Dance for Me(41)

I find Ransom braced against the countertop, waiting for me. His features grow darker as I step out of the shower and wrap myself in a towel. For a moment, we just stare at each other. I feel as though, despite the time we’ve spent together, there’s something I’m missing. Something I’m overlooking, but for the life of me, I can’t put my finger on it. It’s not the first time I’ve felt this way, and it’s disconcerting.

“Are you mad that I have a key?” His voice is a low rumble and I detect a hint of concern.

“No, just surprised.” Reaching around him, I retrieve a comb and lead us into the kitchen where I begin working the tangles from my hair while a pot of coffee brews.

There’s only one question still nagging at me, and I ask it again, even though I suspect I already know what his answer will be. “Why didn’t you ask?”

Ransom’s mouth twists and he repeats his earlier question. “Would you have given it to me?”

I already know my answer, but I take a moment to think it over anyway. When it doesn’t change, I tell him, “No, probably not.”

He gives me a look that says that’s why. I have to grit my teeth to keep from saying something I’ll regret.

“Why did you come over last night? I thought we were spending some time apart.”

Ransom moves behind the counter that overlooks the living room and pours a cup of coffee. He drinks it black. “Do I need a reason?”

“No.” I shake my head. Something tells me to tread lightly. The way Ransom’s shoulders seem to bunch up, and the tension he’s throwing off, makes me uneasy. “How long are you staying?”

His eyes meet mine over the rim of his cup. “Is that a nice way of asking me to leave?”

“Again, no. Just making conversation over here. I think the question is perfectly reasonable.” Especially since I didn’t invite you over in the first place. I don’t voice that to him though. I have the feeling he’s spoiling for a fight, and I’m not going to give it to him. Not with the…Wait. What the hell happened to my hangover? With the amount of alcohol I put away last night, I should be laid out in bed right now.

“What did you put in that drink again?” I rub my temples, testing for aches and pains, but the only thing I detect is the slightest, almost insignificant strain behind my eyes.

Ransom smirks. “Told you it worked. Doesn’t smell or taste the greatest, but it never fails to deliver.” Abandoning his cup on the counter, he walks over and cups my face in his large palm. His thumb strokes over my jaw and presses into my chin as he tilts my head back.

“I’m glad you’re feeling okay. With the state you were in last night, I wasn’t sure you would be.”

“Even with your magic potion?”

He smiles faintly at my attempt to lighten the mood. “Even with it, yes. That’s the second time I’ve seen you like that. The first time I understand. You were having fun. But this time was different. You seemed…sad. Why is that?”

I get lost in his eyes so easily—dark eyes that see straight through me. When Ransom looks at me like this, I feel a pull to tell him everything, to confess all my secrets. It’s the princess complex. The innate desire to have a man who cares enough to swoop in and solve all my problems. But that’s the problem. Ransom isn’t that man…Is he?

Months ago, I would have said no, he isn’t, and been one-hundred percent certain I was right. Now, I don’t know what to make of him.

“I got some news that I didn’t like.” I shrug and slip from his hold, eager to drop this conversation. It’s too early to get too heavy.

Grabbing a fistful of his black AC/DC concert t-shirt now covering his gorgeous chest, I plaster myself against him. “I never thanked you for fixing me up. What do you say we head back to the bedroom so I can show you how grateful I am.”

Ransom’s smile is dark, dangerous, and oh so sexy. I have a hard time catching my breath as he sets his cup aside and backs me into the hallway. Little touches are how he teases me—sliding a finger across my cheek, tracing my bottom lip, skating a path from throat to sternum, creating an invisible line between my breasts. Once we’re in my bedroom, he tugs my towel away.

Standing naked before Ransom has always been thrilling, if not a little terrifying. I anticipate the predatory gleam that he always gets in his eyes whenever we’re about to have sex. It’s how I know what kind of mood he’s in. It’s always been aggressive, but tonight, there’s no sign of it. In its place, I only see desire. There’s a feral heat lingering in their depths, but Ransom’s eyes are gentle, almost placid.