Page 45 of Midnight Valentine
I yank my arm away and back up several short steps. The blanket falls from my shoulders and slips to the floor.
Theo holds up a hand, fingers spread, like Stop. Or, It’s okay.
God, who am I kidding? I have no idea what he means. Maybe he’s telling me I’m a five on a scale of one to ten.
“It’s late,” I whisper, my mouth as dry as bone. Suddenly, all my questions don’t seem nearly as important as getting him out of my house so I can be alone with the sea of fire boiling in my blood. Sweat has bloomed over my chest, and I’m breathing so fast, I’m almost panting.
This isn’t fear, or shock, or anything nearly as simple as those. I recognize this feeling like I’d recognize the face of an old friend, glimpsed from afar after a long separation.
Desire has a particular flavor that, once tasted, can never be forgotten.
All from the press of his fingertips on my wrist.
He pushes away from the island, stares down at me for several beats in blistering silence, then exhales, running a hand through his hair. I’m glad for once that he doesn’t speak, because it means I don’t have to either.
I’m not entirely sure what words my mouth might form in the wake of the bomb that just detonated inside my body.
He knocks twice on the top of the marble island in farewell, then turns to go.
Before he leaves, his gaze lingers on my wedding album on the counter.
12
I awaken to what sounds like a herd of bulls stampeding through my living room.
Squinting into the morning light flooding my bedroom, I sit up in bed and listen. I’m disoriented, but not alarmed. I have neither the energy nor the presence of mind to be alarmed this morning. I spent the hours after Theo left in an intimate relationship with the bottle of whiskey, the remains of which are now perfuming my breath. It’s a good thing there aren’t any open flames nearby, or I’d be toast.
Flames—right. That herd downstairs must be Theo and his team.
The clock on the bedside table tells me it’s precisely eight o’clock. I guess Theo took my direction of “first thing in the morning” literally.
I drag myself out of bed and shuffle into the bathroom, snorting when I glimpse myself in the mirror. I look like a prehistoric cave woman who spent a long night losing a battle with a woolly mammoth. I need a shower and about a gallon of coffee if I’m even going to resemble a human.
But first I need to check on the herd.
I go to the top of the stairs and holler down, “Theo!”
Thump, thump, thump, then he appears, wearing boots, faded jeans, and a long-sleeved T-shirt, this one black. He lifts his brows when he catches sight of me.
“Put a sock in it, Sunshine,” I grumble. “Some of us had a rough night.”
I must be getting better at reading his expressions, because this one distinctly says, I can see that. How he looks so fresh and perky is beyond me, considering he probably got as little sleep as I did.
“I see you let yourself in. Glad you feel so at home.”
He cocks his head at my sarcastic tone, then makes a turning motion with his hand.
“Right,” I say. “The front door is missing a doorknob. Funny thing how when someone kicks in a door, these little mishaps occur.”
Then he makes a stabbing motion with his finger, cups his hand around his ear, and shakes his head.
“Yes, Theo, I realize my doorbell isn’t working either. But there’s this thing called knocking? Here, let me show you.”
I demonstrate a proper knock, rapping my knuckles theatrically on the wood banister so it echoes nice and loudly through the room.
Theo rolls his eyes. Then he presses his hands together in a praying position, rests them against his cheek, closes his eyes, and exhales an exaggerated breath through his mouth so his lips flap unattractively, like a cartoon character’s.
“I wasn’t snoring!” I say defensively, embarrassed because I probably was. Cass used to tell me I could wake the dead with the racket I made after I’d had a few drinks in me.
