Page 44 of Vicious Arrangement
A laugh slips free, and I go out, passing the coat room and his study. I’m heading for the stairs when I see the pocket doors to his bedroom open, and I can’t help it, I peek in. “Noah?”
There’s no answer.
Of course not. He’s at work. I step in. After all, he clearly did the same to me in my room, putting me to bed, I’m going to assume, returning with the keys. What did he do?
Watch me sleep.
The idea should be gross and make me feel dirty.
It does.
But in a good way, and my body temperature starts to rise as my blood starts to tingle.
Then I look around.
The quilt is white, and the bed is made. In some ways, it’s like mine. A lot of white, open spaces, a sofa, chairs and a coffee table. Near his door leading to his boring garden is a small table and two chairs, something he can sit at to drink coffee or work, indoors or even outside if he wishes to move it.
I can see the door to his bathroom is open the smell of him peppery wood bergamot and sensuous sin wafts in the air. I close my eyes and breathe it in, like he’s there, behind me, ready to touch me.
But the thing is, my room’s more personal than his. I don’t know a thing about him from the room. The walk in closet is closed, and a pair of beautiful shoes sit outside it, like he changed his mind at the last minute.
It’s similar to my walk-in closet, which is pathetically empty.
I open it and step in, greeted by gorgeous rows of suits and shirts. The middle section is a display case for ties and watches.
The shoes are on the other side, and there’s even a sitting area and a mannequin that can wear a suit he’s thinking of.
In fact, it does.
But it’s something I don’t equate with him. It’s a three-piece velvet suit in the richest, darkest wine, a cream shirt beneath and a black tie.
It’s breathtaking, and though it’s not him, I can see him wearing it.
I’m thinking it’s a joke.
I don’t open any of the drawers. There’s got to be jeans and T-shirts, hoodies, running shorts and other things. Underwear, socks, hell maybe he’s got a sock suspender collection.
I walk out and spy a built in book case in black, and on one shelf is a framed photo.
The only thing, and business books don’t count, that seems remotely personal.
The photo is of a woman and a young boy. She’s gorgeous, dark brown hair, dark eyes and dimples.
Both of them are smiling.
My heart dips.
Is this Noah and his mother?
Something makes me go stiff and freeze, like the air changes.
“Do you always go through other people’s belongings?” Noah asks. “Dressed in a towel?”
I jump and nearly drop the photo frame.
“And is the towel for a bit of distraction, flash and run style or…” He trails off. He smiles but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes which only makes the flash of his dimple and it’s effect on me worse. “Help me out here, because I’ve got nothing beyond that.”
“What’s the suit for?”
