Chapter 29
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Pride filled Vanessa as she climbed the back staircase from the bar to the apartments, with Jordan behind her.
“That was the most exhilarating night of my life,” she exclaimed.
“The girls killed it. And did you see Murray and Beck? They totally found their swagger. I wouldn’t be surprised if Murray got a call from an agent.
” Her adrenaline was fading, and her feet were killing her.
Her strappy designer stilettos were nothing more than a leather sole with a gold-colored strap across the toes and one that snaked around her ankle partway up her calf, but they’d been the perfect pairing for her dress, so no regrets.
Still, after five hours of wearing them, she had to grab the handrail to ease the pressure.
When she teetered dangerously, strong, warm hands grasped her waist, holding her steady.
“Easy, princess,” Jordan said as he let her go and they continued up the steps. “Those shoes,” he muttered under his breath, “are fucking death traps.”
“I’ll have you know—” She whirled on the third-last step to the top, and he crashed into her, chest bumping against hers as he stopped.
One of his arms wrapped around her waist, steadying her again before they both tumbled down the stairs. At this level, they were almost the same height.
The proximity stole her breath. It had been like this since the show ended and she’d stepped from the stage. Jordan hadn’t left her side.
Now, alone in the stairwell, the air around them became thick and heady with a pulsing energy that left her lightheaded.
Her unsteadiness, she told herself, was the only reason her hand came to his shoulder. How did he smell so good this late in the day? And why was it making her feel like she’d had two glasses of prosecco on an empty stomach? “I’ll have you know,” she repeated, “that these are Stuart Weitzmans.”
When their eyes locked, a dangerous glint flickered across his darkening orbs. Dear God, was she panting? She was sure that if his gaze dropped to her chest, he would see her heart trying to beat its way out of her body.
Never taking his sight off her, he replied, “I don’t know who that is, but if he’s causing you pain, I hate him.”
Close your mouth, dammit. You look like a cat in heat.
Her racing heart and overheated skin were remnants of adrenaline from the most exciting night of her life.
Her shortness of breath and the drunk sensation fogging her brain were a mix of her crashing adrenaline and pent-up exhaustion after weeks of hard work.
It had nothing to do with the way her bodyguard was gripping her waist.
Licking her dry lips, her next words left her mouth before she even formulated them in her brain. “Do you want to come to my apartment for a drink to celebrate?”
The suggestion was so clear, the tick in his jaw even recognized it. She swallowed dust and held her breath.
After everything that had happened in the last few weeks, she understood their relationship had changed.
He’d gone from perpetually annoyed, reluctant babysitter to perpetually annoyed, fiercely protective bodyguard.
Still, in moments like these, where his expression was a glittering swirl of frustration, impatience, and heated interest, she wasn’t sure if she was witnessing a reflection of her own unraveling need or misreading his carefully guarded emotions altogether.
“I don’t drink.” In the quiet stairwell, his grumbled words were loud and clear.
She resisted the urge to roll her eyes at his typical non-answer response. “Don’t worry, Zeus, I wasn’t trying to get you drunk and take advantage of you. I’ve just recently stocked up on coke.”
His posture stiffened, and she bit her lip, worried she’d given too much away. “Oh come on, don’t look so shocked. I’ve sat with you at Bowie’s enough times to know you never order anything else.”
The crease between his eyebrows deepened as he observed her, his palm burning an imprint against her hip. “You keep Coca-Cola in your fridge? For me?”
Heat bloomed in her cheeks at his stunned tone. “Well, I don’t think anyone born in this century calls them Coca-Cola anymore, but yes.” She averted her gaze. It was as far as she could get from him at that moment.
“I wasn’t born in this century.”
“No kidding.”
His hand caught her chin, tilting her face back to his with quiet command. Heat exploded through her entire body.
His voice dropped, low and rough. “You keep Coca-Cola in the fridge. For me.”
She tried to look away, but the slight jerk of his hand on her jaw stopped her. So she held his stare, masking the heat rising in her with a cool, practiced one. “It’s the neighborly thing to do.”
His fingers flexed on her chin, like he was trying to hold something back. She waited, trying not to let her mind spiral.
After a long, tension-filled beat, he said, “Let me feed Nigel, and I’ll be over.”
Abruptly, he stepped ahead of her but kept her hand entwined in his as he led her the rest of the way up to the top.
“Um, okay.” She scrambled after him.
Jordan scoped out the hallway in bodyguard mode, then turned to her. “Give me three minutes.”
Three minutes? Her armpits were wet, and her makeup was all but melted off from blushing, not to mention that she was fairly certain she didn’t smell as good as he did right now.
“Do you mind if I have like fifteen?” When he blinked at her, she explained.
“I could use a little refresh and a shower.” Her hands fluttered over her designer dress.
“While this looks gorgeous, it isn’t the most comfortable outfit for lounging on the couch with drinks.
