Joy Ride(30)

There will be no Sharpie dick on this woman’s cheek.

I scoop her into my arms, since that seems kinder than a fireman’s carry. Call me crazy, but I’ve got a feeling she’d rather be handled like a princess than a victim.

I shut the cab door with the bottom of my work boot and rope her arms around my neck. I cross the sidewalk and push the building door open with my elbow. I smile at the concierge at the desk, and Edgar shoots me a curious look.

“It’s time for her afternoon nap,” I say, deadpan.

He simply nods and scurries to the elevator to press the button for me to the penthouse.

Henley’s head flops against my shoulder, but she snuggles in closer as we ride up. When I reach my floor, I hoist her a little higher, doing my best not to wake her as I dig my keys out of my pocket. I manage to grab them without jostling her, then I head down the hall and open the door to my apartment. Afternoon sunlight streaks through the floor-to-ceiling windows, and I wonder if that’ll rouse her from the land of nod.

Nope. Those Dramamine makers are some seriously honest fucking marketers.

I lower her to my big, cushy L-shaped couch. She sinks into it and shifts to her side. I yank a beige throw blanket from the arm. It’s made of chenille—Mia told me when she gave it to me—and I cover Henley with it. A few strands of hair flutter across her cheek as she breathes, slow and even. Gently, I brush the strands off her face. She moves, flopping to her back.

I brace, figuring this is when she wakes up and curses me out. Except Henley doesn’t curse. She just gives me shit.

She keeps snoozing, and even though I should get up and make myself busy, I stare at her for a little longer. I guess that makes me a freak, but if so, I’ll wave the flag. Because, damn, this girl is so pretty to look at that it’s hard to tear my gaze away. With her zonked out under a blanket, the sun casting afternoon rays over her skin, she seems so angelic. No one who saw her this second would be able to tell that there’s a tiger inside this woman.

It’s fierce and fiery, with claws as sharp as she needs them to be. But today, those claws have retracted, and I’ve seen another side to her. A side I almost wish I didn’t know existed, since I have no clue what to do about it.

I drag my fingers roughly through my hair, as if that will shake off these foreign feelings. Then I stop. I just fucking stop the weird staring at her.

Because . . . I’m not that creepy.

My stomach rumbles. I head to the kitchen, slap together a quick sandwich, and chow down. Then I hang out with my laptop, sketching plans for the car as the sun dips lower in the sky, then lower still, till the flaming peach rays of the sunset flare across the horizon.

Henley stirs and flips to her side, her arm dangling off the couch. But her eyes don’t open. I bury myself in work for another hour until I hear her voice.

“Did you kidnap me?”

I look up from the screen to find her sitting up and stretching on the couch. “‘Nap’ being the operative word. Wait—it’s more like a sleep coma you’ve been in.”

She rubs her eyes. “What time is it?”

“Just past seven.”

She blinks. “Seriously?”

I nod. “You’ve been out of it for five hours. I would have brought you to your place, but you were dead to the world, and I didn’t know the address.”

She exhales deeply as she looks around my pad, taking in the huge windows and the vast space. “This is like a palace.”

I smile. “Thanks. I like it here. How are you feeling?”

She stretches her neck from side to side, inhales deeply, and nods. “Worlds better. Thank you.”

“Can I get you anything?”

She yawns again, covering her mouth. Then she says, “Any chance you have an extra toothbrush? I need to brush my teeth.”

“I do,” I say, then show her the bathroom. I grab a toothbrush from a drawer, popping it out of the pack.

“Is that so you have extra for women?”

“No. It’s so I have extra for me. I happen to be quite aggressive with toothbrushes. I go through one a week.”

Her eyebrows rise. “You’re a toothbrush abuser?”

I nod. “I am and I’m not afraid to admit it. The dentist says I need to tone it down, but I prefer to think of myself as a power user. I brush often and vigorously, and I’ve invested in toothbrush stock.”

She bounces as if this makes her outrageously happy. “I love to go wild on toothbrushes, too.” She checks out her reflection in the mirror, and her jaw drops. She spins around.

“Max,” she whispers in awe as she stares at a particular bathroom fixture.

“What is it?”