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He stops beside me, leaning against the fridge on his shoulder. I can smell that he's just showered, the fresh, musky scent of his skin clouding my ozone.
Jesus... It's too early for this.
“Morning,” he says in a chirpy manner, hanging up his call. He gives me the once over, leisurely gazing down my body. “You're up late. It's past ten.”
“I've been sleeping in late,” I whisper, trying to control the rage in my stomach.
“You all right?” he asks, gently tapping my arm. “After yesterday, I mean.”
I feel that pang of jealousy again but will it away. “Of course I am.”
He hums like he doesn't believe me, his eyes tapering as they glance between mine. “How was it being here on your own?”
I lift my shoulders. “Fine.”
“Yeah?” He raises his eyebrows.
I nod.
“Did you miss me?” I think he's teasing me. He looks like he is, flicking up his eyebrows.
“Like a hole in the head,” I say playfully, trying not to grin at him. Though he's been gone for a few days, and his—well, that woman showed up, nothing between us has changed. I like that. It cuts through all the bullshit.
Crossing my arms, I rest back against the countertop and ask again, “How was London?”
“Same shit. Different day.” He shrugs, folding his arms over his hard, dusty chest. “You've used the cocoa butter I bought you then?”
I snap my eyebrows together. “How'd you know that?”
Dark desire flashes through his eyes, and he hunches at the neck to come closer. “Because I can smell it on you.”
I glance away from him, reaching for my fork to busy myself.
“You ready to hit the gym?” he says. “Once you've eaten...”
“Actually, Charlie,” I say between bites, “I was going to ask if I could go to a salon today.” I tilt my head back so I can see his face. “I can drive myself but the car key is gone from my room.”
“You!go to a salon?” he says, his expression lighting up with pure amusement. “Why can I not picture that in my head?”
“Believe me, I don't enjoy going,” I say, having another mouthful of eggs.
I know the joke is on me, but this is a ritual Maksim has me indulge in—going to a salon once a month—for he says that he always wants me clean and hair free. I initially hated the idea but I'm used to it now, and as I'll be going home soon, I need to freshen up.
“You know, I think I remember you saying you've been to a salon before... when I first met you.” Charlie is smirking at me, amusement still gleaming in his eyes. “What do you have done?”
“At the salon?”
He nods; looks like he's trying his best not to laugh.
“The usual,” I say, giving him a funny look. I don't get why he finds this so funny—don't most girls go to a salon? “Can I go?”
“Course you can. I'll take you.” He digs into his pocket and pulls out a set of car keys. “I just need to grab a t-shirt. When you've finished with your breakfast, meet me outside.”
He leaves the kitchen then, glancing back at me when he's at the door, smirking.
I shake off his humorous mood and eat the rest of my eggs, then I jog upstairs to grab my leather jacket, double checking to see I've got my gun. I don't like going anywhere without it.
Outside, Charlie is resting against his Range Rover, wearing a black round-neck t-shirt over his black joggers. How is it that even in sportswear he looks exquisite?
