Page 15 of Mating Season
It’s magic. I do not like this.
It’s just so… compelling… Is it hot in here?
No, he’s hot in here.
Shut up, brain. I do not need your input right now.
“It’ll get stronger until the mating is complete,” Cooper says. He puts the tray on the table next to the roses and walks to my bed.
Stalks like a jungle cat, you mean.
He sits on the edge and touches my arm. It’s meant to be a light, comforting touch. I haven’t even had a chance to yell at him for committing a felony. My brain is all scrambled by his nearness and scent.
And now that his warm hand is on me—even just my arm—I feel like I’m about to crawl out of my skin with need. The arousal building between my legs is embarrassing. He just touched my arm… for fuck’s sake. He justsmells so good.
My breathing comes out in sharp pants, and I’m sure if I looked into the mirror I would appear wild, my hair crazy from sleep, pupils dilated.
“Why isn’t this affecting you?” I ask, warily. Maybe he gave me more than one drug? But no… this scent was affecting me all the way back in LA at the club.
He takes my hand and guides it to cover his erection. “It is, I’m just not fighting it.”
I pull my hand away and jump out of the bed. Only now do I look down and realize I’m wearing pajamas. A pink cami top and little white boxer shorts with tiny red hearts on it.
I must look confused because Cooper says, “You have a whole closet full of clothes.” He gestures to a white door that must be a walk-in closet.
He had to have been stalking me since LA to know all my sizes.
“I thought that was a bathroom,” I say.
“The bathroom is a second door inside the closet.”
Well, that’s a unique layout option. I’m curious, and a part of me wants to check it out, but a bigger part of me wants to put as much distance between me and the bear shifter as possible, so moving into smaller and smaller spaces with no escape doesn’t sound like a solid game plan if I want to reclaim my sanity and freedom.
A phone rings, and Cooper pulls a cell phone from his pocket. He holds a finger up in the air. “Yeah… I checked the online public records database, but the blueprints weren’t there…”
I’m eyeing the door and wondering how distracted he is by his call.
“Yeah, I thought they might be in one of the boxes in the basement in the records room. Tomorrow’s a bank holiday, but I’m working. Can you leave me a key at the office and the passcode? I’ll swing by there after my meeting.”
He’s engrossed in his conversation and clearly doesn’t think I’m a flight risk. I take one more look at him—because who can blame me—and race out of the room. I stop short when I get to the main part of the penthouse, momentarily caught off guard by what I see.
Holy shit, this place is huge. He has a grand piano in the living room. Not even a baby grand, like agrandgrand. And… a… awaterfall.
What?
I think my brain is short-circuiting. The floor-to-ceiling windows extend out here and to the massive kitchen. Everything in this place is neutrals. Clean lines. Grays and blacks and whites and beige with pale pink accents as far as the eye can see—mostly more fresh flowers—including but not limited to roses.
This guy must have a decorator. When we were out in the woods, Cooper didn’t strike me as the kind of guy with an interior design degree. Or hell, maybe this isn’t even his place.Maybe he broke in. Once you kidnap and imprison a woman, how much more of a stretch is it to steal a whole penthouse?
And… there are stairs that go up to an even higher floor. A two-story penthouse? Is that even a thing? I bet he has a pool and garden on the roof. Hmmm,doeshe have a pool and garden on the roof?
I decide I don’t care and run for the door. But there is no door. I mean, there’s a door, but there’s no door knob. It’s just a metal sliding thing like an elevator. I finally realize it IS an elevator. I must be still foggy from whatever he drugged me with last night because I swear I’m not normally this stupid. I can see now that the elevator opens directly into the penthouse, which, now I remember from movies is quite common. Not that movies are a window into actual reality.
Well, that’s convenient, I guess.
I press the button but the doors don’t open, and that little ding that elevators do doesn’t happen. The button doesn’t even light up. I jab it several more times in quick succession but nothing happens.
“The elevator only opens with my fingerprint,” Cooper says.
