Chapter 21
Asoft thumping sound rouses me from my sleep, but I’m so warm and comfortable, my cheek pressed into the firm pillow beneath me, that I keep my eyes closed for a few moments longer as I consider surrendering to the sleepy pull that tries to claim me back.
Wait.
Firm pillow?
I jerk my eyes open at the same time as I take in a deep pull of vanilla and sandalwood, the scent that sets my skin alight. Oh, fuck. My firm pillow is actually a firm chest.
Lifting my head slowly, I look up into the suspiciously clear eyes of Zayn, who’s smirking down at me like the cat who got the cream.
“Morning,” he drawls, as I realise the heat that’s pressed along my back is actually Zayn’s arm holding me from falling off the edge of the couch.
How long has he been awake, holding me up like this?
And why didn’t he bloody wake me up to move and, you know, get my ass into my own perfectly comfortable bed down the hall?
I blink away the last remnants of sleep from my eyes, well and truly awake now, and try not to look at the other arm Zayn has tucked behind his head that makes his bicep bulge in a way that should be illegal.
“Why didn’t you wake me?” I brace my hand on his rock-solid chest and prop myself up, ignoring the heat that passes through his thin shirt.
No wonder I went the whole night without a blanket, the man’s like a furnace.
The last thing I remember from last night was Rose hacking off Jack’s handcuffs.
I must have fallen asleep shortly after that.
I realise too late that by propping myself up I’ve given Zayn the perfect view down to my braless cleavage, which I’ll admit he is gallantly avoiding by keeping his dark eyes trained on mine. The smile is gone from his face though, I note. Instead, his clenched jaw has returned with a vengeance.
“You seemed comfortable. I didn’t want to disturb you.
” His words sound strained, and it gives me a rush to think that the man who’s always so composed is as affected by my body as I am by his.
I glance down at our bare, entwined legs.
My silk teddy has ridden up and my tummy is pressed firmly against Zayn’s exposed eight-pack.
Heat of a different sort floods through my veins.
“Sorry, I’ll just -” I go to unwrap myself from him, but his hand flies down quicker than lightning and grasps on to my bare thigh. Shockwaves erupt straight from his fingers to my core.
“Let me help you with that.”
He lifts my thigh over what I now realise is his very firm crotch area, carefully avoiding all contact as he helps to manoeuvre me to my feet, then he sits up so that I’m standing between his knees. I mourn the loss of his toned stomach as his shirt falls back into place.
“That’s a bit awkward,” I laugh, averting my gaze and my thoughts away from his very inviting lap, all whilst hoping to God he hasn’t noticed the way my nipples are high-beaming him through the thin silk of my teddy.
He runs a hand through his exquisitely sleep-mussed hair, clearing his throat.
“Let’s just say it’s been a while since I had a lady friend.”
“How long?” The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them. My stomach flutters as I wait, far too eagerly, for his response.
Zayn props his forearms on his thighs and tilts his head back until he’s staring up at me, and I have to stop myself from reaching out and running my hands through his thick, inky strands. They’re so close they almost graze against the silk of my nightgown.
“Since the hotel with you.”
He watches me carefully for my reaction, but I school my features to reveal nothing. Instead of asking the question that begs to be forced from my lips, why?, I ask instead, “Did you just refer to me as one of your lady friends?”
The soft thumping sound that woke me sounds again, and I jolt away from Zayn’s hypnotising gaze. “That’s the door.”
Before I can take a step, Zayn whips his hand out and gently but firmly grips my elbow.
“We’ve been over this, Gianna. You’re not answering the door like that.”
He must see the rebuttal on my lips because he pinches the bridge of his nose between a thumb and forefinger, closes his eyes and adds, “Please just do me a solid and go get dressed while I let the locksmith in. I have a lot of pent up rage after last night and I fear even a single inappropriate look in your direction will set me off.”
I don’t let Zayn’s words roll around and marinate in my mind like I want to, analysing every single way he could have meant them.
I can’t let myself believe he meant them in any meaningful way, because thinking Zayn still cares about me gives me a rush stronger than the most powerful drug ever could, and I can already feel the addiction feeding through my blood stream now.
Zayn is getting under my skin, and I need to put a stop to it.
