Chapter 17 #2
As I turn on the shower and wait for the water to get warm, I take it down and stare at it, watching the tiny hands move in circles until the bathroom fills with steam.
Setting it back with a sigh, I close the cabinet door and strip down, laughing softly to myself when I see the thin white panties and bra I’d worn out of the store.
There hadn’t been much of a choice, considering the state of them.
While my mother’s influence over the Century employees didn’t seem too firm, I can’t imagine word wouldn’t get back to her if I’d left a pair of drenched panties in the dressing room.
The hot water is heaven on my back, and I take my time, washing every inch of my skin with Mallory’s body wash. Doing so, it’s hard not to let my mind wander to what happened at the gas station, and heat floods my lower belly as I remember the way he crushed my body against his.
He’d kissed me like he hated he had to, but he did have to.
I’ve had plenty of sex before. I’ve explored my body and my kinks, and had lovers who made me feel alive. None of them had needed me, though. Not like Damien Mallory did when he devoured me against the back of the car, furious with himself and me, but doing it anyway.
When I’m finished in the bathroom, I leave the panties and bra hanging over the rack beside his towel—which I used, ignoring the clean ones on the shelf—and smirk to myself as I pull the borrowed T-shirt over my damp hair.
The cottage is still empty when I poke my head out of the bathroom, and I cross to start a fire and turn off a few lights before trotting back over to Mallory’s bed.
He can sleep on the couch if he’s so unhappy about it.
For all I know, the business with the police will take all night, and there’s no use in waking up with a sore back when there’s a perfectly good bed right here.
I might also like the idea of him coming back late and finding me here.
Fighting a smile, I pull back the blankets—which are tucked neatly under the mattress, because Mallory is an insane person—and get in, my lungs filling with the heady combination of ocean air and Satan’s distinct, masculine scent.
The bed is comfortable enough, but I’m still a bit wired from all the excitement.
Are the police here by now?
Rolling over, I reach for the curtains on the nearest window, pulling them back just a few inches so I can peek out into the darkness.
Through the trees, barely discernible, red and blue lights are flashing beside what I know is the house, and I sink back into the mattress with a heavy sigh, feeling a bit more at ease.
I have a lot of questions about all this, and I think I deserve an answer as the estate’s only full-time resident, apart from the man whose bed I’m currently resting in.
Something tells me Mallory isn’t going to want to hand over any specifics, but I’m not going to take no for an answer.
Even if it means calling my parents to get them.
They won’t be upset I skipped dinner.
Candice, who can always be trusted to remind me of my place, was kind enough to inform me I was only included to quell speculation on what they’d “done with me” after the pictures ended up in the papers.
The ice was never thawing.
They weren’t trying to include me because I’m part of the family.
God, I know I’m a mess, I know I fucked up, but I am still their daughter, aren’t I?
Were my mistakes so ruinous they’ve written me off forever?
It seems that way. The only time they looked at me at campaign headquarters, and then again at the shelter, was when the cameras were pointed in our direction.
At first, I’d been angry, devastated, even, but somewhere in the midst of it all, it occurred to me that even for perfect Alba, or Saint Cedric, who fell in line and do everything they possibly can to uphold the esteemed Porter name…
we’re chess pieces, being pushed this way and that on the board. All to serve a larger purpose.
A sad, cold finality settles over me as I lie back in Mallory’s bed, staring at the ceiling and listening to the soft popping and snapping of the fire in the hearth.
I might not know who I am, or what I want, or where I want to go. But when this is all over, and I can leave Thornhurst behind for good, I never want to see those people ever again.
I doubt they’ll even miss me.
Nobody is ever bothered when a pawn is taken off the board until another sacrifice is needed.
Rolling over, I bury my face in Mallory’s pillow and squeeze my eyes shut, breathing in the scent of him lingering on the sheets. It seems impossible that I could actually sleep, with my mind wide awake and turning over the events of the day, but my body must be tired enough to drag me under.
I don’t remember when I succumbed, but the next thing I know, my body is pleasantly warm and relaxed, and for a moment, I can’t understand what woke me up.
As I open my eyes, however, I see him.
From the bed, I have a clear view of Mallory standing just inside the cottage, his weary profile visible through the blueish morning light.
I watch as he drags his sweater over his head and rakes a hand through his hair as he braces one hand on the wall, toeing off his shoes, before leaning down to set them in a row with the others.
Heat blooms low in my belly, and I shift restlessly, rustling the bedding as I do.
He straightens up, and his eyes meet mine.
I expect a frown, or maybe a cutting word for finding me in his bed despite his express orders, but Mallory does neither. His footsteps are slow and heavy as he makes his way across the cottage, coming to stand at the foot of the bed.
Rolling onto my back, I prop myself up on my elbows, gazing up at him through my eyes that are still itchy with sleep.
“You can’t ever do as you’re told, can you?” God, I don’t remember ever appreciating his voice quite as much as I do right now. Low, rumbling, and warm, it makes the muscles in my abdomen tighten.
I let out an unsteady breath, smiling weakly. “Where’s the fun in that?”
Mallory lifts a hand to his face, rubbing the stubble that’s grown in since we left yesterday morning. He looks exhausted, and yet there’s something in his gaze that is sharp enough to slice right through me. “It’s been a long night, Blair.”
I’m not sure if it’s my imagination or not, but I could swear there’s a warning in his voice. Not like the kind I’ve heard before—cross me or else—but something different.
Something way better.
Trying to ignore the heat spreading outward from my core is becoming more difficult the longer I lie here, looking up at him and being looked at right back. I swallow, trying and failing to steady my racing heart. “You should come to bed, then.”
The murmured invitation hangs in the air between us, and still, he doesn’t look away.
After an age, Mallory’s eyes fall, running over the shape of my body, still covered by his bedding, before coming to meet mine once again. He seems to choose his words carefully, speaking in that same slow, deep, warning tone. “If I share a bed with a woman, we aren’t sleeping.”
The words raise a surprising pinch of jealousy, but the feeling is nearly drowned entirely by the overwhelming, inescapable surge of desire which rushes through me.
I hadn’t allowed myself to entertain the possibility of this ever happening when our relationship has been such an unending battle of wills.
Something seems to have shifted in the deep blue light of early morning, and I get the sense we’re both just so, so tired.
“Okay,” I whisper, and the breath leaves my lungs in a short, shallow rush as, slowly, I reach over and pull back the covers. “Let’s not sleep.”