Leaning over me, he sucks my bottom lip into his mouth and releases it with a smack. His dark eyes dance with mirth as he pulls away and backs toward the door. “I’m going to start breakfast. Join me when you can walk again.”
Damn him, that cocky bastard. When he’s gone, I stare up at the ceiling wondering what I’ve gotten myself into. My mind spirals down a dangerous path of what-if scenarios until even I am sick of hearing the insecure thoughts running around in my head. Last night, when I got into the backseat of my car with him, I decided that there was no more running from this. No more indecisive bullshit. If we’re going to make an honest go of it, then I can’t walk away at the first bump to appear in the road.
Locating Ransom’s discarded shirt on the floor, I slip it on and fasten enough buttons to look presentable, and then gather my clothes up. A quick shower and then breakfast, that’s the plan.
The heavenly smell of bacon sizzling in the pan hits me when I step out of the room, but despite my stomach’s demand for sustenance, I head in the opposite direction.
The second bedroom’s door at the end of the hall is still closed, so I guess whoever Ransom rooms with is sleeping, which makes sense. They came in extremely late last night. I wonder what the story is. If they’re friends or family. Maybe an ex.
That thought sets me on edge, and I shake it off before I decide to march in there and find out who this person is. All I know is that it had better not be an ex-girlfriend. God, what if it’s Red?
Right, I need to stay focused and think rationally, and a warm shower is just the ticket.
The door to the bathroom stands partway open. I push it aside…and jump back with a startled squeak.
Ransom stands in front of the sink, a black towel slung low around his hips. Even though he scared the tar out of me, I quickly recover as I let the vision of him nearly naked set in.
Water droplets cover the span of his wide shoulders, occasionally gliding down the deep crevasse of his spine to soak into the plush fabric hiding one of my favorite parts to ogle. He’s in the process of shaving, which is a shame, because I rather enjoy the feel of his stubble scratching my skin when he kisses me.
His eyes leap to mine in the mirror as I stand in the doorway, and the razor stops mid-stroke. A small bead of crimson appears on his chin and is captured by droplets of water, which collect and begin running in a single rivulet of red down his neck.
Slowly, he lowers his arm, the razor hanging loosely in his hand. “What are you doing here?”
His tone is sharp and commanding, his black eyes filled with dangerous intent, and the change in him is such a shock that my head jerks back.
“I’m sorry. I was going to grab a quick shower. I didn’t think you’d mind.” My words are small, full of apprehension. I don’t understand why he’d be upset with me. Have I crossed some invisible boundary?
I hitch my thumb over my shoulder. “I thought you were cooking breakfast?”
His eyes narrow a fraction more as his reflection continues to glare at me. Lowering his head, he dips the razor into the basin of murky water and swishes it around. Then, he pulls the plug. I stand there and watch him finish his routine, carefully replacing the razor in a custom silver hanger and splashing on a clean smelling aftershave.
When he is finished, he turns to fully face me, covering the two steps that separate us and crowds the doorway with his large body. I look up into his dark eyes, feeling dwarfed, feeling vulnerable.
I realize with a note of apprehension that this isn’t the man who brought me to orgasm this morning and kissed me goodbye so he could go make me breakfast. The man, who stands before me now, is cold and menacing. I feel as if I’ve just walked into a lion’s den at feeding time. I feel exposed, unwelcome, in danger.
It’s the exact same feeling I felt every time we met in his hotel room.
“What’s wrong? Did I do something?”
He studies me with his perfect features, with this perfect calm that only serves to make me feel even more unsteady like there’s not enough oxygen in the room.
“How did you get into my apartment?”
I’m confused by the question. “Are you serious?” I tilt my head to see if there is any hint of teasing in his eyes, but he’s completely unmoved. “You brought me here last night. I slept in your bed.” Nothing. I’m staring at a blank wall. “Did you fall and hit your head in the shower or something?”
The pulse in his jaw ticks wildly. “Or something.” Securing the towel with one hand, he takes my arm in the other and moves me out of his way as he steps out of the bathroom. Then, he forcibly guides me down to the end of the hall where it opens into a great room comprised of the living and dining rooms and a spacious kitchen.