33. Chapter 33
This was insane. I wasn’t sure if I was making the right move or not, but I set about ordering dinner for us. I’d showered earlier while he was gone, but somehow my leggings and T-shirt didn’t seem right.
I stood in front of the closet, looking at my options. Without hesitating, I pulled out the suit he was supposed to wear in a few days and walked over to the bathroom door. The best part of it would be he’d understand the assignment without me having to say anything.
Should I knock?
Gulping, I tried the handle. It wasn’t locked.
I eased it open and rummaged around, searching for the hook on the back of the door.
Unable to find it, I had no choice but to poke my head inside.
My aim was off by a large fraction. It was much higher than I had originally thought.
I shouldn’t have looked. It wasn’t right, but he’d walked in on me a few days ago.
Turnabout was fair play, I rationalized as I stepped all the way inside. Through the glass, the outline of his body was visible, at least the backside of him. His next piece was going on his back. The man had a body that wouldn’t quit.
I had a sudden urge to draw him. Nude. He’d make a superb model for a drawing class, the kind you see at art colleges where a man would casually lie back with a sheet draped over his midsection. I stared a little too long, but I couldn’t help myself. He was magnificent.
One arm rested against the wall of the shower, and his other hand was…My eyes went wide. With a casual glance over his shoulder, he silently acknowledged my presence with a low moan. I froze, gawking like an idiot, mouth hanging open.
If the moan hadn’t given him away, the position of his hand had.
“You need something, princess?” he drawled, his hand moved in a downward stroke.
I inwardly cursed, hating the fact that I couldn’t see him in all his glory.
Turn around already.
A loud chuckle, followed by, “Do you really want me to? Think long…” he stroked himself once more, “and hard before you answer.”
It was then I realized I must have said it out loud. Like the most awkward person to ever walk the face of the earth, I further solidified my position to win a gold fucking medal in embarrassment.
“Um, no. Feel free to take your time. Don’t rush on my account. Enjoy yourself, self-care is natural, healthy even.” I laughed nervously. “It’s a proven fact. Try the massaging jet stream. I can imagine it would be equally pleasurable for you as it is for—”
Laughter erupted, and he made to turn around. I scrambled out of the bathroom as fast as I could and smacked my forehead with my hand.
Enjoy yourself? What the fuck was wrong with me? Did I really tell him to use the showerhead?
Okay, sign me up for the idiot award too, please and thank you.
Way to set the mood for a romantic dinner.
And what the hell was I doing anyway? Somewhere between the look of disappointment on his face earlier and the realization that the wedding would not happen, I determined what we needed was a night of romance?
Completely insane was what I was. No doubt about it.
But at this point, I was committed. I hadn’t humiliated myself by putting his suit in the bathroom to have him all dressed up for dinner and me in my casual clothes. Plus, I wanted him to see me in the damned dress.
It had taken so much for me to try them on, and I felt pretty in it. What was wrong with that? I took a deep breath and walked back over to the closet and pulled out the dress. The mauve-rose fabric shimmered beautifully by firelight.
I could still hear the shower running, so I rushed to get ready. I pulled the dress over my head and adjusted the plunging neckline. Why hadn’t I noticed how far down it went and that the back mirrored it identically?
In my haste, I hadn’t paid attention to that feature.
I pulled out the strappy heels that Kinsley said were professional dance shoes.
They were the perfect height, according to my girl.
An exquisite web effect went across the toes, and they were embellished with small, glittering gems. They wrapped around the top of the ankle like a halter dress and zipped up the back.
I dragged one of the chairs in front of the full-length mirror and sat, leaning closer as I blended some color across my eyelids. A sweep of mascara. His favorite red for my lips. I gathered my hair and pinned it up, leaving a few loose strands to soften it.
When I finally leaned back, I barely recognized the girl staring at me. Gone was the guarded one who hid behind oversized hoodies. In place of her was a woman. One with confidence. One who was choosing to be intentional—for the first time ever.
Heat crept up my neck. Was this what Pasha saw when he looked at me? I adjusted my bangs and then reached for my shoes.
“Please, allow me.”
The sound of his voice nearly stopped my heart. It slammed violently against my ribs as I turned. I hadn’t heard the bathroom door open. Hadn’t heard him move across the room.
How long had he been standing there?
