Page 33 of House of Lies

Cassidy

I’ve been tossing and turning for over two hours. It’s not the fact that I’m in a strange house, in a strange room, in this strange bed. I mean, the mattress is a thousand times more comfortable than my own.

Remington is just down the hall. That I’m so close to finding the answers I need, but stuck here without a chance of getting them, is throwing me for a loop.

Every time I’m about to drift off, I remember his deep voice, or the way he looms, or the cruel certainty in his eyes that I will obey…no matter what he commands of me.

I take my phone out, glancing at the time.

Two o’clock in the morning.

I should be fast asleep—my muscles are aching from a full day of demanding physical labor.

Hmm…is Ethan asleep?

I sit up in a rush.

If he’s sleeping, maybe I can sneak into his room and go through his things. It’s risky…but if I find something, I can give him some or other excuse to leave in the morning.

Or I could just steal his laptop and take it with me. That would be less risky.

The more I run the scenario through my head, the more sure I am that it’s better than staying around here, waiting for Remington to discover that I’m not the person he ordered from Shimmer and Shine.

I take another few minutes to build up the courage to actually get out of bed.

It was nice and warm under the covers, but I’m guessing Ethan doesn’t bother turning on the heat inside the house when he has a roaring fire going in his room twenty-four-seven. I shiver, absently grabbing a chenille throw from the foot of the bed to wrap around myself.

It helps a little. At least my teeth aren’t chattering.

I took off everything I was wearing except the negligee, my panties, and my leggings, hoping the more comfortable I was, the easier I’d fall asleep.

It didn’t help.

I’d get dressed, but I’m worried I’ll lose my nerve and just climb back into bed…or get into my car and leave.

Unlocking my door, I stand for a moment in the hall, soaking up the sound of the enormous manor.

My bare feet are silent on the thick carpets as I creep down the hall to Ethan’s room. I listen at his door for a few minutes, and I swear I hear snoring.

Yes!

I send a brief prayer to whatever deity is on call tonight, and turn the knob.

Someone’s looking out for me—the door’s unlocked.

The heat hits me a moment before the smell of soap and wood fire. It’s not as hot in here as it was the last time—and a quick glance at the sullen red glow throbbing from the blackened logs shows why. I’m surprised Ethan didn’t add a few more logs… until my eyes sweep to the bed and I realize why.

Ethan is flat on his stomach. Fast asleep. And wearing just a towel.

The rational part of me knows what to do. Grab his laptop, and sneak out before he wakes up.

Unfortunately, the rational part of my brain is being mugged by the far more aggressive, irrational part of me… and it’s already handed over its wallet.

I inch over to the bed on silent feet, clutching the chenille throw tight around me.

Staring down at Ethan’s large, chiseled body, I wonder if this is what the Lilliputians felt like when they’d tied down Gulliver. I take in every corded muscle in his powerful body. The faint scar on one forearm, another on his shoulder. His angular jaw. The way his broad back rises and falls. He is snoring, but so quietly I’m surprised I heard it from the doorway.

As if sensing a disturbance, Ethan rumbles something incoherent and rolls onto his back.

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