Chapter Fifteen
S ometime during the night, Aubrey walked into the living room, leaving Serge asleep in her bed. By the time daylight filtered through the curtain and Serge found her, she was no closer to making any sense out of how she'd behaved yesterday.
Serge sat on the couch and pulled her onto his lap. She let him hold her close and placed her head on his shoulder. Dealing with what happened seemed easier when he was near, but that fact frightened her.
Alone and in the dark, she'd discovered how lost she felt without him.
"You should've woken me up," he murmured against her hair.
What was she supposed to say? She needed time to herself without him pressuring her or swaying her thinking. It was hard to accept that she'd fallen right into his arms last night when she found him in her house.
She'd effortlessly given away her independence, acting like she couldn't live without a slap on the ass. Swallowing hard, she couldn't understand why she had downplayed what happened. He was aggressive yesterday. She felt every step into the living room earlier.
"I don't want you to think about what happened while you're at work today," he said.
She stiffened. Work? How could she go to the shelter, much less do anything physical?
She pushed into a sitting position but remained on his lap. "I need to shower and get ready for work."
His hand clamped down on her thigh, stopping her. She winched, and a tiny surge of pleasure she couldn't explain warmed her. He lifted the T-shirt she wore and gazed down at her leg.
Three faint bruises marred her skin. Barely anything, really. They'd be gone in a day.
One by one, he placed his hand over the discoloration, aligning his fingertips with the bruises. She gazed at his touch, barely breathing.
"I'd hoped not to hurt you...," he whispered.
"I'm okay," she whispered back.
She moved off his lap before he could say any more. For some reason, the last thing she wanted was for him to regret what they'd done.
He followed her out of the room. She refused to look behind her. The muscles in the back of her thighs quivered with each step, protesting the movement.
Without saying a word, Serge picked her up and carried her to the bedroom. He set her down on the bed, and she watched him walk into the bathroom. The sound of running water made her feel an inch tall for not speaking to him and sharing the worries that had pushed her away. He was being so kind to her.
Back in the room, he pulled her off the bed and peeled her shirt off. "Go take your shower. I'm going to make some phone calls. When you're done, I'll jump in. I need to go into the office soon."
She walked away. Behind the door, she sagged in relief. The steam rolling over the glass shower doors was a welcome sight. She'd feel more energized once she worked the stiffness out of her muscles.
Fifteen minutes later, she dragged herself out of the shower stall and slipped on her robe. Her past experience with her hot water heater was precise. Serge only had ten minutes more before the water turned cold. She hoped he was used to taking short showers.
Literally, on tiptoes, she walked into the bedroom. "You can have the bathroom."
He ran his hand down her arm, held her hand, and kept her from walking past him. "I'll run you to the shelter on my way to work."
She tilted her head. "It's in the opposite direction. I can drive. That way I have my car to bring me home."
"You're not coming back here. I want you at my place." He kissed her forehead, and before stepping into the bathroom, he turned around and asked, "How does Curt Harrington know you?"
Her throat closed. She knew Serge's temper, and she knew how dangerous of a man Harrington was.
"Aubrey." Serge's lips thinned. "Tell me."
"He doesn't." Her heart pounded. "But he was trying to buy the building I purchased for the shelter, and the city accepted my bid."
"You outbid him?"
She shook her head. "I don't believe so."
"Harrington doesn't lose," said Serge.
She met his gaze. "He did that time."
Serge looked away. The muscle in his jaw twitched, and he fisted his hand.
"Did he hurt you?"
"Not physically," she whispered.
He turned and walked into the bathroom, ending the conversation. Unlike her, he left the door open. She stepped across the room and grabbed an outfit from the closet.
A lavender button-up shirt and a pair of black jeans. After dressing, she slipped on her sneakers and sat on the edge of the bed with her hairbrush. Not in the mood to spend time on her hair, she swept the damp strands over her shoulder and secured them in a loose braid.
Serge walked out with a towel around his waist. She averted her eyes and sat at her dressing table. Lining her eyes with the kohl color stick, she put on mascara and applied lipstick.
Inside, she felt as if someone had kicked her ass. The sore spots, the bruises, and the exertion from their night together had nothing to do with her actions today. The makeup gave her the confidence to get through the day.
"What time will you get off work?" He buttoned up his shirt.
"I should be able to get out of there once they open the shelter at six o'clock."
"I'll pick you up. Don't wait outside if I'm running late. It's not a safe neighborhood." He flipped up his collar and tossed his tie around his neck.
Last night, she didn't even notice that he'd brought a bag with him when she found him in her house.
"There's no need. I'm driving my car." She smoothed a stray strand of hair behind her ear.
His sharp intake of air swept through her. He struggled with his tie. She walked over and shooed his hands away. Concentrating on his neck, she said. "I'd like to come home to my own bed."
He caught her hands, stilling her movements. "I want you at my house."
A shiver went down her spine. Tit-tat. Yes-no. Back-Forth. They could argue all morning, but it was easier to accept his plans.
She dropped her gaze and returned to tying his tie and mumbled, "Whatever."
His Adam's apple brushed against the back of her fingers. "I want you at my house, so I can make sure you rest. You're worn out. You've been sick."
She made quick work of dressing him and stepped away. "I need to go."
"I'll follow you." He grabbed his bag.
Outside the house, he took her keys and locked the door. She extended her hand for him to return them, but instead, he slipped the keychain into his pocket. He cupped the back of her neck and guided her to the passenger door of his car.
"You don't listen," she said.
He motioned for her to get inside, leaned down, and buckled her seatbelt. "I listen, but you're stubborn."
The door slammed. She flinched.