He crossed the room, beige linen pants sitting low on his hips, the pale blue dress-shirt fitted enough to hint at the strength beneath it. He’d opted not to wear the jacket or vest. The sleeves were rolled up, exposing the ink winding down his arm—the very sleeve I’d been working to complete.
I wondered if he realized that two of the partial faces hidden among the randomly placed skulls were of Kinsley and Victoria. He’d brought them both back into my life. He’d loved one since she was a child. And rescued the other from the pit of hell.
Something told me once he recognized it, he wouldn’t hate it.
My heart beat erratically as he stared into the depths of my soul. He stopped in front of me and lowered himself to one knee without breaking eye contact.
The movement was unhurried. Large hands wrapped around my ankle, warm and steady. His thumb brushed along the inside of my leg as he lifted my foot. The contact sent a sharp current through me.
I inhaled, stunned by how intimate this moment felt.
“Has anyone ever told you that you have pretty feet?” he asked.
The concentrated look on his face made me laugh. “Can’t say that I have. But I’m curious. What’s your definition of pretty feet?”
Lifting my foot once more, he ran a long finger along the insole, turning it as he once more examined it like I’d seen Sebastian inspect a motorcycle before. It tickled, but I managed to not jerk my foot away.
No one had ever commented on my feet before. It was unexpected, and a part of me liked that he was so enthralled by them.
“It’s in the arch,” he crooned. “The way it feels in my hand. And then your toes are perfectly symmetrical.”
He traced the tops of them, starting from the big toe over. “It’s cute the way your little pinkie toe curves like it wants to hug the one next to it.” His eyes flicked up to mine, and a grin flickered across his face.
“Simply put, you don’t have dancer feet and they’re incredibly soft. And don’t get me started on your ankles.” He wrapped his entire hand around it and then moved his fingers. “Tiny and so fucking elegant,” he said as his eyes moved up my leg, my body, and then my face.
His praise of something as silly as my feet left me speechless. Not one for compliments, I wasn’t sure exactly how to take it other than at face value. He pulled my foot toward his mouth and placed a soft kiss on the top before making his way to my ankle.
I shuddered and let out a loud breath as he once more kissed it. He took the shoe and placed it on my foot, before teasing the zipper up the back. After completing the same ritual with the left foot, he stood.
“You look gorgeous, sexy, and entirely too tempting. But you know that, don’t you? I think you and the girls back home are conspiring to get me killed. Tell me, Isabella, what have I done to make you wish to see me suffer?”
“I’m not…we’re not conspiring. I’d never want to see you suffer. That’s why I did this,” I said, feeling confused and unsure of myself.
Pasha looked around the room, taking in how I had set things in motion. I’d repositioned the table closer to the fireplace. The patio door was once more open, letting in the light breeze from the ocean.
Soft music played from the Bluetooth speaker I’d brought. I hated the feeling, the uncertainty that settled inside my stomach, and I burned with embarrassment.
“You looked so sad earlier. I wanted to do something unexpected. If you hate—”
He placed his finger on my lips. “Please, don’t. I was teasing. This is very sweet, and I love that you want to cheer me up.”
“It was really awful what Chase and Hannah did.”
He nodded, his jaw clenched, and I hated myself for bringing it up. A knock sounded. Dinner. I shimmied around him and tried to calm my nerves as I headed to get the food. When I called down, I told them it was for a romantic dinner, and they insisted on champagne and a vase of roses.
The man wheeled the cart inside and then left quietly.
I set the table while Pasha watched with hooded eyes.
As I finished, I turned my back to him to gather my emotions.
My hands shook as I smoothed down my dress.
I felt his presence behind me before the heat of his body pressed near mine. His hand snaked around my waist.
“Would you do me the honor of pretending for one more night to be my girlfriend? I’m devastated that we didn’t get to dance together. All that hard work,” he murmured against my neck.
My heart ached at the sadness I could so plainly hear. I turned. “We could dance now if you’d like.” I held my hand out to him, praying he’d take it and not leave me feeling this anxiety alone.
Soft strains of the beginning chords of Aerosmith’s “I Don’t Want to Miss a Thing” filled the air. A shiver of anticipation ran down my spine as he clasped my hand in his. His eyes reflected the flickering firelight, and I couldn’t help but be drawn to him.