Page 68 of Sweet Deception
Without waiting for a response, I bolt out the door, holding my breath until I’m back upstairs and safe in the bathroom with the door locked.
That was close.
To what, I’m not sure exactly.
After I’ve showered and done my best to get my head back on straight, the rest of the day progresses in much the same way as yesterday. Darren cracks a can of cat food for Piro and cooks while I continue searching for intel about the summit’s location.
I know Lucy will be there, and if I can get the venue for Darren and the Kings, they’re going to storm the place, dosomething…This’ll be my last chance to reach Lucy before these human trafficking dirtbags whisk her away, never to be seen or heard from again.
Seated on the couch in the den, I work for hours as Darren floats in and out of my periphery. By late afternoon, he’s ready to fully engage, and once again, he lowers himself onto the couch beside me.
I’m still singed from the white-hot fire of my own self-consciousness, so the proximity alone is messing with me.
He could ask me literally anything. I’ll either clam up and retreat like a coward or vomit a string of truth bombs, because he’s becoming…irresistible.
This is so stressful.
To add to everything, my trick ankle’s been aching all day. Damn show-off.
That’s what I get for doing ballet on brick without proper footwear or a warm-up.
I want to keep acting busy so Darren won’t ask questions that are too difficult to answer or that leave me too vulnerable. Unfortunately, the throbbing in my ankle distracts me enough that I need to set the laptop down on the coffee table and give it a good rub.
Darren watches me, and my heart picks up speed.
What if he asks me about it? What do I say? Tell him about the accident? Reveal how anyone who gets close to me will ultimately die? Confess how even my dream of ballet died because of my piss-poor luck? That dark cloud that follows me, or whatever the hell it is.
I release my foot and reach for the laptop again. Darren blocks me by stretching one of his long arms toward my trick ankle.
The moment his strong hand touches my skin, the atmosphere around us compresses, and a long pause unfolds between us. Before we can act on the tension, bombs start exploding in the form of his ringtone.
I’m starting to hate that noise.
He answers the call, but I’m so distracted by the way his hand lingers on my ankle that I can barely focus on the exchange. When he hangs up, he shifts back toward me.
“We’re going to meet with Finn tomorrow.” His eyes grow deadly serious. “He gets in from Vegas in the morning. Do you think we’ll know the location by then?”
“I hope so.” I breathe the words like a prayer. Might be another long night, but the sooner we find the auction’s venue, the better.
Again, the impulse to grab the laptop rolls through me, but I don’t move. I can’t reach it without moving his hand.
“I know a thing or two about injuries.” His voice has gotten so gentle. “Let me.”
Before I can protest, he starts to massage my ankle with all the skill of a physical therapist.
Every cell in my body freezes. He’s stroking me in the spot on my body that reminds me of everything I’ve lost. That’s something I’ve never allowed anyone to do.
Before now.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Well, this is weird.
I’ve never massaged another human being. Ever. Why would I?
I’m acting on instinct and operating outside the scope of my logical brain. That’s the only explanation for why my hands remain glued to Nika’s ankle and calf. Squeezing, pressing, rubbing.
The side of my face burns with the weight of her stare, but when I glance up at her, she drops her gaze.
