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It took me another twenty minutes before I ventured from my room, the smell of coffee enticing me, knowing who’d be waiting for me.
As I approached the entrance, my wrist was tender and aching and I wondered if I could already smell Ty's expensive cologne in the air. Aware that he had to have heard my footsteps, I didn't let myself falter, though I did hesitate on the threshold when I saw him.
Emotions thrashed through my chest and into the rest of my body, causing my fingers to tingle. I didn't know if I wanted to slap him, scream at him, or beg him to tell me about his childhood.
Or maybe, I wanted to kiss him.
Ty watched me from the island where he stood, his hands braced wide on the marble as his gaze locked onto me. There were papers scattered in front of him. His phone buzzed with a text, but he didn’t pick it up.
When his expression didn’t change and he didn’t say so much as agood morning– the urge to kiss him began to subside and rapidly transform into an urge to slap him.
At the same time, I couldn't pretend that I hadn't woken up aching with desire.
Biting my lip, I gave him a curt nod and skirted the wide island in the opposite direction to the coffee maker.
The air seemed to pulse between us as I tried to ignore him, looking around for a mug. Finally, I opened the cabinet and sighed when I saw that the cups were on a shelf that was probably within easy reach of Ty, but I’d need a stool to reach it, or to climb on the counter.
Suddenly, a shadow fell over me and Ty’s big body surrounded me as he plucked a mug off the shelf and set it down by my fingertips. His breath stirred my hair. I tried to say thanks but all I could manage was a nod.
An irritated sound escaped from his throat, and I turned, watching him stalk to his spot on the counter again, his movements were more agitated and twitchier than I’d ever seen them.
Turning back to the coffee pot, all I wanted to do was get myself a cup and escape back to my room. Maybe then I wouldn’t have to see him again for the rest of the day.
Not thinking, I reached for the sugar with my bad wrist and winced when I tried to pick it up, letting out an inadvertent sound of pain.
“You good?” Ty asked, and I heard him take a few steps toward me. “Lia?”
“It’s nothing.”
“It’s not. I saw that,” Ty said, and my neck heated. “It’s your wrist.” He paused for several seconds and took another step closer. “You okay?”
I shrugged, stirred a little sugar into my coffee and then looked over at him. To my surprise, he didn’t have his usual debonair smirk in place or the ice-cold gangster expression. Instead, he looked young and uncertain. His fingers nervously drummed on the countertop.
He followed my gaze and clenched his fingers into a fist. Pressing it down into the counter, he went to say something and stopped.
His name slipped from my lips. “Ty?”
A dark gaze snapped back to mine; a gaze exuding stark contrition. For a split second, hellish misery and guilt twisted his face to such an extent that I almost took a step back.
“Did your wrist keep you up — I mean, could you sleep?” he asked. “I wondered.”
“I slept okay,” I said.
“That’s good,” Ty muttered.
I wanted to go over and pry his fist open, tell him to relax his fingers before he burst a blood vessel from how hard he was squeezing it.
“I wanted to, that is…” He tucked his chin to his chest and avoided my eyes. “But you’re alright. Not that I should have — fuck.” Ty let his head fall back, and his eyes closed. “Why is this so hard?”
“Apology accepted,” I said, my tone almost impish.
Ty blinked and straightened, watching me as I took a sip of coffee.
“I-I’ll be right back,” he said and I watched in bewilderment as Ty stalked from the kitchen, his back rigid.
Instead of feeling hurt, I felt a flicker of amusement and affection linger in the air, along with something that felt almost wistful. But more than that, part of me ached to see Ty struggle so much with a simple apology and to catch, then punish, himself for that nervous tic that had probably come from his father.
Going to the breadbox, I found a box of pastries and bagels. Toasting myself half of a cinnamon-raisin bagel, I also ate two strawberry tarts and half of a cruller. There was nothing better than something sweet with strong, bitter coffee.
