No, I suppose they’re not. But now isn’t the time to discuss why I chose to put something beautiful on me. We both need sleep. We’ll discuss that tomorrow if we have to, just like we’ll discuss slitting his wrists and pill popping until there’s no way back from it.
~
Sitting quietly in a chair in the window, I look at him still sleeping. I don’t know how long we’ve been in here, but I’ve been awake for what seems like ages. I stayed in there with him for a while, checked he was breathing, and then got up and went to the bathroom, trying not to make any noise or accept the feeling of safety his arms provided. He didn’t stir, nor did he appear to move in the slightest. He’s just there, most of his body exposed, lax features in his sleep, and muscles gently heaving up and down.
It’s fascinating – he is.
And fucking hot.
Ridges, muscles, strong legs and an equally appealing rack of abs that are unfair for me to look at. His dark hair laps at his cheeks, as if it needs fingering back into place. Not that I could do just that without attempting to trace that same finger over the smooth contours of his lips and slightly stubbled jaw line. And that kiss – too much. Quietly possessive. As if he doesn’t even need to try claiming me. I’m his as far as he’s concerned. Nothing else to discuss. I might be, too. Seems reckless. Stupid even considering these innate feelings sweeping my insides.
And I still don’t know who he is.
Frowning, I swing my gaze to the bedside cabinet, taking in the letter opener glinting, and then back to the outside world to look over the moon high in the sky. It seems so far away here, as if the stretch of mountains and snow push it farther into the distance somehow. It’s bright, though. So bright. Everything’s illuminated out there, enough so that I can see the dark shadows of the trees swaying in the wind.
Shrugging the black, silk sheet around me, I look at the door back out into the lounge. I need coffee, and breakfast, or lunch, or just some food considering I no longer have any clocks to work out what the time is again. The thought makes me stand and pad silently to it to get out, but then I remember his words. Keep the knife with me. I quietly go back, get it and then let the door close behind me.
I’m suddenly alone in a vast room, only the crinkling log fire for company and old age wealth showing some part of him. Quiet again. I end up wandering aimlessly in search of a maid. There aren’t any. It’s just walls and paintings and curtains and empty affluence.
The lacking help makes me head back for the room I was originally in, considering waking him up. I won’t, though. He needs that sleep. Maybe I’ll just go get back into bed again and sleep with him. If there’s no food, and no clothes, and no one, I have little choice short of exploring. I’m not in the mood for that.
Turning into the room, I half jump at the sight of him in a chair by the fire dressed in black jeans and nothing else. I linger in the entrance, unsure where we’re at now. Last night was quiet and calm and that kiss was debilitating, but it’s a new day now – hunting could be coming any minute.
He looks at me briefly before returning his stare to the crackling flames. “Sit.”
“Okay.”
All my words have vanished. I thought of some while I sat in the window earlier, came to some opinion of how to play this, but now they’ve all gone. It’s his presence now he’s awake, his aura. He’s larger like this, more imposing and daunting, especially with that dour frown in place.
I chuckle to myself, amused. He’s still the same man as he was in the shower, still the same man he was when he held me reverently, and still the same as he was when he slept.
“The plane is ready to take you home whenever you want,” he murmurs. “Some clothes will be here shortly. You’re released from our bargain.” My brows shoot up, complete shock rendering me more speechless than I was. “Do you need to eat?”
I don’t know what to say. This wasn’t the plan. Everything about last night was destined to have me staying here and trying to help – no apparent way home without that. And now, I can just go?
He looks back at me again, softening the frown a little. “Do you?”
“What?”
“Need to eat?”
“Yes, I guess.” He leans forward and pushes a concealed button on the fireplace. “Did you just say I could go home?”
“If you want to.” It’s said with a sense of misery attached to it. Maybe others wouldn’t hear that. They’d hear his normally assertive tone and only that, perhaps running for the hills because of it. But I can hear it. Or feel it. Or sense it somewhere down in the pit of my stomach that I thought had left me.
I stare, unsure what it is that I’m feeling or wanting. Go, stay.
Learn more or just forget?
“When does the lag end?” I ask, pulling my legs up into the chair. “Does distance change it?”
He chuckles lowly and tips his head back, eyes closing. “Others would harbour that feeling without wanting to get rid of it. Not you, it appears.”
“Sir?” My head turns to look around the wing of the chair.
A maid stands there, her apron and uniform as precise as the others have been, her hands dropping a bundle of clothes neatly to the side table.
“Pancakes,” he states. “And coffee. And papers.” She’s off out of the room before I get a chance to ask for anything, not caring if I might have an opinion or not.
