His jaw works, and he rubs it, lifting his gaze to mine. “His penthouse only has one bedroom.”
I don’t know how he knows that, but I can guess where he’s going with it, and my stomach caves in.
We won’t resent you for the actions and decisions you make.
His words sink in, giving me strength as I lower to the bed beside him.
“You slept in his bed.” His hand clenches between his knees. “With him.”
It isn’t a question, so I remain silent, waiting for him to continue.
“I’ll be sleeping in here from now on.” He stands and strides toward the door.
“Please don’t take this the wrong way, but I don’t trust your self-restraint.”
“And I don’t trust his.”
We engage in a silent glaring stand-off before I sigh and lower my head. Arguing is futile. All I can do is give and love and listen, with the hope that I won’t lose my voice or be used in the process.
That night, I climb off the stage, stiff and sore and more exhausted than usual. My joints protest every little movement, and I dread the short walk to my car. It’s been a grueling night of dancing, and I need sleep in the worst way.
Trace meets me at the front of the restaurant, looking as chipper and sexy as always in his tailored suit. I stop beside him, shoulders sagging as he studies me with questions burning in his blue eyes. Are you staying with me tonight? Going home? Did you fuck him? Did you choose him?
“I’m staying.” For no other reason than my legs ache and my eyelids feel like sandpaper. “I’m really tired.”
Smiling an almost-smile, he takes my hand and leads me to the elevator.
I lean against him as we ascend to the 31st floor. “I don’t know why my ass is dragging like this.”
“Late night last night?” His tone is light-hearted, but jealousy clips the edges.
“We watched a movie.” I toss him a glare. “Nothing to get snippy about.”
“I’m not the one being snippy.” The elevator opens, and he lifts me off my feet, cradling my lolling body against his chest. “What’s wrong with you?”
“I don’t know.” I lean my head against his shoulder and take savoring breaths of his aftershave. “There’s nothing going on in my head, if that’s what you’re thinking. I’m just drained.”
He carries me into the penthouse, down the hall, and through his bedroom. When he reaches the bathroom, he sets me on the vanity and starts the shower.
“I’ll get you something to sleep in.” He ambles toward the door, hands clasped behind him, like a policeman patrolling his territory. “Do you need anything else?”
“You and your arms. That’s what I want to sleep in.”
Steam from the shower curls around his tall frame as he pauses with his back to me and lowers his head. His shoulders rise and fall. Then he pivots and retraces his steps.
He has that look, the predatory flicker in his eyes. Like he wants to eat me. If I weren’t so damn drowsy, I’d give him a playful reaction. But all I can muster is a faint smile.
When he reaches me, he leans his brow against mine and strokes my hair. “Do you need help in the shower?”
There isn’t a hint of insinuation in his voice, but two showers with two different men on the same day… That’s a big no. I turn down his offer with a shake of my head.
I should contact Cole and let him know I won’t be home tonight. Except my phone is in the dressing room downstairs. “Shit.”
“What’s wrong?”
“I need a favor.” Other than the practical reason for asking this, I have a strong need to right some of the wrongs between the two people I love most in the world. “Will you let Cole know I’m not feeling well and that I’ll be staying here tonight?”
His hand stills in my hair. Then he releases me and steps back. “Of course.”
“Thank you.”
A phone call won’t make them besties again, but maybe it’ll open a line of cordial communication.
After he leaves the bathroom, I take my time in the shower, letting the heat seep into my overworked muscles. When I finally step out, I find one of his button-ups folded and waiting for me on the vanity.
I hold it to my nose, breathing in his scent, before dressing, cleaning my teeth, and running a brush through my hair. He didn’t bring me a pair of panties, but the shirt hangs to my knees and frankly, I’m too wiped out to care.
He’s already in bed when I emerge from the bathroom. The soft glow of the table lamp illuminates the gold in his hair and the alertness in his eyes as he watches me approach.
“I’m worried about you.” He opens his arms, offering exactly what I need.