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“Funky quite liked the heated floors at Callum’s. We got spoiled pretty quickly.” Tate tosses a pair of black boxers and socks onto the bed. Then he brushes past me toward the closet. I inhale his soapy scent as he walks by.
“Callum has heated floors?”
Tate exits the closet with a pair of sweats and a hoodie. “In the bathroom, yes. It was the most wonderful thing I’ve ever felt.”
I try to imagine how warm bathroom tiles would feel. Yeah, that probably would feel pretty nice.
“You don’t leave your bubble often, do you?” he asks, stopping just inches away from me. “You stay up here in your haunted castle, brooding all day and night, eating apple pie with your wonderful cook, too busy to notice what’s going on around you.”
I smirk behind my mask. So he’s met Violet and already loves her. For some reason, this pleases me.
“Turn around, Jude, unless you want to see me get naked.”
Another zing travels down my spine. I’m curious to see his thighs…and other stuff, but I do as I’m told. As soon as my back is to him, I hear the towel drop to the floor. We’re both quiet as he dresses, the shuffling of his clothes and the cat’s purring the only sound between us.
“I’m dressed now.”
I whip around quickly—too quickly if I’m being honest—and drink in his appearance. I’m not sure of my sudden fascination with him, but I can ponder over that later with a fat piece of apple pie. Until then, I’m going to continue getting drunk on this strange feeling.
Tate’s hoodie engulfs his body, at least two sizes too big. It makes me wonder if one of my own hoodies would fit him this way. The thought is an interesting one. Something else to consider during pie time later.
He stuffs his hands into the pockets of his hoodie and frowns at me. “You’re being quiet. And weird. It’s unnerving.”
I want to tell him he’s unnerving. He’s confusing too. This guy is young and clearly charming, but behind that is some freaky kinkster who can’t pay his bills and has secrets galore. What you see is what you get with me. I’m broken. Completely fucking shattered and unfixable.
He’s an enigma.
A box inside a box inside a box.
I can’t tear off the layers quick enough.
I want to get down to his very core. To know every detail about him. I want inside of him—his mind—so I can understand who the hell Tate Prince really is.
“When you look at me like that,” he continues, voice getting a few octaves higher, “it’s downright terrifying.”
“Terrifying? How?” I wince when I realize he means the mask. “Oh.”
He softens and takes a step closer. His scent is stronger than when he whizzed past me moments earlier. Thankfully, my mask covers the way my nostrils flare to inhale the smell.
“It’s the look in your eye,” Tate clarifies. “It’s intense but guarded. I don’t understand you. You give me nothing. I’m here to help you.”
Despite his explanation, I still feel shame for some reason. I’m the big, mean monster. Maybe Tate isn’t hiding things to be deceptive or wicked. Maybe there’s another reason. If so, does that make me terrifying like he says? A big fucking bully?
“You really want to help my family?” I ask, voice gruff.
“I really do.” He pauses and then lets out a huff. “Your father is paying me well to. Especially to help you. I know you’re skeptical of me, so I wanted to be upfront about that. Maybe start to build some trust between us.”
Sincerity shines in his eyes. It’s not going to hurt anything if I stop being a dick for five minutes and maybe hear what he has to say. Hugo always says you get more flies with honey or some shit. Maybe this is what he means.
“I better show you around then.” I give him a noncommittal shrug. “We’ll see about this whole trust thing.”
“Wewill,” he says with a huge grin. “That’s all I ask for. Just give me a chance, Jude.”
Like I said. We’ll see.
Tate
He broke into my room.
