Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
Allora
I feel like an idiot. I don’t know what came over me, but the urge to kiss Landon was overwhelming, so I did it without really thinking. It never occurred to me that he might be breaking the rules of his job.
It also never occurred to me that he might turn me down.
But he did.
And now I don’t know how I’m going to look at him.
I thought he was attracted to me. I thought he would be willing…
hell, I don’t know what I was thinking. Just that I was trying to take back control of my body, if nothing else.
Lacy’s question about whether I’d be able to have sex again was on my mind, and Landon seemed like the perfect guy to try it out with.
He’s gorgeous, protective, and interesting. I like him more than I probably should. And I was so sure he liked me more than just as a client.
Obviously, I was wrong. I wouldn’t want him to get in trouble at work, but who would know? I certainly wouldn’t tell anyone.
Okay, maybe that’s unfair on my part. He shouldn’t be put in a situation that makes him uncomfortable any more than I should. Which makes what I did even worse.
So, now I’m both frustrated and embarrassed.
I’ve been up for hours after tossing and turning. I showered, took some time to do an extended version of my skincare routine, even painted my toenails. I checked email, doublechecked my bank account to be sure my debit card hadn’t been used before I canceled it, and even tried to read.
It’s almost ten o’clock now and I’m out of things to do.
I’m also starving.
No matter how awkward this is going to be, I can’t hide in here all day, so I straighten my spine and head into the living room.
To my dismay, Landon is on the couch wearing nothing but a pair of shorts, Cleo on his lap.
Jesus, could his shoulders be any broader?
And how have I never noticed his six-pack abs before?
Heat floods my face and I murmur a greeting as I speed-walk into the kitchen.
Well, that was even more awkward than I thought it would be.
Considering that I’m stuck here with him for an indeterminate span of time, I have to find a way to make things go back to the way they were. In the moment, kissing him seemed natural. In retrospect, I’m a dumbass. So desperate to get back to normal—whatever that means—that I did something stupid.
Now I have to suffer the consequences, so to speak.
Opening the fridge, I stare at the groceries without much enthusiasm. Eggs. Bacon. Fruit. The fixings for salads. Cold cuts. Nothing is appealing so I close the door and make myself a cup of coffee.
I can feel that I’ve lost weight, because my appetite waned after the first couple of days when I stuffed myself. Now I can’t muster up the interest to eat much of anything. I nibble here and there, so I’m not starving, but my appetite has truly disappeared.
“Mer-owww.” Cleo wraps herself around my leg, protesting loudly.
“What’s the matter, baby?” I reach down to lift her up. “Didn’t you get breakfast?”
“Me-ow.” She cocks her head like that’s a stupid question.
“I fed her.” Landon’s low voice from behind us makes me stiffen.
“No second breakfast for you,” I tell Cleo firmly.
“Me-ow!” She wiggles to get down and I set her on the floor.
And she promptly goes over to Landon and winds herself around his ankles.
“Sorry, Mom says no,” he says in a playful voice.
I want to smile but memories of last night’s rejection make me turn away instead.
Cleo does her best to be cute and change his mind, but he seems more focused on me.
“Not hungry?” he asks.
“I thought I was.” I shrug. “But nothing looks good.”
“You want to go out and get something?”
“Nah. I’m fine.”
He narrows his eyes slightly. “You sure?”
“Actually, I want to discuss Denver.”
His brows inch up slightly. “What about it?”
“I decided I definitely want to go. If we need extra security or whatever, that’s fine. I can afford it.” I’m not sure that’s true because I don’t have any idea how much Shadow Security charges, but under the current circumstances, I’m willing to let my father pay for it. And I know he will.
“Are you sure?” Landon asks quietly.
“Yup. I already have a flight booked but I can cancel it if there’s no way to get you on the same one.”
“It will probably be me and Chaos, since it’s better for Rage to stay here.”
“So he can watch Cleo?” I ask, chuckling.
He grins. “That too.”
“Whatever we need to do.” I brush past him and try to ignore the way his touch scorches my skin. “I’d like to leave Thursday and come home Sunday.”
“I’ll have Luna make arrangements.”
“Thanks.” I go back to his room and quietly close the door behind me.
* * *
I stay in his room the rest of the day. Even though I’m dying of boredom and there’s no one to talk to.
