Page 73 of Soulmates
Ignoring his chuckle, I shut my eyes and rub my head full of suds. The scent of strident roses replaces the old leather Connor gives off.
“So tell me again”—soap leaks down into my eye and I blink fast—“what’s the deal with LA?”
He reaches in, strong fingers helping me rinse the bubbles from my hair. His silence makes me nervous.
“Do you remember what I told you about my work?”
I pivot so the stream of water washes down my back. “Maybe.” Liar. My brain has the retention power of a bowl full of Jell-O.
He scrubs my back with a soapy cloth. I shut my eyes, allowing the water—and the attention—to soothe me. The warmth helps me focus. What did he say about thefts? For a moment, I take advantage of my relative sentience and prod my laggard memory. “You work for the Elite, and were assigned to investigate…something.”
“Thefts, a missing princess, an illegal alliance,” he prompts.
“Yeah, those things.” The fog in my head shifts, leaving everything a mottled gray. “So we’re going back so you can keep working. Is there any conditioner?” I stick my hand in his direction.
He squirts cream into my palm, and I rub it into my hair. The smell is as brash as the shampoo. “So, when do we leave?”
“Red-eye tonight.”
The sudden gravity in his tone prompts me to open my eyes. His expression is blank.
“We made arrangements to see your father before we go.”
The words shake me. “No.” I can’t. The pain would be…
“He said if we don’t agree to a meeting, he’ll send in a squad to bring you to him.”
I hunch my shoulders, the steady drum of water almost too much to tolerate. “May as well get it over with, then.” Because it’s never going to get any better. At first, they were talking about driving back to LA, but my zombified state made that impossible. If I can manage a flight, I can manage a brief conversation with my father.
If I can manage a flight, I can manage a brief conversation with my father.
If I can manage a flight… I tip my head back, filling my mouth with water, then spit into the corner of the tub. “Okay.”
I can’t imagine anything worse.
“Sheena’ll pick us up at the airport.”
He says it like I should be reassured by that. I guess I am. I like Sheena well enough. If I was flying to Seattle, my sister wouldn’t bother. She’d tell me to catch an Uber, and then we’d text the whole way.
Eventually, I’ll need to go back to Seattle, to clean out my apartment if nothing else. But not yet. The idea that I could land at SeaTac airport without letting Abby know I’m coming washes over me like a shower of nettles. Not yet. Maybe never.
There’s a bar of soap sitting on the ledge under the showerhead. I grab for it, forcing my mind away from anything more critical than the rough stubble around my balls. Damn I need a good wax job. I run a hand across my chest. Stubble there, too.
“Quit playing with yourself and get outa there.” Connor’s voice has a rough edge. I shoot him a glance, but he’s staring at the floor. He’s in shorts too, with a bulky wrap around one knee. For a minute, I’m distracted by the cut of the muscles in his thighs, drawing my eye to the V hiding under his sweatshirt.
Okay, so maybe I am coming back to life.
“You could join me.”
My voice is breathier than I’d like, but when he lifts his gaze, I hold steady. The heat slams into me. “I would but”—his fists clench—“I’m not sure your Dad would want to walk in on anything.”
I nod, nerves squashing my incipient hard-on. “Your turn, then.”
He offers his hand, and I give him another good long stare. I step out from under the spray, shake some of the water out of my hair, inhale hard to grab ahold of my emotions. Our hands touch. Clasp. I step out and he doesn’t back away, my wet skin brushing his cotton.
“You need help getting dressed?”
My mouth is watering, I want to kiss him so bad. The realization makes me laugh. One minute I’m dwindling away, the next my dick catches fire and I find a reason to go on living.
