Page 14 of Break Me Beautifully
“Nothingyet,”she snorts. “I don't know why I was worried about you. You're having a great time in New York City already. It's late, I'm going to bed.”
“Wait, Katy! You were right about him. He's in the mafia, he has to be.”
My sister sighs into my ear. “I warned you. Are you really that shocked?”
Glancing at the front door, I frown thoughtfully. "After I discovered the gun, he left me alone at his place.”
“What do you think he went to go do?”
“I don't know.”
“It's probably better you don't.” Her cryptic advice makes me shiver. “You're there for his art connections. Whatever he's doing that's under the table, don't get mixed up in it. Keep everything separate.”
“Yeah. Okay.”
“That means keeping your hands off of him, too.”
I grit my teeth. “Goodnight, Katy.” Hanging up, I put my phone in my jacket pocket. I'm burnt out and I want a shower. Cleaning up will feel like a reset. I need one if I'm going to do what Katy said and keep distance between Marshall and me.
Don't get involved with him or any seedy business.
Abandoning the couch, I find the large bedroom that's clearly meant for me. My suitcase sits at the foot of the bed. I flick on the light, confirming I have my own bathroom. Closing the door behind me, I strip out of my clothes and my bare toes drift across the fluffy white rug. I find everything I need in the pristine black and ivory bathroom. I'm sure Marshall has a housekeeper of some kind; I can't picture him setting out little squares of lavender soap and perfectly folded towels. I relax under the hot water until my fingertips are wrinkled to the point of being painful. When I turn the shower off, my body is too languid to dry myself, so I dress in a clean robe and make my way to the queen-sized bed in my private room.
I don't realize I fell asleep until a noise awakens me.
Rubbing my eyes, I scan the dark room. Didn't I leave the light on? A worm of suspicion demolishes the lingering sleep in my brain. Sitting up, I look side to side, my eyes adjusting to the shadows. The window’s blackout curtains are shut, so the only source of light comes from under my door.
The noise comes again. I strain to listen. Identifying Marshall's throaty way of talking is easy. Inching off the bed, I creep to the door like the quiet little mouse I was known for being back home.
Holding my breath, I crack the door open and peer outside. I see Marshall standing with his back to me in front of the glass overlooking the city. He's naked from the waist up, his wide shoulder blades are illustrated with colorful ink and marked with scars, like the one on his lip, but bigger.
His phone is to his ear as he mutters under his breath. I want to listen, but I'm distracted by his stunning physique. I'm viewing one half of a coin, sure the other side is just as amazing, terrified to witness it, obsessed with knowing. I widen the crack, my breath winding in a ball in my lungs. I try to breathe through my nose in silent little puffs.
“I know what we just talked about. I was fucking there. You think changing my mind isn't something I take seriously?” he asks, his voice rising the longer he talks. He turns, still facing away, but I see his hard jaw grinding. He's pissed. “This could blow up in all our faces if she keeps asking questions.”
My fingers clutch the door jam.Is he talking about me?
“It's not that fucking simple,” he seethes, one muscular arm gesturing in the air. The snake tattoo on his spine writhes like its alive. He pauses, listening, his shoe tapping. “Yeah. Yeah. Fine. I'll do what I can. Just, fuck, I hope you're right.”
Marshall throws his phone at the couch. His fist slams into the window, the impact loud enough that I expect a crack to appear. His rage surprises me, making me jump and my shoulder collides with the doorknob.
He spins, staring in my direction. I don't wait to see if he spotted me. I turn, diving into my bed and burying myself in the blankets. My eyes shut, my heart thumping wildly.Please, please don't have noticed me!The door creaks open, ruining my wish. I keep my eyes shut tight, doing my best to act like I'm asleep, like I was unconscious the whole time and never heard a whisper he said. I don't know what's going on here, but I'm sensing it's bigger than I suspected. And my only upper hand is pretending I'm oblivious.
There are no footsteps. I can't hear if he's entered my room. It's astounding that a man of his size could move so quietly. I come very close to cracking an eye to check, certain he left me alone. Then a whiff of familiar musk dances into my nose.
He's here. He's right next to my bed. Even with my eyes shut I can feel the heat coming off his body, the darkness growing as his shadow crosses my face. Marshall is standing over me, saying nothing, doing nothing, thinking, well, I wish I knew.
The blankets shift, startling me, but I manage to keep myself still.What is he going to do to me?I feel the gentle pressure as he tucks the blanket around my body, a kind gesture that doesn't fit his tatted-up gun-toting demeanor. Devils aren't supposed to be sweet.
The door clicks, suggesting he shut it after himself, I open one eye to confirm. I'm alone in the dark with my heart acting like a drumline. Clutching the blanket, I swear I can feel the warmth where he touched it seeping into my skin. I didn't imagine it. He really did tuck me in.
I watch the door for a few minutes, tensely expecting him to enter again. He doesn't. I grab my phone to check the time. It’s1:10 in the morning.Who was he talking to at such a late hour? Where did he go when he vanished inside the elevator?
Sinking back onto the pillows, I hold my phone to my chest. There's a tangle of thorns in my skull that prick at every thought involving Marshall Klintock. Is he an art curator? Does he really want to help me? Is his attraction real, a game?
Earlier, I fell asleep without trying.
Now, it takes me an hour before my mind settles enough to find sleep again.
