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With my hair full of conditioner, I work out the tangles that reformed with all my scrubbing, telling myself not to look at the bristles this time when it’s all done. And when I rinse it all out, my hair feels heavenly, so perfectly slick and detangled that I know it’s going to be magical to blow dry.
I face the cubby once again and let out a big, dramatic sigh. “You’re up, big guy. Be the MVP I know you can be,” I say, reaching out to take the five-blade razor from it’s suction cupped clip on the back wall of the cubby where it hangs. I coat one leg in conditioner, having learned a long time ago that you get a much closer shave with it than shaving cream, and begin the task of taming the jungle from my hips down. Once I feel like a hairless cat from my neck to my toes, I scrub every inch of my skin with my favorite body wash, practically purring when I rinse all the bubbles off of me.
After washing my face with my foaming cleanser, I feel like a brand new woman. I can’t remember the last time I was this clean. I mean, I jump in for a quick soap-up and rinse-off almost… almost daily. But for my hair to be washed and my body to not only be clean but shaved? Psh! What a luxury. It’s as if I washed, dried, folded, and put away all the laundry in one day.
Chapter Three
I glance at my watch and see I still have an hour before Neil gets here, which gives me plenty of time to give myself a blowout and do something fancy with my eye makeup.
I smile, remembering back to the days when Neil and I were just roommates. He’d come home from work and ask me all about the makeup I’d be wearing that evening after recording tutorial videos, just to get me to open up and talk. He gave me his undivided attention, listening to me as if seasonal pallets and the importance of setting powder were the most riveting things he’d ever heard of. And though I’m sure he didn’t care about those things, he actually retained everything I spoke about, and he’d ask me questions using the correct lingo days, weeks, even months later, proving he cared about my interests, which no one ever had before.
It’s one of the reasons he’s such an amazing therapist as well. He truly listens, internalizes, reads between the lines, and is able to connect with people on a deeper level than anyone else I know. I feel blessed beyond belief to call him mine.
I snap out of my daydream about my delectable husband and grab my lotion out of my bag, warming it between my hands before covering my now-smooth legs in the delicious-smelling cream. I do the same to the rest of my body, then put on some deodorant, taking a moment to redo my towel around me.
Just as I’m tucking the corner of the terrycloth between my breasts, I barely have time to register a change in the air… right before everything goes black.
I suck in a breath to let out a scream as the dark hood envelopes my still-wet head, but a huge hand clamps over my mouth just as I’m yanked against a hard body. My heart thrashes in my chest as panic seizes me, and as my instincts battle between fight, flight, or freeze, my choice is taken away from me as I’m hoisted up into arms that feel like steel vices, the hand still over my mouth, making my screams sound like barely audible squeals.
My body goes rigid as I try to squirm out of his hold, bucking with my hips and legs as much as I can, but whoever this is, he’s fucking huge, and I don’t stand a chance as I feel him start to move.
His deep voice sends chills down my spine when he growls down against the side of my hood-covered head, “Pretty girls shouldn’t walk around naked in full view of storefront windows.”
I whimper at that, realizing he must’ve seen me when I ran out of the shower to get my hairbrush. And as I display the layout of my ballet studio in my mind, I comprehend that with all the lights off in the studio, it would’ve been a clear shot to the lit back room from the street.
Fuck my life.
I try to murmur, “Please, let me go,” against his palm, but it’s unrecognizable even to my own ears. I am well and truly fucked.
I hear the chime of my front door and wonder how the hell this man got in. Was I wrong to assume Seth would lock up behind them? Maybe he thought I would follow him and lock the door before I went into the back. Because I hadn’t heard a single sound indicating I wasn’t alone in the studio. Glass didn’t break. Surely, I would’ve heard the lock being picked in the silence of the empty room.
