Page 42 of Read With Your Heart

“Lys won’t really have to do double laundry,” I reply as if laundry is the most important topic.

“I wish she did. I hate laundry.” His lips slowly curl into a smile, and I take comfort in his grin.

“Well, most of mine is delicate, so I prefer to do it myself.”

His eyes widen at the comment and fall to the gape in my robe. It slipped open, almost to my waist, revealing my silky sleepwear. I put on the sexy slip after seeing Trent outside the window to remind myself I’m safe. I don’t need to cover up any more bruises or marks because I don’t have them. I can wear what I want. The robe is an extra layer of security, but that’s more protection from Leon. I don’t need to prance around the house in my self-reassuring nightwear.

“Like that?” Leon asks. His eyes drop to my chest, and I peek down at the silky material covering my breasts and the lace running down the middle of the nightie.

“Yes,” I whisper, gazing back up at him, curling my fingers into the couch cushion. I balance on shaky arms as I look at my roommate.

Leon licks his bottom lip. “I don’t think I could do your laundry.”

“Why?” I question, finding it an odd statement.

“If my fingers ever get to touch that material, I want it to be while it’s on your body, and then I want it off.” He speaks to my breasts as he talks. Hesitantly, a finger lifts and strokes down my neck to the top of the lace.

Can’t. Breathe.

He doesn’t even like me. He’s told me I’m not his type. Not to mention, he’s full of snark and his sass, and he always disappears as soon as he can when we are home together.

I swallow hard as the rough tip of his finger lowers over the lace and skims between my breasts. My chest heaves, and my arms tremble. I want him. I want him to mean what he said in the kitchen. I’ll always be safe with him here. I’ll always be safe with him, period.

“I promised I wouldn’t touch you unless you asked.” His lids lift lazily, a question in his statement. Do I want him to touch me? Am I ready for this step? I hesitate too long.

“I should head to bed.” His finger retreats leaving a trail of heat while his voice drops. He licks his lip again. I try to steady my expression even though I’m crestfallen at his rejection. It takes everything in my power not to launch myself at him and beg him to take me to his bed. I want to feel his body against mine like he held me in the kitchen. I want to absorb his warmth against my cold skin. I want him to kiss me with more than a brush of his lips, but I don’t move.

“Good night.” I nod, agreeing with him. He should walk away. I’m not good for him. He doesn’t need my Trent drama. Besides, I’ve never mastered the art of seduction. I don’t think I could ever do casual sex. I worked so hard not to draw Trent’s attention after a while that I fear I’ll never bring a man close to me again. A strong, patient man is going to have to make the moves on me, and those moves will need to be tender and gentle. Leon Ramirez seems anything but.

+ + +

“What’s wrong?” The sound of Leon’s voice behind me makes me flinch, not so much from the gruffness but the volume. My head is killing me.

“Headache,” I mutter. I don’t roll to look at him over my shoulder, keeping as still as I can, cupping my hand at my temples and shielding my eyes from the light. I’m on my bed, and I can’t get my room dark enough from the afternoon sun. I should be at work, but I had to leave early.

“Lys sent me a text and said you left school,” he explains before I can ask what he’s doing here. He should be at work too. As for me, I couldn’t stand the pressure, and by eleven o’clock, I needed to leave before my head exploded. I’m only missing one afternoon class and my planning period, but I don’t want to think about any of that. I just want to lie here, pray for the pain medication to kick in, and hope for someone to lop off my head.

“It’s bad?” he questions, and I’m still wondering what he’s doing here, why he’s asking me, and why he cares.

“Shouldn’t you be at work?” I question, fighting the throb at my temples as I speak.

“I was worried.” My shoulders sag at the sweetness of his words, even if he doesn’t really mean them. He’s been nothing but distant since Saturday evening. He’s a walking contradiction, but I’ve decided the sexy comments come naturally to him. He called me baby. He calls me pretty lady. Flirting must be like second nature to him, so I remind myself he isn’t actually flirting with me. He’s just unconsciously sexy. I’m surprised he hasn’t brought home a girl or two, but that would be extra awkward. It’s also a relief he hasn’t. I don’t think I could handle him being flirtatious with another woman. Forget hearing him have sex with her on the other side of the wall we share.

These thoughts are too much for my head, and I don’t respond to his concern. I just want to sleep, though I know it won’t happen. My brain is literally pounding, and I succumb to the pressure, biding my time until it passes.

Something thumps behind me, as if someone dropped an item, and I want to kill Leon. When another thump occurs, I consider the ways to murder such a big man. Suffocation by pillow. Poison in his enchilada.

A subtle unzipping of something brings my attention back to my room. Is he still in here?

The bed dips at my back, and a hand comes to the side of my head.

I twist, looking over my shoulder, but my eyes pulse. The pain intensifies. “What are you doing?”

“Relax,” he whispers. “Let me rub your temples.”

What? “What?”

“When I was young, my mother would get these headaches and she would lie on the couch, telling me to massage her temples. I could get an entire cartoon-worth of television time if I kept the volume low and my fingers moving.”