“Get dressed, I’ll take you to breakfast,” he adds, a bit more gently.
“Breakfast?” I say, regaining my voice as he drops my elbow. “You already bought dinner last night. I was going to make you something.” Before kicking you out of my apartment.
“A bowl of fruit loops?” He smirks. “I’ll pass on the type 2 diabetes, thanks.”
I throw him a withering glare and put my hands on my hips. “When did you even have time to raid my cupboards, you efficient asshole?”
“I didn’t,” he drawls casually as he stands from the couch and stretches, and now it’s me who’s craning their neck to meet the other’s eyes. “The cereal box is on your bench.”
With a huff I follow him to the front door, where he stops with his hand on the handle and a meaningful stare over his shoulder at me that says ‘go put some fucking clothes on’.
I detour to my bedroom, muttering under my breath that I was actually going to make him eggs, but I now have a suggestion where he can go shove those eggs.
Half an hour later, I emerge from my bedroom freshly (cold) showered in jeans and a sweater and stop dead in my tracks.
Zayn is leaning against my kitchen bench, looking fifty shades of delicious in a grey hoodie.
A fucking hoodie has just about brought me to my knees.
The way it stretches across his broad chest?
Exquisite. Why does he have to look so damn attractive in his gym clothes, for Christ’s sake?
The suit I understand. But this? It’s unfair to the rest of the male population for him to look so good, and if we’re being technical, it’s unfair to me because I know for as long as I shall live I will compare all my future boyfriends to him.
Who could ever live up to that?
“Locks all changed, then?” I take a wide berth past him and switch on the coffee machine, looking for the kind of fix I can actually get my hands on.
He slides the phone he was typing on into his pocket and folds his arms across his chest. “Locks are sorted. Your new keys are on the bench.”
“Thanks for organising the locksmith.” I pull down two mugs from the overhead cupboard when a thought occurs to me and I turn to Zayn with a gasp.
“Daniel’s been in my apartment before yesterday!
” I breathe, roughly releasing the mugs with a clang and placing a hand over my chest. “The day you came over here to tell me about your sister. I found paperwork from your office on my bench that I knew I had put away in this cupboard! It must have been him. How many times has he been in here that I don’t even know about? ”
My hands shake as I experience another wave of the fear and anxiety I felt last night after discovering my personal space had been violated.
Zayn doesn’t hesitate to comfort me. He closes the distance between us with long strides and wraps his strong arms around me.
I rest my cheek on his chest, letting the sound of the steady beat of his heart flood my mind and calm my nerves.
I think about the Zayn I met in the hotel room, so detached and arrogant, compared to the Zayn now who has, somehow, become the person in my life that I’ve come to depend on the most. How and when did that happen?
He’s not my boyfriend. He’s not even my friend.
He’s my… I don’t know how to label him. Lawyer doesn’t quite cut it anymore.
Neither does ex-boyfriend. It’s confusing, and I’m struggling to process what-ever it is that’s developing between us while my life continues to ride like a rollercoaster.
I lay my hand on Zayn’s chest -the fucking hoodie not doing me any favours here - and gently push him away.
We have history.
We used to care deeply for each other.
We still have insane sexual chemistry that I’m way too scared to properly acknowledge in case I act on it.
The Zayn before me is too much like the boy I used to know. If I continue to keep Zayn’s company, allowing him to save me like a damn damsel in distress every second day, I can see how easily it could become something more, for me.
Case in point: I’m thinking about him when I’ve just discovered my house has been broken into at least twice by my psychotic husband.
“He won’t be able to get in again,” Zayn assures me, letting go as I turn back to the coffee machine. “But I’d still feel better with an Intervention Order in place. Then I can act within the law if he tries again.”
“I’m not making a statement to the police, and I know they’ll make me to get an IO. They don’t just give out restrictive orders on a whim.”
He’s quiet for a long moment while I grind the coffee beans. “You looked into it.”
I keep my back turned to him and hit a button on the machine.
Caffeine pours smoothly into both cups. I turn to the milk.
“Of course I did.” I pour the milk and place the cap back on.
“It’s no use. Daniel would fight me every step of the way to squash down my allegations.
He has a powerful support system behind him. ”
“You’ve got me.”