” Not to mention she wasn’t wearing underwear, and the way he was looking at her right now, it didn’t seem wise to go without any longer.
Jordan’s gaze tracked her body like molten lava, slow and scorching, sending a fresh wave of heat straight to her aching core. Oh, how she wanted this man.
When he finally met her gaze again, he rumbled, “Ten minutes.”
He didn’t move until she unlocked her door and stepped over the threshold. “Lock the door, I’m not leaving until I hear the click.”
Then with a soft forehead kiss, he shut the door. Inside she looked out the peephole. Jordan stood solid, unshakable. So freaking hot.
“Lock it, Vanessa.”
With a sigh, she turned the lock. Holy heaven, that man did things to her ovaries that should be illegal. They really needed to talk about it before they both spontaneously combusted.
Tugging off her heels, she let out a groan of relief filled the empty apartment. You’d think twelve-hundred-dollar shoes would be more comfortable.
Padding to her bedroom, a sudden chill raised the hairs on the back of her neck. The air was cold like a window had been left open, except it was February, and she wouldn’t open a window.
Her heart tripped over itself as she cranked the thermostat higher. It was probably the adrenaline letdown and no longer being close to Jordan’s heat that had given her this chill. She needed a hot shower.
In her bedroom, she quickly stripped off her dress, leaving her wearing nothing but the necklace with the key Jordan had given her. She clutched the key instinctively as another shiver ran across her shoulders.
Grabbing the silk robe she’d left on her bed, she wrapped it around her. Then she pulled sensible white boy-short underwear from one of her drawers and a pale-pink lounge set from another. She set them on her bed and headed for the shower.
The chill she couldn’t shake traveled up her spine, and she almost ran to the bathroom, locking the door firmly behind her. She pressed her hand to her heart trying to calm its rapid beating and leaned her head against the door.
What was wrong with her? Freaking herself out was no way to end this epic night. She turned on the hot water, inhaled a deep breath and pictured herself curled up on the couch in cozy clothes, Jordan beside her, Coke in hand.
A small smile tugged her lips. A month ago, the idea of him starring in her comfort fantasy would’ve made her laugh until she peed herself.
She stepped into the shower and let the hot water sluice over her. She stood there soaking for a few minutes, but the chill still clung to her. Maybe what she needed wasn’t heat. Maybe all she needed was Jordan and Nigel?
Knowing her fifteen minutes were probably already up, she made quick work of finishing her shower.
She toweled herself off, put on her robe, and tried to remember if she had any lemons in her fridge. Jordan always added a lemon wedge at Bowie’s. She thought of it more as a garnish, but now wondered if maybe it was a preference. Was Jordan a Coke and lemon kind of guy?
For some unknown reason, she wanted this to be the best damn Coke that Jordan had ever tasted.
As she headed back to her bedroom, her steps faltered. The door was shut. Had she closed it? Her heart kicked up, thudding in her chest.
With one hand on the key around her neck, she swallowed hard and used the other to push the door open.
The room was empty. She must have closed the door. Air rushed from her lungs in a relieved woosh.
But as she entered the room, another cold draft swept across her. She scanned the corners, half expecting someone to leap from the shadows.
“Don’t be stupid,” she muttered under her breath. “Paranoia is not a good look.”
She forced herself to take another deep breath. Jordan would be over soon. And she no longer liked being alone. That’s all this was. She’d grown too dependent on him.
But when she reached the foot of the bed, her stomach dropped. Her lounge set lay neatly where she’d left it, but her panties were gone. The panties she knew she’d put there.
Her hands started to tremble first, a faint shake that spread up her arms and spine, until her knees shook like they might give out. Panic clawed at the edges of her mind as her brain scrambled for logical explanations.
Maybe she thought she’d put her underwear out? A habit so ingrained that she assumed she’d done it. Like thinking you put on shoes before leaving the house, only to notice you’re wearing slippers at the grocery store. Or thinking you’d locked the house, only to arrive home to an unlocked door.
Her throat tightened. At least she was certain she’d locked the door.
Her hand shot up to the chain around her neck again. She never took it off, not even when she showered. It had become her security blanket.
“You’re fine. You’re fine. Calm down.” She gave herself a shaky pep talk, her voice cracking slightly as she went to grab another pair of underwear.
The second she opened the drawer, everything inside her went cold. Her heart slammed against her ribs as her breath hitched. She blinked, clearing the blur from her eyes, and focused on the small Polaroid sitting on top of her neatly folded underwear.
Her hands trembled so badly it took her a moment to lift the photograph. Her stomach twisted in a tight knot as she stared at the image. Her. More specifically, her naked, taken from behind, probably the exact moment before she’d reached for her robe.
The photographer had to have been standing right there. In the room. Behind her.
A cold fist of terror clamped down on her chest as she spun around. She stared at her closet, open a crack, barely wide enough to see through…but enough to snap the photo.
The Polaroid slipped from her fingers, fluttering to the floor. Then she turned and ran.