Chapter 8
LAUREL
Caroline eyed the bed then pointed to the indentations in the carpet. “Rearranging furniture? You feng shui-ing the place up?”
“I needed space to practice,” I said.
When I’d filled out the packing list, I’d asked for the pair of pointe shoes I’d used last week in rehearsal, and I was relieved to find them in the duffle bag she’d brought me.
Even though it was carpeted in this room, I was eager to get them on.
There was safety in routine, in the work.
I sat on the edge of the bed, put a foot inside the slipper, and began to lace the ribbons.
“What happened with Nelson?” I asked.
“I shouldn’t tell you,” a smile crept onto her face, “but I will. He and his wife were transitioning into the program when we discovered he liked to rough her up sometimes. Like, he got off on it. You know the type.”
I really didn’t.
“I wanted to do it,” she continued. “Hell, I think everyone wanted to, but Jason got there first, and with his fists. It was a great way to get in a shitload of trouble. You can’t break a guy’s face and jeopardize a witness leaving the program, even if they are a huge piece of shit.”
Was that story . . . supposed to impress me? And it was stunning she’d revealed it, especially when we’d literally just met.
But I pushed the thought away and focused on my goal. “What if I wanted to request a different marshal on my case?”
She anxiously shifted her body weight to the other foot. “Okay, forget I told you all that.”
“No, it’s not that.”
Her eyebrows pulled together with confusion.
Shit, how could I tell her the truth? I didn’t want to be alone with Jason. Doing that filled me with desire I didn’t want to have. It threatened to swallow me whole.
“Being around Jason . . . makes me uncomfortable.”
Her voice went tight. “Why? What’s he done?”
“He hasn’t done anything,” I tried not to sound ashamed, “but I think I’d feel more comfortable with a woman marshal.”
She put her hands on her hips. “Well, there’s currently only one female marshal in the Chicago office and you’re looking at her.”
I swallowed thickly. I tried not to make snap judgements, but it seemed like she wouldn’t be the easiest to get along with. I’d noticed the shift in the men when she’d arrived, and how Jason had hung back.
But on the plus side, I wouldn’t want this marshal to kiss me. “All right, if I wanted to request a replacement—”
There was no knock. The door swung open and Jason charged in, his gaze finding me and his face masked in an unreadable expression. “Laurel, just wait a minute.”
I shot to my feet so quickly my vision hazed. The jerk had been listening to our conversation.
“Hey, we were just talking about you,” Caroline said dryly.
He shot her a stern look. “Give us a minute?”
He’d posed it as a question, but it felt more like a demand, and her uncertain gaze flitted to me. “I don’t know if I should.”
I didn’t want to look at him, but I couldn’t stop myself.
He stood awkwardly with his thick arms folded across his chest, and to someone else his posture might have looked confrontational, but I had the strange sense he’d done it to prevent himself from reaching out for me.
There was a silent plea lurking in his eyes.
Although I knew it was going to be a mistake, I nodded to dismiss her. “No, it’s fine.”
She hesitated for a moment but then must have realized she didn’t care. My pulse quickened when she turned and went, pulling the door almost closed behind her.
I lifted my chin as he strode forward and stopped only a foot away from me. I wanted to hold his gaze and appear unaffected even though I felt anything but. His proximity made goosebumps burst down my legs, but they were thankfully hidden beneath my tights.
“You were listening to our conversation,” I accused.
There was no denial or remorse in his expression. “You don’t want her on your case, trust me.”
His voice was hushed so no one else could hear. It was why he’d approached, why he stood so close. Close enough for me to feel his warm breath on my face.
I matched his quiet tone. “Why?”
“Because she . . .” He struggled to find the right words. “Because she can’t protect you the way I can.” His dark and serious eyes went wide. This was something he hadn’t meant to reveal, and his admission sent my heartbeat into overdrive.
The room grew small, and his presence seemed to fill every inch of it.
“Why do I make you uncomfortable?” he asked.
Oh, my God. I wasn’t about to explain it to him.
“Are you worried I’m going to hurt you?” He was cautious, almost gentle, which I suspected was rare for him. He gestured toward my bruised neck. “Like the man who did that to you?”
“No,” I said quickly.
“I’m not going to hurt you, Laurel.” He made a face like just the idea upset him. “I’m sorry I made you uncomfortable.”
“Don’t worry about it. It’s my problem, not yours.” My gaze dropped to the ribbons bound at my ankles.
“What?”
It spilled from me without warning. “You’re irritatingly attractive.”
What the fuck? I turned away, desperate to be free of my embarrassment, but most of all, my desire.
He made it so much worse when he touched me again. This time his hand grasped my wrist, gently pulling me to face him again. He stared unblinking at his fingers wrapped around my wrist like he was both fascinated and horrified by what he was doing.
But not enough to let go.
The only sound between us was our breathing, rapid and uneven. Whatever this was between us, he felt it too, at least to some degree.
“I’m going to let go of you now,” he said. Like he had to verbally command his body to follow orders.
“Okay,” I whispered, neither of us moving.
The tension was both suffocating and intoxicating. It fogged my mind with bad ideas. Every second that ticked by brought me closer to stepping forward and rising to stand en pointe so I could set my lips on his.
Even though he had a body built for fighting, I doubted he’d stop me if I tried.
There was chaos swirling in his eyes when his fingers finally peeled off and let my wrist go. His shoulders shifted back and put distance between us, dispelling some of the tension and making me able to breathe again.
“The good news is,” he said, “you’ll be rid of me in another day or two.” The distance seemed to give him some power back, and he cocked his head to one side. “Can you suffer through until then?”
My mouth dropped open. The emotional swing from irritation to desire and back to irritation left me reeling, like I hadn’t spotted my turn on a triple pirouette. Perhaps he was doing it on purpose. He couldn’t do anything about his physical attractiveness, but the irritating part?
Well, that he absolutely could control.
He’d asked if I could tolerate him, like it was a challenge—and I wasn’t going to lose. “Yeah,” I said dryly. “I’ll survive.”
I needed more space from him and stalked over to the dresser, setting a hand on top to use it as an impromptu ballet barre. When I began work on placement, I had expected him to take this as his sign to leave, yet there was no sound of him moving to the door.
He remained, watching.
Fine. He wanted a show? I’d give him one.
“Have you ever been to the ballet?” I turned my back to him and checked my form in the mirror hanging over the dresser.
“What do you think?”
I rolled my eyes, pulling my leg up into a grand battement, my working leg pointing straight up to the ceiling.
I could see him in the mirror, so if he’d been paying any attention, he would have seen my annoyance.
But he wasn’t looking at my face. In fact, it looked like he hadn’t realized I could see him, because his expression—
Oh, God—it dripped with pure desire.
My mouth went dry and a muscle low in my belly clenched. It made my heart beat wildly out of rhythm.
As soon as his gaze found mine, his face went blank and he bolted from the room.
Uh oh, the voice in my head whispered.
I wouldn’t last five seconds if he looked at me like that again.