It’s as though he can’t drift off unless he knows I’m okay.
I tested the theory last night, after I watched him sleep with Rocco pressed close. I shut my bedroom door. When I woke this morning, it was open.
Last I checked, dogs can’t open doors.
“Morning.” The husky timbre of his voice first thing does strange things to me. I gave up fighting them after the third morning together.
“Good morning to you, too.” The words sit on the tip of my tongue, yet I’m careful not to mention his new sleeping buddy. Not when it means I watched him.
“Shit, I’ve been hanging out for the weekend.” He stretches his bare arms over his equally bare torso.
I dump the teaspoon, and peer over the rim of my mug at the ink that covers sections of his body. The imagery is darkened by the impressive tan that disappears into his waistband.
“Hard week?”
“Had a few heavy orders, so yeah, I’m a little achy in places.” He rubs his neck, and shuffles to the coffee I’d made for him. “Did you know I’d be up?”
“You have a routine.”
“No I don’t.” Malice smiles, and takes a sip.
“Yes you do.” I smirk. “You’re always up ten minutes either side of seven.”
“Am I?” His eyebrow rises.
“Do you ever look at the clock?”
“Not on the weekends.” He winks, and I fidget on the spot.
“Your phone was ringing before.” I nod to where it sits on the bench-top. “I didn’t want to wake you for it. Figured if it was important they’d try again.”
“Probably one of the boys.”
He still hasn’t told me who the guys in the picture are. He was out again last night, and I wonder if that’s who with.
Malice snatches the mobile from the bench, and scrolls through the notifications while he sips at the coffee. Hot, brown liquid spurts from his lips, and he places the mug down to wipe his mouth with the back of his hand. “Shit.”
“What’s the matter?”
“Just something unexpected.”
You’re telling me.
I quirk a smile, and scull the last of my searing-hot drink. “Wanna share?”
He shakes his head, and tosses the mobile back on the bench. It skitters over the surface until it comes to rest against the coffee canister.
An awkward silence ensues, and the glazed look in his eyes says he’s far from where I am.
“So, since the police returned my ID the other day, I’ve been thinking there’s no reason why I shouldn’t get a job again.”
He re-joins me with a quirk of his eyebrow. “Yeah?”
I nod. “Thought there wasn’t a better way to get back on the horse than to earn some cash, and look after myself.”
“I’m in no hurry if you aren’t.” He takes a more subdued sip of his coffee.
“I can’t stay here forever. If I’m going to go it on my own—like I should have years ago—then I need to get my finances sorted. Getting a job is step one, Malice. I heard them mention on the radio that a new department store is opening this week. Thought I could start there.”
He nods. “I guess you have a point. Did you want to check the paper for properties, too? We could look this weekend.”
A smile pulls my lips into a soft curve. I haven’t been this excited in a damn long time. “Sounds great.”
“Well,” he starts, and then finishes his drink. “Give me some time to shower, and dress, and then we’ll go get a weekend edition.”
I nod, still smiling like a loony. The man is fine enough how he wakes—what the hell will a shower improve on?
“While I’m doing that,” he says, nodding toward his phone. “Why don’t you call your parents?”
“What?” I tip my head, wondering why on earth he thinks that would be a good idea.
“Jane, take a look at yourself. Look at how much you’ve changed already. You smile more; you look healthier. For fuck’s sake, you left the dirty dishes in the sink overnight the other day.”
“Did I?” I can’t believe I’d do something I would have considered so reckless a fortnight ago.
“You did.” He smiles. “You’re changing, babe, and it’s good. I just wonder if calling your parents might help purge the last of that shit in your head that makes you think you haven’t.”
Malice steps out of the kitchen, and a minute later, water rushes through the pipes beneath my feet. Only thing about a timber-floored house—no sound insulation.
I sigh, and scrub my hands over my face.
The mere idea of calling my parents has me breaking out in a sweat. How can he think I’ve changed when I’m still so weak when it comes to ringing them? I walk to his phone, and pick it up. My eyes trace out the numbers that would connect me with the people who brought me into this world—the people whom I trusted not to let me get hurt.