Chapter 22
22
C arlisle’s eyes opened with a jolt, the scream already on her lips.
She'd been underwater again, sinking, screaming for help. It felt somehow strange that there were actual memories in her brain of those things happening. The reality had been horrifying enough. She’d been convinced she was going to die. Yet, in the dreams, things managed to work into other horrors—things that couldn't happen, things that hadn’t happened.
Propping herself on one elbow, she took deep breaths to calm her racing heart, then turned to see Simon sleeping peacefully beside her. She hadn't screamed . Lord knew, when she had called out, he'd heard her from a full house away.
She’d been warm, sleeping under the covers next to the heat of his body, but now as she sat up, the comforter and sheet fell away. The cool air moved against her bare skin. Next to her, Simon slept with one leg out. And she could see not only the t shirt that he'd put on but the boxers as well.
She frowned. When had he gotten dressed? She was still naked, having seemingly passed out cold after he’d blown her mind .
Trying not to disturb him, she slid slowly to the side of the large bed, letting her feet touch the floor, toes rolling down to heels. She was quiet, but still afraid of jostling the bed of a man used to sleeping alone.
Or was he?
She’d just had sex—really amazing sex—with a man she didn’t know some really important answers for.
There was carpet in here though she doubted he'd chosen it. At least it was soft. Now, where was her shirt?
She’d still had it on after the first time. Up against the wall . She heated up again, just thinking about it. But then it had come off. Maybe in the living room? No. But not in here with her.
Should she grab one of his? Clearly he wasn't sleeping naked, maybe she shouldn't either. She'd curled into his arms after he'd made her come for the third time, and she thought he'd been drifting off as well. Had he stayed awake?
Carlisle didn’t know any of it.
Slowly she padded to the door tucked into the corner at the back of the room. She knew it led to the attached bath, just like in her own room. The layout wasn’t exactly the same, but close enough that she felt comfortable finding her way around. Trying not to make the latch click or the hinges whine, she moved carefully, grateful that she knew these doors, the same ones she still had in her own home.
She’d decided to keep the doors. It was difficult to find wood doors these days that weren't ply board or panel. Right now, the weight and careful—if outdated—craftsmanship was in her favor. She held the crystal knob and shut it silently. Flipping on the light, she turned, bracing her hands on the curved edge of the laminate counter.
She almost laughed. In the light, the tiny bits of glitter embedded in the surface winked at her. It wasn’t the same as the one she’d torn off her own sink, but definitely the sister model. The curved wood board was laminated in a cream color and would have matched the ceiling, but . . .
Tipping her head up, she checked, but only unpainted ply board greeted her. He had scraped the whole house. She laughed. God Bless Emma Kate and her how-to videos.
She’d also helped Carlisle re-do the counter. Pulling out the whole laminate board. Replacing it with waterproof backer and tiling it in a classic white square. Carlisle had chosen a glazed, blue rope border. And she loved it. It had been one of the first things she'd accomplished when she’d moved in. She had even replaced the cabinet doors and handles with a more modern look all on her own.
This bathroom was not in the current century, though. In here, she could see memories of what she'd first purchased. Washing her hands, the cold water was bracing and brought her further awake. She splashed it on her face and realized she needed to figure out what to do next.
She was awake. He'd asked her to stay. Carlisle braced her hands on either side of the sink, rolling her shoulders and counting her options. Should she go back, crawl in next to him again? Go back to sleep and wait for morning? Or should she quietly slip out now while he wouldn’t notice?
As she was trying to make any kind of a decision—something she'd been bad at this whole night—she looked across the sink. All kinds of things were stacked neatly at the back. It looked as if he didn’t believe in drawers. There was a sonic toothbrush, a tube of toothpaste. Several products for his hair. A leather kit of some kind. And the box of condoms. Huge, it sat right there on the counter.
No, he had not been expecting her to stay over tonight, or he would have put that away. Wouldn’t he have realized that he shouldn’t have them out like that? If it was on purpose, it was either an advertisement or an expectation.
Her brows rose. The longer she looked at it the worse it became.
The top had been torn off as though it was a box of candy, and someone would need to be able to reach in and grab a handful. But on the side she could clearly see the number “48.”
What the fuck was he thinking? Literally.
It looked like about half of them were already gone. Fuck. What had she done? Was he a playboy?
She'd been on his back porch having dinner most nights. Most nights? She had to correct herself: many nights. In fact, many evenings . He could have gone out and hooked up after she left. Someone could have pulled into the driveway and stayed over. She’d never noticed a spare car, but she’d purposely not been spying. She’d been telling herself she didn’t care.
But here, naked in his bathroom, after becoming the next notch on his non-existent bed post, she cared.
Carlisle questioned all her judgment right now. Was it okay if he was just playing around? Of course it was. She told herself it was. But she wasn't just playing around. She wasn’t all in, but she wasn’t using the fraternity sized box of condoms herself.
She reminded herself that his choice wasn’t her decision, and maybe it was better that she knew what she’d gotten into now rather than later. Still completely naked, she opened the bathroom door a crack, looking out to see that he'd turned over. His fine ass was barely covered by striped cotton boxers.
Ignoring it, she crept across the room, finding her underwear. She'd picked it up earlier, thinking she'd put it back on. But no, she hadn’t. She must have simply let it fall to the floor at some point when he’d been kissing her, touching her, driving her wild.
She stepped into it now, oddly feeling more clothed, though she was still almost naked. She moved through the bedroom door that he’d left cracked ever so slightly and headed into the living room. The lights were still on, but she turned them off.
She hadn't checked out his curtain situation, and she could see now it was blinds and not fully closed. Hopefully no one had looked before she crossed the room and hit the switch. With the lights full on in the middle of the night, she would have given the neighbors a really nice peep show.
She found her shirt, disregarded, on the floor by the back door that led to the deck. Padding softly over, she picked it up, sliding in quickly and buttoning it at least enough to cover her.
Mission one, accomplished. Dressed-ish.
She was still barefoot. Her shoes were in the bedroom with him. What to do? She wasn't walking back across the lawn without her shoes and her skirt and some semblance of clothing. She didn't want to go back into the bedroom and bother him either. She grabbed a glass from the kitchen cupboard, opened the fridge, and poured herself some milk.
After drinking it, her brain decided to stop functioning. She hadn’t woken up because she was awake, but because her nightmare had jolted her out of sleep. She curled up into the corner of the couch, no decisions made, and began slowly falling asleep. Her head rolled into the corner cushions, but she pulled back, eyes blinking as she felt something scratching at the side of her face.
Turning, she pushed on the couch, trying to feel what it was. Not fully awake, she ran her fingers along the edge and dug it out. In her fingers was another condom.
There was a condom in the couch?
There had been one in the drawer of the little hallway table, too. And he'd had another at the ready, out of sight but somewhere on the nightstand by the bed. Maybe she should leave.
She was still holding it between her fingers, frowning at it as the bedroom door opened. She hadn't been at her sharpest tonight, so it wasn’t a surprise now that she didn’t think before she spoke. She'd fallen hard for this man, but the fact was she didn’t know what she’d gotten herself into.
Holding it up, she asked, “What is this?”