Chapter Fifteen
Sometime during thenight, Aubrey walked into the living room, leaving Serge asleep in her bed. By the time daylight filtered through the curtain and Serge found her, she was no closer to making any sense out of how she'd behaved yesterday.
Serge sat on the couch and pulled her onto his lap. She let him hold her close and placed her head on his shoulder. Dealing with what happened seemed easier when he was near, but that fact frightened her.
Alone and in the dark, she'd discovered how lost she felt without him.
"You should've woken me up," he murmured against her hair.
What was she supposed to say? She needed time to herself without him pressuring her or swaying her thinking. It was hard to accept that she'd fallen right into his arms last night when she found him in her house.
She'd effortlessly given away her independence, acting like she couldn't live without a slap on the ass. Swallowing hard, she couldn't understand why she had downplayed what happened. He was aggressive yesterday. She felt every step into the living room earlier.
"I don't want you to think about what happened while you're at work today," he said.
She stiffened. Work? How could she go to the shelter, much less do anything physical?
She pushed into a sitting position but remained on his lap. "I need to shower and get ready for work."
His hand clamped down on her thigh, stopping her. She winched, and a tiny surge of pleasure she couldn't explain warmed her. He lifted the T-shirt she wore and gazed down at her leg.
Three faint bruises marred her skin. Barely anything, really. They'd be gone in a day.
One by one, he placed his hand over the discoloration, aligning his fingertips with the bruises. She gazed at his touch, barely breathing.
"I'd hoped not to hurt you...," he whispered.
"I'm okay," she whispered back.
She moved off his lap before he could say any more. For some reason, the last thing she wanted was for him to regret what they'd done.
He followed her out of the room. She refused to look behind her. The muscles in the back of her thighs quivered with each step, protesting the movement.
Without saying a word, Serge picked her up and carried her to the bedroom. He set her down on the bed, and she watched him walk into the bathroom. The sound of running water made her feel an inch tall for not speaking to him and sharing the worries that had pushed her away. He was being so kind to her.
Back in the room, he pulled her off the bed and peeled her shirt off. "Go take your shower. I'm going to make some phone calls. When you're done, I'll jump in. I need to go into the office soon."
She walked away. Behind the door, she sagged in relief. The steam rolling over the glass shower doors was a welcome sight. She'd feel more energized once she worked the stiffness out of her muscles.
Fifteen minutes later, she dragged herself out of the shower stall and slipped on her robe. Her past experience with her hot water heater was precise. Serge only had ten minutes more before the water turned cold. She hoped he was used to taking short showers.
Literally, on tiptoes, she walked into the bedroom. "You can have the bathroom."
He ran his hand down her arm, held her hand, and kept her from walking past him. "I'll run you to the shelter on my way to work."
She tilted her head. "It's in the opposite direction. I can drive. That way I have my car to bring me home."
"You're not coming back here. I want you at my place." He kissed her forehead, and before stepping into the bathroom, he turned around and asked, "How does Curt Harrington know you?"
Her throat closed. She knew Serge's temper, and she knew how dangerous of a man Harrington was.
"Aubrey." Serge's lips thinned. "Tell me."
"He doesn't." Her heart pounded. "But he was trying to buy the building I purchased for the shelter, and the city accepted my bid."
"You outbid him?"
