10. Chapter 10
Chapter ten
Layla
F ive minutes after dosing with ICE, my body calms, at least where the drug addiction comes into play. My body’s reaction to Jensen is a whole other story. I’ve never felt as sexually alive as I do with him, as charged and physically aware of another human being. I’d say it’s the drug, but I’ve always been this way around him—years ago in the library, standing in my own kitchen, astonished and breathless that he’d shown up at my front door. In truth, I’ve waited to feel that again with someone else, with “the” man I’d marry, but it just never happened.
And I wasn’t willing to settle.
A knock sounds on the door, and I’m on edge, fearful of what might follow. Was Tad unhappy with what he’d found when he visited? Is he back to take me away? Still sitting next to me on the edge of the tub, Jensen squeezes my hand. “It’s okay, Layla. I promise.”
I nod, but we both know that’s a feel-good promise, not a real one. I watch as he grabs his jeans, shoves his legs inside, and then disappears outside of the bathroom. I push to my feet and clutch my towel to my chest, barely daring. I really need clothes. This hanging out in a towel thing has a way of making me feel vulnerable. But I’m not hanging out long. Jensen returns with a bag in his hand.
“Supposedly, this has everything you might need in it,” he informs me. “Clothes, toiletries, and so on. There’s one for me, too.”
I press my lips together. “Almost as if we’re really guests.”
“There’s also this.” He hands me a note. “It was on top of a box of files.”
I glance down to read, GET TO WORK. “Such a gracious host,” I breathe out, a twist in my belly. “I need a real shower and clothes before my duty kicks in.”
He steps closer, the heat of his body washing over me, warming the chill our proof of captivity has created in me, stroking my hair behind my ear. “Take your time. I’m going to look through all that they dropped off for us.”
I nod, and he disappears out of the room and pulls the door shut while I contemplate the creeps that might be watching me, but I have to shower.
I dig in the bag and find shampoo and conditioner, body wash, make-up, and hair products. As for clothes, the selection is more limited. I end up choosing black leggings, a thick, soft black sweater, and Vans sneakers that are remarkably my size. It’s not until my products are in the shower and so am I, the spray just out of my reach, that I drop the towel and pray there are no cameras where the water flows. I’ve never showered so fast in my life. Please, let this be over, all over.