Chapter 13 #2
Dorian is seated on the bed next to me, his white dress shirt crisp and starched, sleeves rolled back to reveal his strong forearms. His dark hair is damp and perfectly in place. And his jaw is set at a sharp angle.
The man is stunning, and power radiates from him. And since I’m naked, lying sprawled in the bed, I feel overwhelmingly vulnerable.
I’d try to sit up so I can meet him as more of an equal, but he made me strip last night. I refuse to willingly offer him a glimpse of my naked body.
“We need to get going.” His voice is flat and commanding, carrying the same cold edge from last night.
He rakes his gaze over me, lingeringly.
Fighting off nerves, I push my hair back.
With him this close, smelling of spice and his shower, I can hardly string two thoughts together.
“Plane’s being readied, and we need to go to your apartment.”
Before our honeymoon.
Dorian shifts, his weight making the mattress dip. He lifts a steaming mug from the nightstand, the rich coffee scent sharpening in the air. “For you.”
He brought me coffee? I couldn’t be more stunned. With his caveman antics last night, I wouldn’t have been surprised if he dragged me out of the bed by my hair to pour a cup for him.
“I took a guess.” He shrugs. “Cream, no sugar.” He angles his head, then goes on. “Obviously you take care of yourself.”
Since he’s seen more of me than anyone else ever has, he’d know. But I don’t acknowledge that to him.
“So I’m guessing you’d skip the sugar. But you’re not into bitterness, so you’d round out the flavor with some cream.”
My breath catches. His observations aren’t far off.
I don’t do a lot of sugar, but I love cream. “Generally I go for a sugar-free creamer. Vanilla. Irish cream. Hazelnut.” Whatever is on sale. “But this morning, I’ll definitely take it.” I’m not sure I’ve ever been this tired in my entire life, and caffeine sounds like a lifeline.
“I want it to be perfect.” He reaches for the beverage.
“No. Seriously.” At this point, I’d drink it black, especially if he wants me to move at something other than a snail’s pace.
“You’ve earned a drink served the way you want it.”
He strides from the room, leaving me frowning.
What the hell kind of game is he playing?
Last night, he’d been a blazing asshole.
And now…
Maybe this is nothing more than a game to him. He’s toying with me, keeping me guessing. Since I’m mentally scrambling to keep up, his behavior is shockingly effective.
My heart is pounding as I sit up, tugging the sheet with me, tucking it beneath my arms to shield myself. My robe lies crumpled on the floor, a few steps away. I consider darting for it so I can wrap myself in its terry-cloth armor, but I hesitate. How long will he be gone?
Deciding it’s not worth the risk, I settle for pulling the sheet up just a little more .
Within moments, he’s back, a fresh mug in hand—steam curling up, the scent richer now, layered with a hint of vanilla.
“This should be better,” he tells me.
He offers me the drink, handle first, and our fingers brush, shooting arrows of awareness through me. “Thank…” I clear my throat since a knot is suddenly lodged there. “Thank you.”
Hoping he’ll leave, I focus on the coffee. The first sip is amazing: smooth, creamy, exactly the way I would have made it. And that unsettles me even more.
“Is it to your satisfaction?”
“Definitely.” As I take a second sip, Brennan enters the room.
“Morning.”
His voice is deliciously gruff, and I look over at him.
Unlike last night, he’s dressed all in black. The short-sleeved black T-shirt makes him look impossibly large, and no doubt that’s intentional. With his nicks and scars, he’s scary as hell. I’m grateful he’s on my side. Or seems to be.
“For you.” He raises his arms a little.
Belatedly I see he’s holding a dress—soft blue fabric that’s folded over his arm—along with sandals and a small stack of undergarments, delicate and neatly pressed.
“Dorian arranged for all of this.” He sets the items on the bed beside me, his scarred fingers brushing the edge of the sheet.
Looking at Dorian, I scowl. “But… How?”
“As much as I’d prefer to have you travel naked, the rest of the world might not consent.”
Who is this man? Last night, he discarded me. And now, he’s anticipating my every need.
Intuition screams that I’d do well to nod and smile, go along with his moods and whims. Being agreeable might keep me sane. And yet… Compliance feels like surrender, and I’m not sure I can do that. Not after last night.
Brennan is watching me, his brow creasing slightly, as if he senses the war inside me. Dorian tilts his head, his gaze piercing, waiting.
Silence stretches between Dorian and me, thick with unspoken challenges. I grip the mug more tightly, the warmth grounding me, but my resolve wavers. Who am I kidding? With Dorian, there’s no winning—only surviving.
Yet a reckless part of me wonders what would happen if I pushed back again. There’s an angel on one of my shoulders. A devil on the other.
Which one is going to win?