Page 16 of Devoted

CHAPTER5

Cannon

I stretchmy task out until I hear the water shut off, then return to the bathroom and peek inside. I should knock, but I don’t want to startle her. Her head is on the edge of the bathtub, resting on a folded hand towel. She must’ve washed her hair. Wet strands drape over her shoulders and disappear into the water she ran until it was past her breasts.

Shame to cover those perky handfuls. Thanks to the bubbles, I can’t see the pink tips.

Her pile of dirty clothing is on the floor. Her shoes are trashed. Same with her leggings. She probably doesn’t want to see any of her clothing again, but I’ll run it through the wash just in case.

I set down one of the Natural Glow pink tote bags London sent with me. Holland was let in on what happened. London lobbied hard to tell her, which doesn’t take much when it comes to Jacobi doing what she wants. She called Holland as soon as possible.

Holland brought an entire wardrobe that would perfectly fit Penelope. I went through the three totes to make sure Penelope would be satisfied. Her taste in clothing is nothing like Holland’s. I had no reason to worry. The fashion maven’s packing was ruthlessly efficient while including everything Penelope could want or need. London knows all the products Penelope uses and included those. If jump bags for rescuing kidnapped friends became a hot trend, Holland and London could partner up and add to their net worth.

I put the two bags with the clothing closest to the tub.

Penelope opens her eyes. Her green gems are still full of fatigue and stress. She’s weary and wary. I don’t blame her.

I point to the two bags I just set down. “Clothing.” I switch to the other bag. “Toiletries. She might’ve even packed some books.”

I grab the bottle of water, trail mix, and ibuprofen that I had set in the top of one bag. After pulling a little stand next to the bath, I deposit the items on it.

“I can get out. You probably want to wash up.” She moves to sit up but freezes. If she straightens farther, her tits will be above the bubble line.

My brain screams for her to do it. I’ll carry her through California and however many states it takes to see her naked again. But like she said, it was a mistake. A lot of mind-blowing mistakes in one night.

“There’s a bathroom downstairs. I’m gonna go shower and change. Don’t try to get out until I’m back to help.”

“I’ve sprained limbs before.”

My look quells her argument. I’m not going to be robbed of a legitimate reason to have my hands on her, goddammit. “To be safe. You don’t know your way around.”

I run through my shower and toss on black sweats that fit tighter than most gym rat sweats. I don’t have much else in this house. I wasn’t planning for Penelope to see me out of uniform—Hawaiian shirt and cargo shorts. I throw on a white T-shirt.

I pad barefoot back upstairs. I should be ready for an infiltration. It’s possible Roman’s men can find us, but I refuse to walk like I’m overseas again around the place that’s supposed to be my reprieve. This is my oasis. This is the only spot of calm in my world. This place is mine, and it can’t be taken away. Roman is rich as shit, but he’d have to know my real name in order to find me.

I walk past the bathroom toward the master bedroom. The second bedroom on this level is an office, and the primary bedroom used to be attached to a bathroom, but I combined that bath with the tiny guest bathroom on this floor. I closed off the bedroom entrance so guests wouldn’t accidentally walk into my room after they took a piss. I didn’t plan on having guests anyway.

But here I am. With a doozy of a guest. Wishing I had access to the bathroom so I could have a repeat of accidentally walking in on Penelope.

Her voice drifts out of the bathroom. “You walk really quietly.”

“I learned a long time ago.”

“Mm. I should get out or I’m going to fall asleep.”

It’d be better for both of us if she could sleep on her own. Staying strong is harder when she is right here. And naked. I grab a bath sheet from the closet, unfold it, and hold it up. I avert my gaze while she gingerly gets out. She puts her weight on her good leg and wraps the towel around her.

I hand her another towel for her hair. I’ve been around enough women to know that one towel often isn’t enough.

She wraps her hair, and I pick her up again. Her cherry blossom scent breaks through the eucalyptus bubble bath. My bedding is going to smell like Penelope. I’ll die of a priapism. Terminal erection—that’s how I’m going to go out.

I set her on the edge of the bed and go back to the bathroom to retrieve the bags with her clothing.

Penelope’s running the hair towel over her arms when I return. I don’t say anything as I open the closet and dig out an extra blanket and a pillow. I can’t bring myself to tell her I’m sleeping on the couch. That I can’t sleep next to her again and not touch her. When I turn, she’s eyeing the blanket.

“Yell if you need anything.” Before I clear the doorway, I turn. “You’re safe here. No one knows about this place, and it’s under a different name.”

“A fake name?”

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