Chapter 26
LAUREL
At some point during the night, power had been restored because the alarm clock was blinking, but the lack of sunlight made it difficult to tell what time it was. The large man beside me took up most of the oversized bed.
And he was naked.
Jason had thrown the duvet over us last night, so I slipped out from beneath it and yanked on my camisole and panties. The fire had burned out not long ago, and we were still warm. I scooped up the lump of our wet clothes and padded out into the hallway, exploring.
The laundry room wasn’t far away, and I dropped the clothes in the washer. I found the sophisticated thermostat on the wall in the main living area and pulled a blanket off the back of the sofa to serve as my robe when the furnace kicked on.
I fixed myself some breakfast, even though it was still dark outside and could possibly be the middle of the night.
It was simple time-wasting, a way to avoid thinking about what had happened in the bedroom last night, but the thoughts surfaced no matter what I did.
When he arose, he’d give me some speech about the colossal mistake we’d made.
Then he’d revert to his closed-off self like he always did after we had acted on our desires.
How fast could he go back to pretending not to care about me?
Because that was the crux of my problem.
I’d spent the past six years pretty much on my own, and not by choice.
My demanding career and unwillingness to let people in made it impossible.
So the idea of someone else caring about me, even just my safety, was powerful.
Sleeping with Jason had only added to my confusion about him. It would be so much easier if the sex had been unremarkable and not the best I’d ever had.
I looked a frightening mess in the bathroom.
My hair was flat from the pillow, and a faint red mark had developed dead center of my forehead. It was a lovely addition to the yellowish bruise still ringing my neck. There were more bruises on my body, but if he had noticed them last night, he’d said nothing.
I pulled my hair back into a high ponytail and left the bathroom looking like I’d just gone ten rounds and lost.
Not wanting to snoop through the house, I evaluated what I could to learn about the man who had brought me here. But there weren’t any pictures. The house had a generic feel to it, like it was a house but not a home. The washing machine chimed softly, and I transferred the clothes to the dryer.
There was nothing left to do now but return to Jason.
I filled a glass with water and ice, grabbed the bottle of Advil, and walked back to the bedroom, the ice tinkling in the glass.
He was still asleep, lying face down in the center of the bed when I set the glass on his side of the nightstand. The huge purple knot just left of his spine reminded me that he’d taken a bullet trying to protect me.
This forced me to consider my options. I could return to the living room and stare vacantly into the darkness with my mind noisy . . . or climb back into bed with him.
I slipped under the duvet as silently as I traveled in relevé, but it was wasted. He rose on bent arms and turned to me with a sleepy gaze, giving me a disoriented look. God, he was so good looking, it wasn’t fair.
When his eyes focused on me, it was clear he was thinking about last night, and his face changed to the unreadable expression I was beginning to dislike.
“What time is it?” he asked.
“Five thirty.” There had been a battery-operated clock on one of the living room walls. “How’s your back?”
“It’s been better.”
I gestured to the water and bottle on the nightstand. He thanked me and set about taking them while I watched silently. I had no idea what to say. It had been a bad idea to get back in bed with the naked man whose touch could shut my brain off.
I wanted to ask him what would happen now but couldn’t get up the nerve.
Where I was dressed and filled with uncertainty, the naked man seemed completely sure and comfortable. He turned on his side toward me, the duvet and sheet shifting to sit low on his waist.
The urge to run a hand along his defined chest and continue down below the sheet was powerfully strong, but I tore my focus away to gaze up at the ceiling.
“How are you? Sore?” he questioned.
“From . . . last night?” I was stunned he would bring it up, that he was so cavalier.
“No.” His face went blank. “I meant from everything else.” My response had caught him off guard, leaving him with no choice but to follow up. His voice was hushed and uneasy. “Are you sore from that?”
“No. And no.”
He nodded but looked unclear what to do with that information.
Good lord. Did I have some sort of superpower for making things weird between us? I avoided his gaze, even as I sensed it was on me. Wasn’t I the one who’d come back to bed, the worst possible place to be if I wanted to avoid him?
“Someone took my clothes,” he remarked, matter-of-fact.
“They’re in the dryer.”
He threw the duvet off, swung his feet over the side of the bed, and stood. My head turned and then snapped back to the ceiling. Yep, still naked. He pivoted to face me, to give me a better view.
“You’re shy now?”
Was he . . . teasing me?
“No.”
To prove it, I sat up, faced him, and let my gaze slide down every delicious inch of his toned body. He moved swiftly, rounding the bed, and stalked toward me, causing me to go short of breath.
“Why do you have clothes on?” he asked.
His question was disorienting. “Because I was cold.”
“If you were cold, you would have put on something that made you warm.” A smile lurked in his eyes. “Not something to tease me.”
My heart stumbled. Where was his lecture about what a mistake he’d made? I rose onto my knees under his heated gaze, intent on meeting his eyes, but he kissed me roughly, and my eyelids fell closed under his power.
How did he do that? He was overwhelming, inescapable—not that I wanted to escape.
Abruptly, he broke the kiss and stepped back, looking affected.
“You need clothes,” he mumbled, retrieving the towel from the floor and banding it around his waist to cover himself. “I can’t think when you look like that.” His gaze coasted down my legs and worked slowly back up. “And I need a shower.”
I did too, but if I was going to get some practice time in, it made sense to wait on that. “I noticed the dining room has hardwood floors.”
The dryer chimed down the hall while he figured out what I meant. “You want help moving the table?”
He didn’t bother with a shirt, so I didn’t put on pants. The large table wasn’t terribly heavy when we pushed it into the corner. And when it was done, I grabbed my pointe shoes, set them on the table for when I was ready, and began my floor stretches.
I’d expected him to head back to the bedroom, but he lingered oddly. Like he was nervous.
Worry made me pause. “What is it?”
“The dance you did in the restaurant. If you’re going to do that again,” he said, “I wouldn’t mind watching.”
Oh. A grin warmed my face. If only he had a clue how sexy the idea sounded to me. “Take your shower, and I’ll get warmed up.”
I worked my tight muscles, breathing through the stretches and then shaking them out with familiar comfort.
The anticipation of dancing for him, in little more than my underwear, was erotic, and I skipped some of the exercises I knew I should do.
Would he take a short shower and return right away, or would he go slow, thinking I’d need a good chunk of time to prepare?
I couldn’t hear the shower running, and there was no doubt he’d gotten in by now.
Enough with the stretching.
I laced on the pointe shoes and stepped through a bit of choreography, checking to make sure I wouldn’t slip on the floor.
Finally, I channeled my nervous anticipation into my moves.
I danced the piece from my premiere, and when that was over, I began the opening steps of my audition piece.
I’d already picked out where Jason would sit.
But I was burning through a pair of pointe shoes nearly every week, and these wouldn’t last much longer. It’d be better to wait for him, rather than risk breaking a shank or ripping the stitches on the elastic and ribbons keeping my shoes in place.
The air changed and shifted abruptly, and it made my stomach flip and twist. It caused the fine hairs on my arm to rise with alarm.
I wasn’t alone anymore.
I’d stopped dancing, so now I could hear the steady breathing of someone behind me.
“You’re a beautiful dancer,” said the deep, unfamiliar voice that was colored with a European accent.