Hours later, when the alarm goes off, I feel like someone has piled a load of bricks on my chest and legs and taped my eyelids shut. I moan my refusal to get up and turn over, burying my head beneath the pillow. Ransom’s body covers mine from behind, his soft chuckle in my ear as he nuzzles me making me squirm.
“Time to get up. Don’t want to be late for school,” he taunts.
“I’m not going today. Tell them I’m sick.”
Hands wandering down my naked body, he kisses the back of my neck. “Sorry, but sexual exhaustion is no excuse to slack on your education, young lady.”
“Please,” I whine as he rolls me over and positions himself between my slack thighs. He looks up at me, a wicked smile twisting his lips up at the corners.
“Nope, but I know something that will wake you up.”
“Ransom!” I gasp and my fingers delve into his hair as his mouth forms a seal over my clit. His tongue flicks back and forth, and the hands cupping my butt lift my hips, pulling me closer so he can bury his face in me.
His fingers penetrate my opening as he continues to lap at me, and my hips buck uncontrollably as he brings me to the fastest climax I’ve ever had. I lay there, boneless and breathless for what feels like an eternity. I used to think that orgasms were a rare phenomenon, but Ransom’s quickly proving that theory wrong.
When I finally manage the strength to open my eyes, Ransom is pulling on a pair of jeans.
Leaning over me, he sucks my bottom lip into his mouth and releases it with a smack. His dark eyes dance with mirth as he pulls away and backs toward the door. “I’m going to start breakfast. Join me when you can walk again.”
Damn him, that cocky bastard. When he’s gone, I stare up at the ceiling wondering what I’ve gotten myself into. My mind spirals down a dangerous path of what-if scenarios until even I am sick of hearing the insecure thoughts running around in my head. Last night, when I got into the backseat of my car with him, I decided that there was no more running from this. No more indecisive bullshit. If we’re going to make an honest go of it, then I can’t walk away at the first bump to appear in the road.
Locating Ransom’s discarded shirt on the floor, I slip it on and fasten enough buttons to look presentable, and then gather my clothes up. A quick shower and then breakfast, that’s the plan.
The heavenly smell of bacon sizzling in the pan hits me when I step out of the room, but despite my stomach’s demand for sustenance, I head in the opposite direction.
The second bedroom’s door at the end of the hall is still closed, so I guess whoever Ransom rooms with is sleeping, which makes sense. They came in extremely late last night. I wonder what the story is. If they’re friends or family. Maybe an ex.
That thought sets me on edge, and I shake it off before I decide to march in there and find out who this person is. All I know is that it had better not be an ex-girlfriend. God, what if it’s Red?
Right, I need to stay focused and think rationally, and a warm shower is just the ticket.
The door to the bathroom stands partway open. I push it aside…and jump back with a startled squeak.
Ransom stands in front of the sink, a black towel slung low around his hips. Even though he scared the tar out of me, I quickly recover as I let the vision of him nearly naked set in.
Water droplets cover the span of his wide shoulders, occasionally gliding down the deep crevasse of his spine to soak into the plush fabric hiding one of my favorite parts to ogle. He’s in the process of shaving, which is a shame, because I rather enjoy the feel of his stubble scratching my skin when he kisses me.
His eyes leap to mine in the mirror as I stand in the doorway, and the razor stops mid-stroke. A small bead of crimson appears on his chin and is captured by droplets of water, which collect and begin running in a single rivulet of red down his neck.
Slowly, he lowers his arm, the razor hanging loosely in his hand. “What are you doing here?”
His tone is sharp and commanding, his black eyes filled with dangerous intent, and the change in him is such a shock that my head jerks back.
“I’m sorry. I was going to grab a quick shower. I didn’t think you’d mind.” My words are small, full of apprehension. I don’t understand why he’d be upset with me. Have I crossed some invisible boundary?
I hitch my thumb over my shoulder. “I thought you were cooking breakfast?”
His eyes narrow a fraction more as his reflection continues to glare at me. Lowering his head, he dips the razor into the basin of murky water and swishes it around. Then, he pulls the plug. I stand there and watch him finish his routine, carefully replacing the razor in a custom silver hanger and splashing on a clean smelling aftershave.
When he is finished, he turns to fully face me, covering the two steps that separate us and crowds the doorway with his large body. I look up into his dark eyes, feeling dwarfed, feeling vulnerable.
I realize with a note of apprehension that this isn’t the man who brought me to orgasm this morning and kissed me goodbye so he could go make me breakfast. The man, who stands before me now, is cold and menacing. I feel as if I’ve just walked into a lion’s den at feeding time. I feel exposed, unwelcome, in danger.
It’s the exact same feeling I felt every time we met in his hotel room.
“What’s wrong? Did I do something?”
He studies me with his perfect features, with this perfect calm that only serves to make me feel even more unsteady like there’s not enough oxygen in the room.
“How did you get into my apartment?”
I’m confused by the question. “Are you serious?” I tilt my head to see if there is any hint of teasing in his eyes, but he’s completely unmoved. “You brought me here last night. I slept in your bed.” Nothing. I’m staring at a blank wall. “Did you fall and hit your head in the shower or something?”
The pulse in his jaw ticks wildly. “Or something.” Securing the towel with one hand, he takes my arm in the other and moves me out of his way as he steps out of the bathroom. Then, he forcibly guides me down to the end of the hall where it opens into a great room comprised of the living and dining rooms and a spacious kitchen.
As we continue moving forward, I catch movement ahead. All I can see is a pair of blue jean clad legs moving around, and I assume that it’s his roommate who’s taken to cooking us breakfast—a meal I have decided not to stick around for.
Something is up with Ransom, and I know I told myself that I wouldn’t run at the first bump in the road, but he’s acting strange. Well, stranger than usual. I don’t know if he suffers from a split personality disorder, if he’s bipolar, or if he really did take a nasty fall in the shower this morning, but I’m not comfortable with the current situation. I need to go home, collect my thoughts, and ruminate over them a while.
“I found this wandering around in the hall,” Ransom growls, jerking me in front of him as we enter the circle of cabinets that define the kitchen. “Care to explain to me what she’s doing here?”
I frown, my mouth parting on a protest that sticks in my throat the moment the roommate turns from the stove.
“Holy…shit. There are two of you.”
I’ve just stepped into the Twilight Zone. An exact replica of Ransom stands before me, only this one is dressed exactly the way the Ransom who left the bedroom this morning looked. A quick appraisal tells me that those are indeed the same low-slung jeans I saw him leave the room in.
Looking up at Ransom Number Two, I see all the same details from the curve of his lips to the slope of his jaw, to the high, round cheekbones. All of it is the same.
“Damn,” Ransom Number One says. “I’m sorry. I meant to tell you earlier.”
“Meant to tell me what exactly?” My body feels like it’s been stuck in one of those paint mixing machines at Home Depot. I’m trembling and I can’t seem to stop. Stepping to the side, Ransom Number Two’s hand falls away, and I wrap my arms around myself.