Page 67 of Sparks Fly
“I’ve got you,” he whispers, scooping me from the bed and carrying me in his arms. One is locked around my back, the other is under my knees and I cling onto him like he is my lifeline.
“I’m sorry,” I mutter through my silent sobs, but he says nothing.
We step into the large bathroom, it’s modern and sleek. My eyes peek from his chest as I scope the room. Floor-to-ceiling light grey tiles, large mirrors hanging on the wall, free standing bath by a large window and a walk-in shower with his and her sinks.
Placing me down, my feet touch the fuzzy bathmat and I shudder before my whole body begins to tremble. He looks down at me, full of pity and I can’t stand it.
“Can I?” His hand hovers by the straps of my dress, and I nod, a lone tear trailing my cheek.
He tucks his fingers under the straps and then lets them skim down my arms. I should be ashamed, but I am not. Not that heis seeing me in my underwear. I am more ashamed that I have been sick in front of him and cried.
I step out of my sick covered dress, Creed’s hand steadying me as I do. He lowers himself down and unstraps my sandals, taking them off one by one and tossing them by the door. He looks up at me from his knees, green eyes burning into mine and my body heats under his gaze.
“Let’s get you in the bath.” He stands slowly, his hand wrapped in mine as he walks me to the bath.
I can’t say anything. I am mute, but I can’t stop staring at him. The way he is looking at me. He has just peeled my sick covered dress from my skin and there wasn’t a single gag in sight. The man has the stomach of an ox.
“I’ll leave you be,” he mutters before tucking his head down and walking out of the room. I don’t move, just stare at the door.
I have no idea why, but I hurt. Like there is a pain in my chest, like it’s caving in on itself.
Finally, my legs no longer feel like lead, and I can move ever so slowly as I remove my underwear and then steady myself into the bath. The hot water causes goose bumps to erupt all over my skin before my body submerges under the bubbles and that’s where I stay until the water is bone cold.
Pushing myself out, I reach for the warm towel that is on the large rad and wrap it around my body, pulling it tight. I hadn’t even noticed but he has taken my sick covered clothes and my sandals and replaced them with cotton pyjamas.
My brows knit as I look down at them. I have never seen them before. Soft cream with dusty pink bows.
Cute. A ghost of a smile lifts my lips before I begin to dry myself and dress in my pyjamas.
Folding the towel up, I place it back on the towel rail and slowly emerge from the bathroom. The hallway is dimly lit and Ipad down there, cautiously. Inhaling heavily, I see him sitting at the breakfast bar.
His eyes swipe over me then slides me a black coffee. “Drink that.”
I scoop it into my hand and hover, not sure what to do with myself. I am trembling; I’m not cold, I just think it’s the shock of what happened this evening. Bringing it to my lips, I take a mouthful and wince. It tastes dry and bitter.
“It’ll help.” He gives me a weak smile.
“I don’t think anything will help.” My stomach coils. “I feel really unwell.” I sniff, my chin wobbling.
“Have a few more mouthfuls, then I think you need to sleep it off.”
I nod as I try and take another mouthful and my stomach flips. Sighing, I look over to my room and my brows knit together, lips pursing.
“You can sleep in my room. I’ll take the couch,” he says as if it’s no big deal, when in fact, it was a really big deal.
“No, I’ll take the couch,” I insist as I place the coffee down on the breakfast bar, pushing it far away and shaking my head.
“No, you won’t.” He stands up, placing his own coffee down. He towers over me, and I find myself shrinking. He laces his fingers through mine and walks me down towards his bedroom.
“Creed, please.” My voice cracks but he says nothing.
Dropping my hand, he pulls the duvet back, pats the mattress.
“Don’t be a brat, Anaïs.” His lips twitch and I roll my eyes at him, tapping my foot onto the floor. He looks down at me, a disapproving look flashing across his stupid, handsome face.
“Fine,” I spit through gritted teeth, and I am fully aware I am being, as he said, a brat about it, but I don’t like being told what to do.
Getting into bed, tug the covers towards me and turn my back on him. Oh my God, I was being such a bitch.
