“Where’s your phone?” I bite my bottom lip, wanting to hurry him on with my hands, but know it won’t do me any good.
“My what? Why would you want that?” he asks, clearly confused and rightfully so. It’s unfair to expect him to keep up with my crazy.
“Phone,” I practically whine.
He runs his hands over his face and swings his legs out before rolling his lithe body from the bunk without hitting his head. “Come on.” His hand lands on the base of my spine and he guides me to the front of the bus.
Don’t pay attention to his abs, don’t pay attention to his abs.
When we reach the sofa, I grab a blanket and hand it to him. “Here you go.”
He takes it with a huge smirk, but doesn’t call me out on why I gave it to him, although his eyes did that enough already. “Now tell me why you woke me up, sweetheart.”
Before I can object, he drapes the blanket around my shoulders, but thankfully he reaches for a shirt, tugging it over his head.
“We need to delete the video,” I tell him, a hint of panic threaded through my voice. It feels like a ticking bomb ready to go off in my hands.
He opens the blinds behind the couch, giving us a view of the snow-covered forest outside the window. Moonlight filters through the trees and bounces off the snow, providing us more than enough light to see each other by.
“Sit,” he orders, patting the seat next to him. Once I’m settled, he covers our laps with another blanket and unplugs his phonefrom where it rests on an end table. “What’s wrong? I thought you liked the videos.”
“I did, but…” I trail off, clamming up on him. I was warned he was sent here to spy on me. My gut denies it, but showing him a vulnerable side seems too risky.
I chew on my bottom lip, nerves aflutter, which is made all the worse as Darius remains silent, gaze steady. He’s waiting, patient, but the weight of his stare is nothing short of unnerving.
“Raina,” he implores softly, breaking the silence that has settled between us like a heavy blanket. His voice is low, a rumble in the quiet. His British accent is like a caress against my raw nerves.
Having him this close makes it hard not to take him in, and with no other distractions, it’s like I notice everything. The casual way he leans against the plush couch cushions, his strong arm extended along the backrest. The concern in his eyes, his perfectly shaped lips. The muscles straining against his shirt… It gives me the strangest urge to lean into him. I don’t even understand why I long for him to comfort me.
“Talk to me,” he urges. His greenish-blue eyes are patient, full of questions, and against my better judgment, I find myself wanting to give in and trust him.
“What if it’s a violation of my contract?” My voice is barely more than a whisper.
“Is that your only concern?” he asks, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. His finger touching my skin leaves a trail of warmth behind it.
“No,” I choke out, drawing my knees to my chest and wrapping my arms around my legs in a bid to feel like I’m protecting myself.
“Okay, let’s knock them out one at a time, shall we?”
I nod, not willing to trust my voice.
“You’re worried about the label,” he states flatly, getting to the crux of my fear without me even mentioning it.
My heart gives a flutter that a man who doesn’t really know me at all knows me so well. How is that even possible? I nod and swallow hard, my mouth suddenly dry. “What if they see this as a breach of contract?”
He’s silent for a moment, his eyes on mine in the dim light filtering through the blinds. The steady thrum of the bus engine underscores our silence.
“I was worried about that too, but I checked with Izzy and she said we’re in the clear.” He talked to my manager? But why? The question must show on my face because he continues. “I didn’t want my idea to get you in trouble when all I want it to do is help you.”
“So they can’t hold it against me?” I rest my chin on my knee, anxiously waiting for his answer.
“Not legally, at least. But if I learned anything from watching this industry from the shadows, it’s that some bigwigs don’t like losing control of anything. So there might be retaliation, which, if we’re honest, they’ve already been doing.” His hand lands on my back, the warmth soaking into me somehow softening his words.
It’s true, Dickless has been putting me through minor attacks on my character ever since I first said no to him, trying to punish me for sticking up for myself.
If I’m honest with myself, I’d really like to open up about how alone all those attacks have made me feel. How it’s nice to have someone who saw it like it was… Although there’s still Dickless’ voice in the back of my head saying he’s a spy.
“What if they hate it?” I ask before I can stop myself. It’s like my brain isn’t even listening to itself. To make it worse, it’s allowing my insecurities to creep into the conversation… they always have seemed loudest in the middle of the night.
