It’s his bedroom.
Everything here is gray and cream too, but my attention is riveted by the walls. Here are my paintings. All of them, side by side on the wall facing his bed. The one with my neck is first, then my shoulder, my waist and finally my leg. As though he is undressing me for the very first time. The bottom of my belly tightens violently at the thought.
“In your bedroom? Not where I expected them,” I say, trying and failing to control my blush.
“Where did you expect them?”
“I don’t know, to be honest. But not here.”
“Well, my office seemed inappropriate.” He chuckles, shaking his head, as if he really considered the idea.
My eyes flit to the enormous, cream-colored bed. Resting on it are a white shirt and a pair of knickers. I walk over and pick up the knickers gingerly. My immediate feeling is relief. It’s not a thong. It’s a silk bikini, the color of my skin, with lace only on the sides. I almost jump him in gratitude but that would not help me at all.
“Relieved?” he asks, amused.
“Yes, very much. I was imagining a lot worse.”
“Worse? Hmm, I’d use the term ‘better’. Believe me, I drove myself mad thinking of the options.” He caresses my lower lip. It burns at his touch.
“I’ll let you get ready. Not a good idea if I’m here.” He winks and saunters out of his bedroom.
The moment the door closes behind him, I sink on the floor. Deep breaths, deep breaths. Hydrogen, 1.008. Helium, 4.003. Lithium 6.94… Oh Isa, don’t be such a baby. It’s just a shirt. I stand up, the wine fortifying me a little, grab the shirt and the knickers, and march to what I think is his restroom. The lights brighten again. The restroom is massive, like everything else in the house, but I don’t have enough presence of mind to analyze my surroundings. I turn my back on the mirror, afraid I’ll lose the nerve.
I slide on the knickers, ignoring the way they feel against my sensitized skin. A small but rapid pulse beats between my legs against the delicate silk. I take his shirt and have the urge to smell it. Sandalwood and Aiden. As I inhale his scent, I realize he has already worn this shirt, maybe even today, perhaps to mark it as his. The thought sends me into near convulsions but also, oddly, gives me some courage. Maybe he knew I would be nervous but unable to resist wearing it, knowing it had been on him. I put it on, and his scent brands my skin.
I don’t look like those long-legged blondes in a man’s shirt that seems custom-tailored for them. No, I look like a gawky teenager wearing an extra large T-shirt. The hem drops to the middle of my thighs and the sleeves roll past my fingertips almost to above my knees. The rest is a shapeless sack but at least it’s big enough to cover my breasts. My nipples show a little, but I have no idea what to do about that. Maybe if I put some Band-Aids on them? Bollocks, why didn’t I bring any? I start rummaging under the two sinks, noticing that one of them does not look used at all. No Band-Aids. Not even tape. Oh, bloody hell! I hear a knock on the door and almost collapse.
“Elisa, can I come in?”
“Umm—ah—just a minute.” My voice is at bat-ear frequency again. I fold my clothes, smooth over the front of his shirt, take a deep breath and open the door.
He takes me in from the crown of my head to the tips of my toes, which curl a little at his sight. Oh, good, maybe he won’t like it at all and put an end to the madness. But his eyes are on fire. He takes my hand and walks backward into his bedroom, his eyes never leaving me. I have surpassed the moth stage and am now in snake-and-charmer territory. He stops at the foot of the bed, his body inches from mine.
His gaze makes me squirm, so I break the silence. “Umm, do you want me to wear makeup? I have to warn you, I’m really bad at it.” My voice sounds breathy.
He leans in, his mouth to my ear. “No makeup,” he whispers, and his lips flutter from my earlobe, along my jaw, to my chin, and back. He repeats the circuit three times. I don’t bother to calm my loud breathing. He pulls back, and even though his distance is more familiar than his closeness, I feel adrift.
“It’s not because I don’t want to,” he says as though he senses my doubts. “In case it’s not obvious, Elisa, I’m burning.”
He wraps his arm around my waist and pulls me close. His erection presses against me imperiously. Oh! What an effective demonstration.
“Nonetheless, in light of the fact that your friend will be here any minute, I have to restrict myself to things like kissing.” He smiles and starts rolling up my sleeves. Every time his fingertips graze my skin, my heart thuds so loudly, I’m afraid he will hear it.
My sleeves rolled, he steps back and gazes at me. I’m sure I look ridiculous.
“Why did you pick a shirt for the job?” I ask to distract myself.
“The series is called La Virgen. I don’t know if the title reflects fact, but it seemed that the finale should be about both liberation and belonging. Don’t you think?”
“You mean belonging to you?”
His eyes turn a stormy blue and the tectonic plates I first saw at Paradox shift out of focus—almost like a thousand-yard stare.
“At least in a painting,” he says after a moment.
He takes my hand and we walk out of his bedroom, winding through more airy corridors. Finally, light streams brightly from an arched doorway.
“After you,” he says, but it sounds like he means for you. I walk inside in a trance.
My first thought is that the lights don’t dim here.
My second thought is…peace.
Two vast glass walls curve around the room with sheer white curtains gathered to the sides. Beyond the glass, a wild meadow slopes into the thick forest. Celestial light pours inside, shrouding the room with an almost sacred air. The floor is bleached hardwood and in the very center, where all the rays of light fuse into an earthly North Star, are a chaise and chair identical to the ones in Aiden’s bedroom. The rest of the room is soft white, like a fairy tale version of a blank slate.
“Your bedroom furniture?” I ask with a muted voice, afraid of desecrating the purity of the room.
“Yes.” Aiden’s voice is lower too.
“Why not your real bedroom?”
“Because that’s not for Mr. Solis’s presence. And I wasn’t sure you would want it.” There is battle in his eyes, as if something dark is throttling the glimmer of light that brightens the sapphire depths at certain moments. I take his hand in both of mine.
“Do you want it?”
Chapter Seventeen
Hale and Sun
“I shouldn’t,” he says.
“Why not?”
He shakes his head. I have no idea what his cryptic words mean but I know I shouldn’t want this either. I caress his sculpted cheek, shivering at the combination of sharp planes, soft stubble and fragrant skin.
“Maybe for today, we can both pretend we should,” I say.
He pulls me roughly against him. His lips mold mine with a new edge of conflict. As though a force urges him on and another restrains him. From outside the door, comes Benson’s voice.
“Mr. Solis is here, sir.”
The effect of Benson’s announcement on Aiden is instant. His posture straightens and tenses. He stands taller, as he did yesterday outside my apartment. The battle is gone from his eyes, and a sniper focus has taken its place. At first I thought this look meant he was mad but I saw mad today, and mad was the Dragon. This look is something else. Vigilance. Or defense. Before I can think of something to say, he sweeps out of the room.
I use the alone time to try to calm down. It will be awkward with both of them here and me in a pair of nude knickers and an unbuttoned shirt. Too soon, their footsteps ring outside the room. I sit on the replica bedroom chair, crossing my arms over my chest and curling my legs under me. I can’t face Javier standing.