Lacy is working. Jillian is out of the country.
And Sage hasn’t responded to my texts. It’s possible she doesn’t believe it’s really me since the number is different, but I tried to explain.
Hopefully, she’ll at least give me a chance to prove I am who I say I am.
At some point, I must have dozed off because the next thing I know there’s a knock on the door.
“Hey.” Landon comes in. “Did I wake you?”
“I guess you did.” I sit up rubbing my eyes.
“Sorry about that, but I’m hungry and wanted to see what you want for dinner.”
I hesitate. I should be hungry but I’m not. “Whatever you want is fine with me.”
He frowns. “Allora, you have to eat.”
“I know!” I don’t mean to snap but it comes out harsher than I intended and I quickly back pedal. “Sorry. I’m just not hungry. I don’t know what’s going on. I assume it’s some kind of stress reaction to what happened. But if you make something, I’ll eat a little.”
“Did you sleep all day?” he asks, dark eyes meeting mine.
“Not all day, no.”
“Hiding in my room and starving yourself isn’t going to change anything or help you heal.”
“If I don’t know what I need to heal, I’m pretty sure you don’t.” I guess I’m still a little salty about last night’s rejection, and the words come out heavily laced in sarcasm.
Landon watches me for a beat and then turns to the fridge. “How do you feel about breakfast for dinner?”
Normally, I love it.
Tonight, I can’t muster up much enthusiasm.
“It’s fine.”
“Bacon, eggs, and biscuits?”
“Sure.”
“Okay.” I follow him to the kitchen and watch as he pulls a box out of the pantry and starts combining a flour-like mixture like he’s done it a hundred times. He preheats the oven, pulls bacon and eggs out of the fridge and works efficiently to create the meal.
I feel ridiculous standing here watching without offering to help but the truth is, I don’t want to. I don’t want to do anything. That’s the main reason I’m determined to go to Denver. I have to get back into the groove of my life, even if it’s only a small part of it.
By the time everything is done, my stomach seems to have awakened and it rumbles with interest. Since I didn’t help him cook, I set the table and he puts generous portions of scrambled eggs and bacon slices on each dish. I probably won’t eat that much but I’ll try.
He brings butter and some kind of jam to the table before sitting across from me.
“Thanks for cooking,” I say politely.
“You’re welcome.” He looks up, and when our eyes meet, that same sizzle sparks between us.
Except I have to be imagining it because he made it clear he wasn’t interested. So, I dip my head and focus on the food in front of me.
To my surprise, the eggs are light and fluffy, the bacon is cooked just right—not too crispy and not too soft—and the biscuits are melt-in-your-mouth good.
“This is delicious,” I say in surprise. “Where did you learn to make biscuits like this?”
“Rage’s grandmother taught us. Said we should know how to cook a couple of meals really well. Breakfast is one of them.”
“And the others?”
“Carbonara sauce from scratch and a two-cheese meatloaf that’s pretty epic.”
“Sounds delicious. And she sounds delightful.”
“She was. She passed away a few years ago.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, losing her was tough. She’s really the only family either of us had, other than my sister.”
“I’m familiar with that feeling,” I murmur. “I have a dad but it doesn’t always feel like it since we’re not close.”
“Is that solely because of his lifestyle?”
“For the most part. He’s not a bad man but he does bad things. A lot of them. It’s hard for me to be okay with some of the things the club does. Especially how they treat women.”
“I thought they were respectful?”
“I guess it depends on your definition. Do they take care of the sex workers that work for them? Absolutely. But they do that because they take ten percent of whatever the girls make. Granted, that’s a hell of a lot less than a street pimp would take, but it’s still not cool.
I don’t know the ins and outs anymore, but they used to run guns with the Russian mob.
They sold drugs for a while, although I’m pretty sure my mom pushed them away from that. ”
“It’s not the lifestyle I would choose,” he says, “but I think clubs like your dad’s come together because they don’t fit in anywhere else.”
“They’re outlaws,” I say dryly. “And while they use that word with pride, I think it’s a copout. It’s an illusion they create to make breaking the law cool.”
“I guess I don’t know how it works,” he says.
“My father has only done two good things in his life,” I say with a shrug. “Marry my mom after he knocked her up and let me get out when I left for college.”
“You make it sound like you were a prisoner.”
“I was.”