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ChapterTen
Something wet was on her arm. Rose swiped at the moisture sleepily, and then grimaced as the wetness spread over her fingers. Last night flashed in her brain as she tried to make sense of where she was and what was happening. Was Blakekissingher? Last night’s… activities were one thing, but morning sex had never been on the table. An odd whine made her brow furrow as she reached out her arm and found Blake’s side of the bed cold and empty.
A slow drip made soft thumps as it landed on her arm and the bed, and Rose’s heart thudded unevenly as she blinked open her eyes, turning her head slowly. If that wasn’t Blake… Her imagination ran wild as she pictured Blake, grabbed in the night by the stalker, strung up on the ceiling and bleeding on her–
More wetness on her arm. Her head finished the turn, and a mixture of hysterical laughter and shock found its way out of her mouth as she turned to see an enormous brown labrador with its head on the pillow next to her, drool slipping out of its mouth onto her arm.
“Um, hello,” she said, reaching out a hesitant hand and stroking between the dog’s ears, jumping when an odd thumping started up, jiggling the bed, until she realized it was the dog’s tail wagging excitedly. “What’s your name?” Her strokes became a little more sure as the sleepy fog faded from her mind and she began to relax. “You’re a sweetheart, that’s for sure. Much too sweet to belong to Blake.”
A giant pink tongue lolled out of its mouth as it yawned before sitting up, head turning to face the door as it stared out for a moment, frozen in place.
“What is it, pup?” Only then did Rose’s thoughts turn to the cold sheets next to her. Did Blake regret letting her stay the night? Had he changed his mind about them staying here together after all?
The dog jumped off the bed, startling Rose as the click-clack sound of nails on the wooden flooring faded away. She slumped back against her pillow before remembering it was covered in drool and sitting bolt upright, swinging her legs to the side, and stumbling out of bed.
Other sounds began to drift to her and, curiosity piqued, Rose made her way down the main staircase and in the direction of the kitchen where she froze in the doorway. There was a veritable feast on the island in the middle of the room. Trays filled with bacon, sausages, toast (both French and normal), eggs, even small cakes, had all been laid out alongside empty plates and pitchers of juice, tea or coffee, and the brown lab stared at it all with its tongue lolling out.
Blake stood at the sink with his back to her. His blonde hair was slicked back and wet, darker than usual with moisture, like he’d just come out of the shower. It was funny how you could have fantasies and not realize it until the exact moment that you were living them. Suds ran up the corded muscles in his tanned forearms, catching the sleeve of his shirt and a few errant bubbles even floated in the air around his head, turning into rainbows in the sunlight flowing in through the window above the sink.
“I didn’t think the staff were going to be here,” she said in place of hello and bit back a laugh when he jumped, the water sloshing onto the wooden floor and splashing his bare toes. He had nice feet, for a guy. Why was it that seeing someone's feet peeking out of a pair of slacks seemed so much more intimate than seeing them naked at all? The dog rushed over from where it had been hovering by the bacon and started lapping up the water as Blake turned to face her.
“They aren’t.” He leaned back against the countertop heedless of the water, taking her measure with his eyes as the sunlight backlit his golden hair, giving him an honest-to-god halo. What was he searching her for? Regret? Desire? “I told you I can cook.”
“You made all this just for us?”
“Yes.”
“What if I were a vegetarian?” she challenged and a smirk tugged at his lips.
“You’re not.”
“You don’t know everything about me, Blake.”
He started walking towards her, but instead stopped as he reached the toast. “I know you like your steak rare, that you hate ice in your drinks, and that when you were twelve-years-old you ate so much chocolate cake that you projectile vomited and now can’t even sniff a chocolate cake without gagging.”
She blinked at him, unsure what he expected her to say or what any of that proved. They were facts. They were observable traits. Her stalker probably knew her almost as well. That wasn’t the core of who she was, though. “Cute dog,” she said instead, and the pup’s tail started wagging again as if they knew they were being talked about.
“This is Bailey. He’s three-years-old, so still pretty playful, but he’s housebroken at least.”
“I didn’t know you had a dog.”
“Why would you?”
True. She’d never been interested in knowing anything about David Blake in the past, why would that change now? Because they’d had sex? Because he’d opened his home to her? Okay, they weren’t bad reasons, but it didn’t change anything. She’d only been awake a scant twenty minutes or so, and already she could tell that the anxiety she’d experienced last night was reduced a lot during the day. Sometimes the sunlight could make her feel too exposed – especially when there was a gaggle of photographers watching her every move, every mistake. But other times, it had the benefit of showing you all the things that might hide in the dark.
“Cara took him for me yesterday, gave him a nice long walk before he has to resort to just the land I have here. She dropped him off this morning.”
Rose nodded vaguely and silence descended again as she looked over the mountain of food.
“About last night,” Blake said as he carried over a full plate to his rustic, wooden dining table and she followed suit with a cup of coffee.
“I’d rather not talk about it,” she said, and his face shut down before relaxing again.
“I see.”
It was quiet again for a moment as Blake chewed and Bailey drooled at his feet, whining softly for a piece of bacon and immediately leaping on a piece as soon as Blake tossed him some.
“Aren’t you going to eat anything?” he asked at last and she swallowed a large mouthful of coffee before responding, wincing as it burned her throat.
