrinkled, locks of hair having fallen forward, draping over his forehead.
I should turn away.
Should leave and go to the guest room.
Hell, I should leave Jace’s condo all together and get a fucking hotel room.
But, for some reason, I can’t make myself.
For some reason, I can’t stop myself from reaching forward and smoothing back those hairs.
They’re soft, way softer than I expect and maybe that’s why I don’t immediately lift my hand, why instead of doing what’s prudent, I start sliding my fingers through his hair, sifting through the locks. I memorize the texture, the feel of them shifting over my hand, the even cadence of his breath and slow and steady rise and fall of his chest.
I linger, soaking it all in.
It’s dangerous.
Dumb.
Yet, I can’t stop.
I just keep stroking, just keep my feet planted, my mind focused on this small thing.
Keep touching Jace Henderson.
Until my phone buzzes in the pocket of my hoodie and…
I process how truly insane I’m acting right now.
Only then do I jerk my hand away, a gasp bubbling up in my throat. I barely manage to stifle it as I skitter back a step, as I turn to leave?—
His arm snakes out, hand clasping the top of my bare thigh, and this time, my gasp does escape.
Cheeks flaring hot, embarrassment seeping out of each and every one of my pores, I glance down, see that his eyes are open, and an apology forms on my lips. “I-I’m—” But that’s as far as I get.
Just as well, anyway.
Because he takes over on the speaking front.
His voice is rumbly, a little drowsy when he asks,
“Why’d you stop?”