In Flight (Up in the Air #1)(57)

“Yes. Just an old nightmare. I need to be alone, please.”

I turned on the shower, knowing that the sink could never get me clean enough to wash off all of that blood and gore.

I stepped into the shower without checking to see if he’d listened. I got under the still cold spray, shivering and hugging myself. I sank to the bottom of the tub as the water turned warmer.

I didn’t realize that I’d left my thin shift on until James was pealing it off of me.

“Don’t,” I warned. He ignored me, sitting behind me to curl himself around me. “I just need to be alone,” I told him.

“Not anymore, Love,” James murmured into my ear.

I didn’t cry. I didn’t break down. I just washed myself, again and again, until James took over the chore, turning the scrubbing into soft strokes.

“You ready to dry off and go back to bed?” he asked, after several minutes under the spray.

I nodded.

He dried me and carried me back to bed, cradled like a child. He wrapped me in the covers, then wrapped himself around me. He stroked my hair comfortingly until I drifted back to sleep.

We passed the next day together pleasantly, James staying almost glued to me the entire day.

I woke up first, watching him sleep for awhile, marveling at his beauty. The sun streamed into my bedroom, touching pieces of his skin. It looked flawless even in the bright sun, his tan set off darkly against my pale blue, washed-out sheets.

I made myself get out of bed. I was infatuated, and it wasn’t a condition that I planned to cultivate.

I threw on a thin cotton sundress, not bothering with any kind of underwear. I slipped quietly from the room.

I mentally beat myself up as I brewed a pot of coffee. I was feeling things that I was too smart to be feeling about a man like that.

At the end of this, I must at least keep my pride, I thought. And my heart, I added to myself, cringing, because I knew I already felt too much for the mercurial man.

James joined me not long after I’d made myself a cup of coffee.

I leaned against the counter, sipping it.

He made himself a cup and perched a hip on the counter at my side. He was wearing only black boxer-briefs, and they were tight enough to show me his clear, heavy arousal.

I looked deliberately away from the sinful display, my eyes fixed sightlessly on the cupboards.

He took a sip of my coffee and winced. I laughed. I made my coffee strong. It wasn’t for everyone. He took another drink, trying to adjust to the harsh flavor.

“You walking around like that should be illegal,” I told him, without looking at his body again.

He smirked, eyeing up my tiny sundress, and my conspicuous lack of underwear. I was way too busty to get away with going braless and not have it be obvious.

“I could say the same about you.”

“You’re a tease,” I told him.

“I am not that. A few days won’t kill us. Besides, I need to prove to myself that I can exercise some self-control where you’re concerned.”

This was news to me. “Why?”

“Your…pain threshold is a concern to me. I need to know that I can put your welfare before my own impulses. I would hate myself if I went too far with you. I know I’m a bastard, but even I’m not that much of a bastard.

My brows shot up. He had been so much more caring than I had expected him to be. I was surprised he thought of himself that way.

“Why do you think you’re a bastard?”

His expression darkened. “I know it’s all consensual, but the fact is, I like to hurt women during sex. There’s a reason you fear me. My strongest impulse is to control and to dominate, but make no mistake, I’m a sadist. It doesn’t exactly make me a good guy.”

I was sad for him, and the weak part of me wanted to ease his torment.

But how could I? I had my own demons that I didn’t know how to control. My need to comfort him won out. The need to comfort us both.

“Even masochists need lovers,” I told him, my tone gentle. “What would a girl like me do without someone like you? Perhaps everyone is good for someone.”

He leaned down and kissed me. “Thank you. What a beautiful thing for you to say to me. Just when I think you don’t care for me, you give me some hope.”

I looked away, embarrassed.

We picked out samples from my paintings for hours in the morning. James seemed endlessly patient and didn’t pressure me to choose.

I held up the two small paintings I was debating about.

“Which one, do you think?” I asked.

He pointed at the desert flower. “This one for the sample.”

His finger moved to the other picture. It was of the cat that seemed to live in my backyard part-time. It was fat, and loved to sleep on top of my tall concrete barrier on it’s back. The picture captured just such a pose. “But this is good,” he added. “It should definitely be in the gallery showing. It seems like a good candidate for print sales, as well. People are really into cat pictures right now. Especially quirky cats.”

I smiled. “I love that cat. I don’t know who it belongs to, but it can’t be a stray if it’s that fat. Though it does try to come into my house half the time when I open my back door.”

“I saw the other picture of it in your kitchen. Fat cats are cute,” James said, meeting my smile.