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“What is it?” His thumb caressed my cheek. “What’s wrong?”
You brought me a rose. You kissed me. He wouldn’t understand why that called for tears. He didn’t understand anything. Instead I said, “I had a terrible day,” which was mostly true.
He rubbed behind one of my ears, a light touch that made my breath shudder. “What was so terrible about it?”
“I don’t know. I felt bad about last night.”
“Bad in what way?”
I swallowed and turned my face from him. I shivered with cold, or anxiety, or perhaps the shock of his proximity. He drew away with a soft sound. “Where are your keys? Let’s go inside and get you out of those wet clothes.”
I understood from his words exactly what he wanted me to understand. Let’s go inside and fuck on some horizontal surface. His gaze communicated it, along with the pitch of his voice and his gentle but possessive grasp on my arm. I understood—but old fears die hard. I wanted him but I didn’t. I fumbled around in my bag, my fingers useless and heavy with nerves.
“I can’t— I—” I can’t do this. I’m embarrassed. I’m afraid. “I can’t let you in. My apartment is a mess.”
His hand stroked up and down my arm. He watched me with far too much attention. “Are you okay?”
I shrugged and flailed around in my bag for the keys. If I didn’t come up with them soon I was going to fling the whole damn thing against the wall. “I’m fine.”
He took it from me and within five seconds came up with the keys.
“Thank you,” I said. “I’m sorry. I have to go change.” I could really feel the cold now that he’d let go of me. I stared at the middle of his chest, wondering how to turn the closeness of this moment into a goodbye. The idea of it started my bottom lip trembling again. Why not me? Why couldn’t I have this man and the things he offered? Why couldn’t I be different?
“Ashleigh.” He said it light and slow as I stared at his lips. “Let me come in, just until you feel better. We don’t have to do anything.”
I leaned back against the door, gripping the knob. “The thing is…”
“The thing is…?”
“I— I don’t usually let anyone in my apartment.”
“Why, what’s in there?” he asked in a bemused voice. “Piles of dead bodies?”
No, I thought. Just one dead body. My own. I turned back to the door, opened the lock and edged myself inside. I intended to close it but something in the way he stood there stopped me.
“I don’t want you to come in,” I said. “I’m just… I’m just too weird.”
He stepped forward, right into my apartment, and smiled at me. “Too normal, I’d worry about. Too weird is perfectly fine.”
*** *** ***
I’d been with a lot of women in my life. I’d seen a lot of strange things over the course of my adventures, but one thing I’d never seen was a blanket fort in a grown woman’s apartment.
At first we both ignored it. She put the rose on her kitchen counter and ducked into the bathroom to change out of her wet clothes. She emerged in a tiny tee and form-fitting sweatpants that I wanted to peel right back off her, but then she pulled on a drapey cardigan that swallowed her whole. She faced me with a look that said you’re still here? She offered me coffee and I accepted. I didn’t want to leave.
While the coffee brewed, she showed me around her studio apartment. Here’s the kitchenette. Here’s the bathroom. Here’s the closet. Here’s the window. There was no bed. Believe me, I looked.
But there was a blanket fort. I was having second thoughts about what I was doing here.
I’d come here to fuck her, in case you hadn’t figured that out yet. Kinky or not, her graceful, unique ballet body attracted me. I wanted to grope her all over and work out my curiosities with some prolonged and athletic sex. I wanted to pull her glossy hair, pinch her small, pert breasts. After I fucked her, I could stop wondering what it would feel like to fuck her. I could walk out of here in the morning and sleep a lot better tomorrow night.
That was the plan. I just hadn’t expected a blanket fort in the corner.
But she ignored it and drank coffee, and so did I.
“Where did you say you were from again?” I asked.
She half-smiled at me. “I didn’t, remember? You guessed.”
“But you never actually told me.”
She stared down into her coffee cup. “I grew up in Wyoming. In cattle country.” She made a face and looked back up at me. “To this day, I can’t stand to eat beef. I don’t like anything from a cow.”
I stared at
her. “No steak? Hamburgers? Roast?”
She shook her head firmly. “I don’t eat beef.”
I pointed at the cream she’d set out for our coffee. “That comes from a cow.”
“It’s not the same.”
“Leather jackets?” I asked. I’d slung mine over the back of my chair.
“I don’t care about those so much. It’s the food that makes me sick. The taste.” She shook herself a little. “There’s a smell in Eastern Wyoming that makes me sick.”
“One nice thing about London—there aren’t a bunch of cattle ranches stinking up the place.”
That made her smile. A little.
“Tell me about your security job,” she said, stirring her coffee. “And your talent for opening locks.”
“I only work on the right side of the law, I promise. I own a personal service agency with my dad. Ironclad Solutions—discreet personnel for the rich and famous. Bodyguards, PAs, travel security. Business is pretty good.” That was an understatement, but she’d seen my house. She knew. I was past apologizing for my money. I gave away as much as I could and enjoyed my life with the rest of it, although I felt a pang of guilt sitting in her tiny, bed-less apartment.
“Bodyguards, huh?” She glanced at my well-developed biceps. “Is it ever dangerous?”
“Sometimes. It depends on the situation. Sometimes it’s just escorting a client around an unfamiliar city, or babysitting celebrity kids. When Rubio travels, he uses our agency’s protection to ensure his…personal space. We serve high profile clients who need security and management, but in most cases it’s not a life or death thing.”
“In most cases?” She shook her head. “Wow.”
“Are you worried about me?” I teased. “About my agents? Believe me, they’re well trained. Like you, only a different set of talents.”
“Is that how you found out about Rubio’s…uh…proclivities? You had to follow him into some sex club?”
“Not me, no. My employees probably have, a time or two. But I knew Rubio in BDSM circles before he ever used Ironclad.” I fell silent a moment, my gaze trailing off over her shoulder to her slouching blanket fort. “Can I ask you a personal question, Ashleigh? Where is your bed?”
