Page 80 of Trapped By the Blood Ruby

I leaned forward, smudging my fingers below my eyes. There was still a hint of mascara on my lashes. The lavender dress I’d worn earlier was tucked away in my closet, replaced with a pair of soft leggings and a knitted scoop neck T-shirt.

A knock had me whirling toward the door.

“Come in,” I croaked, my heart pounding with betrayal. I felt a flash of anger—at myself, at my body, for still reacting this way. I could do this. I could face him.

Laurent swept in, a tray in hand. I took him in, letting my gaze linger over his body. Jeans hugged his muscular thighs, the button-down from earlier looked a little rumpled, sleeves rolled to the elbows, exposing his corded forearms. Instead of a sweet scent from whatever he brought, my nose was invaded by the smell of him.

The back of my neck itched and I resisted the urge to rub it.

“Good evening, Miss Shaw.” His gaze swept over me. I didn’t miss the way his eyes lingered. Heat prickled my skin. I fought the urge to cross my arms over my chest, hiding the fact that I hadn’t yet had a chance to throw on a bra. “I apologize that I’m a little early this evening. These are best enjoyed warm.”

My feet developed a mind of their own, stepping toward him. I forced myself to stop. To look at the tray in his hands. “What did you make tonight?”

“Donuts. I think I got the recipe correct. You’ll have to let me know.” He set the tray down on my coffee table.

This was becoming more and more familiar. My eyes darted between the tray and his figure, as he took several steps back, clasping his hands behind his back. At least six glazed donuts sat on a plate beside the homemade hot chocolate I’d fallen in love with over the past few weeks.

“May I join you again tonight?” His question came out soft.

“Yes,” I said—too quickly. My hands clenched.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” I repeated, just as quickly.

He made his way around the coffee table and took a seat on the sofa, this time, a little closer to the middle. His arm stretched across the back, making the muscles in his chest press against the fabric of his button-down. The top two buttons were undone, showing off a sliver of golden skin. I blinked, then strode around the coffee table toward the sofa, hesitating.

I needed to do this, if only to prove to myself that I was better than the fear that wanted to claim me.

Squaring my shoulders, I sat near the middle, near him.

I could practically feel his hand resting on the back of the couch, close to my shoulder. If I leaned back, it would come into contact with me. So I didn’t. I sat rigid.

“Thank you for today,” he said in almost a whisper. I turned to look at him, to take in the expression of gratitude on his face. It made my thoughts scramble. I tried to grasp at something coherent but nothing came. “I know it was a great deal to ask. I know that being in my presence repulses you.” My stomach squirmed uncomfortably, because I wasn’t sure that was quite true anymore. “I appreciate you rising to the occasion, helping Dr. Kennedy feel at home here. You owe me nothing, and yet you were accommodating and helpful. I will not forget it.”

“It… I… It’s…” My cheeks burned and I wanted to sink into the couch, let it swallow me whole.

“Try the donuts,” he urged. “I’m desperate to know if they taste as good as they look.” Something about the way he said it, about whatever moved behind his eyes, made his words feel so much heavier. Like there was more. A deeper meaning.

I nodded, as if in a trance, and ripped my gaze from his face. The donuts were still warm. I didn’t bother hiding my delight as I bit into the soft dough. It was perfection. For a moment, I forgot where I was, who I was with. I let my eyes fall closed.

“Good?”

My eyes snapped open. There was a bite to my words as I said, “Why don’t you see for yourself?”

A tiny chuckle rose from his throat. “There she is.”

I fought the urge to scoot to the other end of the couch. “There who is?”

“The mouthy girl who walked into this manor a month ago.” He kept his voice calm. “I was hoping she was still in there. Hoping I didn’t destroy her.”

My stomach twisted. I was about to jump from the couch and—I don’t know. Flee into the bathroom to hide.

“Lily I’m—sorry.” He reached toward me, dropping his arm when I flinched. “I am so fucking sorry. None of it—it was never meant to happen like that. They weren’t supposed to take you away from me, from here. This—all of this—“ His throat bobbed. There was something in his gaze I’d never seen before. Regret. “I made a mistake, and I’m sorry. I’ve been doing all of this, partly in hopes that you might give me a few moments to apologize. I can’t fucking stand it. The way you look at me, the way you fear me, the way your panic rises to the surface when I’m near.”

His words died, replaced by breathing. He was breathing. His chest rising and falling. I wasn’t sure if I had ever seen him breath before.

His words sank in and with them, a fire flared to life in me. It turned into a raging, roaring thing that filled the empty space left behind in the wake of my ordeal. Later I would think about how he’d given me the courage to feel this way. How his efforts, night after night, had made me comfortable enough to lash out. Comfortable enough to sit with him so he could apologize.