I keep walking until the crowd thins to a trickle. The smart people in pink and black polo shirts have been replaced by workers in overalls and worn jeans. Slabs of what I think are background scenery are stacked beside forklifts and wheelbarrows. The air is dustier back here, but also cleaner too, and I breathe a sigh of relief when I see a chain-link fence aheadof me. Beyond it is thick greenery – a park, or maybe even a forest - but my excitement turns to a groan when I spy the razor wire looped across the top. If I try to climb that, I’ll tear myself to pieces. But if I turn around now, chances are I’ll walk straight into Marcus and the rest of Luscious’ security.
My only choice, it seems, is to hide out in the trailer parked next to the fence. All the other ones are parked closer to the studio, but this one has a dumpster on one side and a rusted truck on the other. Something about it feels defiant, like it would prefer to be parked under the trees instead of on this dusty corner of the lot. And instead of the familiar pink and black color scheme, the exterior is painted a cool mint green. There’s a small name engraved on a plaque – Rowan Vale – and I pause, wondering who that is. Not that it makes any difference, since I’ve run out of other options.
“Hello?” I crack the door open just enough to call out, but my greeting is met by silence. Relieved, I quickly step inside and latch the door behind me. The interior is lit by two small lamps, giving the room a warm glow, and I wonder at the instant feeling of safety, like I’ve crawled into a deep, warm den. Maybe it’s the turquoise velvet sofa and leather armchairs, or the line of potted plants next to a glass tank filled with tropical fish. Or maybe it’s because whoever lives here has been baking the most delicious cookies I’ve ever smelled…
Omega, but without that heavy sweetness that leaves a cloying residue inside my skull.
Almond cookies, or maybe gingerbread…
The scent draws me further into the trailer, over to the small kitchenette. To my disappointment, there’s nothing cooling on the bench, but I don’t give myself time to wallow. Instead, I creep towards the bedroom, peering around the door to make sure the occupant isn’t asleep. The bed is empty, but I linger,staring at the rumpled sheets. For some reason, they’re calling to me, so tantalizing that my mouth actually waters.
But I force myself to cross the room without touching the bed, only stopping when I reach the bathroom. It’s small, like the rest of the trailer, but there’s a tub in the corner that could easily fit two. I hurry to fill it, dumping a combination of bath bombs and scented oils into the water. Lavender, bergamot, and orange fill the air, intensifying in the thick steam. While it fills, I strip off the borrowed baseball cap and the blue uniform from the clinic. I set the cap on the counter, but roll the rest of the clothes into a ball and stuff them into a trash can. When I’m done, I step over the edge of the tub and plunge into the water. It’s scorching hot, but I force my head under, my hair floating around me like dark tentacles in a lake.
My heart is still hammering with adrenaline, but peace, of a sort, envelopes me. Bubbles pop against my tender cheek, and it’s so hot I can’t feel my toes, but I close my eyes and sink deeper.
It’s time to make a plan.
CHAPTER NINE
The first hint that I’m not alone is the brush of a fingertip along the bottom of my foot.
Spending hours in a slick suit has made me immune to most forms of touch, but I still have my ticklish spots. And the soft underside of my foot is ahugeone. My toes curl in protest, and I rocket out of the water, sending a wave of scented bubbles over the edge of the tub. I catch a glimpse of the most glamorous man I’ve ever seen – his hair gleaming like polished bronze, with bright hazel eyes beneath sweeping dark brows, and cheekbones that lead my gaze down to a soft, sensuous mouth. He’s in a white dress shirt, his skin like silky caramel at the open collar, and a black bowtie is dangling around his neck. His pink lips pop open in surprise, because the next moment, he’s grabbing at the side of the tub as he slips on the flooded tiles.
“What the freakinggoddess?”
I try to catch his flailing arm, but his feet go out from under him, and he crashes to the floor. The next sound is a strangled whimper, and I brace myself as I peer over the edge of the tub. “Are you okay?”
“Pretty sure my ass is broken.” He winces as he lifts his hips a few inches to rub the bruised muscle. “Give a guy a little warning before you burst out of the bathtub like Venus from her clam shell, okay?”
I think about that for a moment, my hot cheek pressed to the cold enamel. “I don’t know who that is.”
“Hmmm.” He sits up slowly, a grin starting to form on his handsome face, before his eyes narrow in concern. “Well, shit. You’re as overcooked as Luscious’ lips.”
I follow his gaze down my body and realize he’s right. My skin has flushed a dark pink from the scaling bath. “I feel a bit… woozy.”
“Well, don’t die in my bathtub!” He’s on his feet in a surprisingly graceful move, snatching up a silk-covered stool and tossing it into his shower. He spins the taps on, shoving his arm under the spray to check the temperature, then holds his dripping hand out to me, those hazel eyes fierce. “Come on. You need to cool off. Fast.”
He’s a distracting sight, but I’m gaping at the stool as its pale gold upholstery turns a muddy brown. “You'll ruin it!”
He flaps his long-fingered hand, then shoves it at me; insistent. “It’s just a chair. And it’ll be a worthy sacrifice if it means saving you from passing out and cracking your skull open.”
I’ve never heard someone speak like him, a strange mix of gallant and brutal. “I’m okay.”
I’m not, but my body temperature is the least of my problems.
“You’re dehydrated,” he replies, then shoves up his damp sleeves, exposing leanly muscled forearms. He now extends both hands in my direction, his fingers twitching. “Fair warning. If I have to fish you out, I will.”
The tone is threatening, but there’s a glimmer of humor in his eyes that makes my toes tingle. “Alright. I probably overdid the hot water.”
“And the bath bombs,” he notes, but his entire focus is on helping me to my feet, bubbles sliding off me as I step gingerly over the side of the tub. His grip tightens as I make contact with the slippery floor, but he doesn’t try to touch other parts of me, like some collectors do when I climb off their tables. In fact, he barely seems to notice my body, other than the state of my raw, pink skin. “You’re like a lobster that was marinated in spiced wine.”
Lobster?I vaguely remember seeing a dancing lobster somewhere, but I have no idea what spiced wine is. Or ordinary wine, for that matter.
My head spins a little as he leads me across the three, slippery feet to the shower. Unlike the tub, it’s trailer-sized, and I shiver as the first cooling drops hit my skin. My knees start to tremble, and I sink onto the stool in relief. “Oh. That feels good,” I admit, tipping my head back so the cool water peppers my face. I open my mouth to drink a little, but the next moment, my savior is handing me a chilled bottle of water, watching closely as I gulp it down. My stomach clenches, a warning sign I’ve pushed my body too far, and I lean sideways until my shoulder connects with the wall. “Uh… This is much better. I could sit here all day.”
“Nope,” he says, reaching in to turn off the water. He ignores my pout, grabbing a fluffy towel off the rack and wrapping it around me. “Unless you’re a mermaid who’s wandered into my trailer, I’m taking away your soaking privileges.”
MermaidI know, only because Dex is a fan. After a particularly grueling deposit, he likes to sit on the edge of the tub, massaging my aching shoulders while he spins tales about the besotted sailor who stole a ship from the pirate king so he could follow his mermaid to the edge of the world… A memorythat makes my eyes fill with tears, a horrible clenching feeling burning in my chest.
