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He finishes up, adjusts his pants, and takes the sheet into a room off the kitchen. I retrieve my shirt from the floor by the elevator, and just as I’m fastening the buttons, the doors slide open. I freeze, a deer caught in the headlights, when Goldie appears. Her gaze travels from the tips of my toes, up my half-naked body to my wide eyes. She doesn’t bat an eyelid. I smile awkwardly, backing away, making sure the shirt covers as much of me as possible.
“Evening,” she says, looking past me. I turn to find James by the island, motionless, watching me wilting on the spot.
“Evening,” he says, his face straight, almost angry. “Give me a second.” He disappears up the stairs, leaving Goldie and me alone with a lingering, unbearable silence. Good grief, I can’t stand it. I reach for the tails of my shirt again and tug them down. She catches it, smiling out the corner of her mouth.
“Still being smart?” she asks, her smile turning wry.
I laugh under my breath as I back away. “What does your gut tell you?” I ask, motioning down my naked legs.
“I don’t listen to my gut. Only my head.”
“Okay. What does your head tell you?”
“It tells me to brace myself.”
I withdraw, surprised, my backward steps slowing to a stop. “Brace yourself?” What does she mean? “What for?”
“Here,” James says from behind me, interrupting. I swing around, finding he’s holding out a fancy briefcase to Goldie. The black leather is highly polished, the gold latches sparkling.
She takes it on a nod and goes back to the elevator. “Enjoy the rest of your evening,” she says dryly, giving James eyebrows so high they’re blending with her sharp hairline. I cast a look over to him. He’s not scowling at Goldie, but he’s not far from it.
“I will.” He heads to the kitchen, and Goldie dazzles me with a smile that’s as sarcastic as could be. Everything about the past few minutes is making me highly regret my silent vow to not ask questions.
“It’s time to feed you,” James says, opening the fridge and pulling out a dish. I look from him to the elevator doors a few times, my mind reeling. What exactly does Goldie do for James? She’s always just . . . here. And Otto? He’s no concierge, and he doesn’t work for a security firm. But security is definitely involved. My brain starts to burn.
“You know, I should probably go.” He wants to feed me, and what will we talk about, because I can think of nothing other than the millions of questions gathering at the front of my mind. Questions I should file away forever. But that’s the problem. My mom raised me to question everything. It’s innate. She taught me by osmosis how to put puzzles together, and it’s why I was a good cop. Something about this glass world that James hides within deserves a lot of questions, but I will resist. I’ll do anything to keep this . . . calm.
James slides the dish onto the counter, his move slow. Everything this man does, he does deliberately. Thoughtfully. His mind is reeling too. Which means I should definitely go. I head for the stairs, mentally locating my jeans, but I get no farther than the first step, my body jolting when it meets some resistance. I’m backed up against the wall a moment later, James’s bare chest compressed to mine, my eyes on his throat.
I’m shocked. Stunned. But I’m still breathless. “What are you doing?”
“Convincing you not to leave.” He bends a leg, running his knee up the inside of one thigh and forcing my legs apart.
“You could have just asked,” I breathe, my mind lost.
“I’m asking.” His hand creeps under my shirt and brushes across my flesh. I moan. “Are you staying?” His fingers drive high, and I whimper, pushing myself farther into the wall. “Because I believe I owe you an orgasm.”
“Yes.”
“Thought so.” He kisses my cheek and moves away, and I stumble forward with the sudden absence of his support. My hands meet his chest, his arm curling around my waist to catch me. I look up at him, my lips parted, my breathing shot. He blinks slowly, his lashes fanning his high cheekbones. “Shall we eat before I fuck you senseless again?”
Senseless. It’s apt. “I think you’ve chased away my sense for good.”
“Same,” he whispers, turning me in his arms and placing his hands on my shoulders. He guides me to the kitchen and puts me back on the stool, and I watch quietly as he makes his way around, collecting various things and placing them on the island. “Wine?” he asks.
“Why not,” I murmur. It’s not like alcohol could make me any more stupid. My rational side is warning me that I’m getting myself into something I shouldn’t be. But what? And yet my impulsive, desperate side is goading me, willing me to take the medicine James offers. I just hope that medicine doesn’t turn out to be poison.
