Page 34 of Devoted

I’mgrateful to be dancing again. But being without a partner sucks when there is a hot man who possesses incredible skill upstairs.

I wrap up my second session of the day. Last night, I wiped down the floor, dusted the barre, and gave the windows a fresh shine. When I was satisfied, I went through a simple warm-up routine, and it was everything. The slice of normality I needed. Early this morning, I jumped off the couch and practically ran down here. Even babying my ankle, the thrill of moving again is euphoric.

Now I need a bath. A long soak in the tub that isn’t for cleaning myself after a frantic flight through Bel Air. Cannon’s probably in his office. He’s been leaving only to use the bathroom, eat, or work out.

He’s a talented man, but he excels at avoiding me. I thought we’d had a breakthrough when he helped me cook. Definitely when he let me into this room. Like he could admit to himself that his problem with me was an excuse to keep from opening himself up to someone again.

But somehow, we moved so far forward yet ended up in the same place.

He hasn’t given me any updates on the Roman ordeal, but I don’t think there are any. He mentioned an FBI friend, and I can piece the rest together. Cannon isn’t a vigilante, and he doesn’t have a private investigator license. The rest is up to the authorities, and we are left to wait.

I tap on his office door and open it. I should wait for him to tell me to come in, but he let me into the locked room in the basement. It shouldn’t feel like I have full access to his life, but it does. I just don’t have access to him.

He’s at his computer like usual, looking all sexy and brooding.

“Can I talk to London after I take a bath?” Since Kase and Jacobi switched out our electronics, I thought I’d take a chance and ask. If we’re going to be in hiding for a while but it’s possible to talk to my friends, I’m going to do it.

“Sure. Just grab the phone when you need it. Call the number for Jacobi, and he’ll get London for you.” Cannon leans his elbow on the desk. The pose lengthens his torso and tightens his T-shirt in all the right places. I’ve been tempted every day to ask him to put his Hawaiian shirts and cargo shorts back on. The sweats by themselves are torture, but with the tight shirt, I’m going to be running an ice bath.

He lifts his brow. “Anything else?”

I jump like a startled rabbit. I’m staring. “Nope.”

I dart into the bathroom and run my bath. I make myself soak for longer than I intended. I don’t even know if London will be available to talk. I’d love to call Holland, but she doesn’t have a phone with a secure number. I doubt she’s been made aware of any of the updates. That would put her at risk. She refuses a gated community, preferring a bustling artist neighborhood for inspiration with none of Jacobi’s security measures.

After a suitable amount of time, I get out and towel off. Crap. I forgot to bring fresh clothing with me. The clothes on the floor have been danced in twice.

I wrap one of his fluffy bath sheets around me and step into the hallway. Cannon veers out of his office and collides with me.

“Oh, shit. I’m sorry.” Hot hands grip my shoulders.

“No, I wasn’t watching where I was going.” I try to sidestep but his grip is firm.

A shiver traces down my spine when my gaze meets his intense, hooded stare. Heat flames in his denim-blue eyes, and he strokes my skin with his thumbs.

“I forgot my clothes.” My words melt like snowflakes between us.

“Yes, you did.”

We don’t move. My hands hang at my sides. I want to touch him, but I’m afraid it’ll break the spell. I want to be close to him, but his words from the other night are like a fence between us, and the way he ghosted me while under the same roof is the latch.

I’m not waiting anymore. I’m not going to be the hopeful girl who waited for a guy to be the version she thought he was. “Cannon.”

He blinks like he’s snapping out of a trance and jerks his hands off my skin. “Phone’s on my desk.” He shuffles around me and disappears into the kitchen.

Stifling my hurt, I roll my eyes and go into the bedroom. My clothes are hanging in his closet because there’s nowhere else to put them. I hate having to come in here. Knowing what it’s like to sleep in that bed with him and then having to leave to sleep on the couch is a special form of hell.

After I dress, I grab the phone and go outside. I sit on the top step and just be. Birds sing around me. There is no traffic. It’s just nature. As much peace as I find in the studio, it’ll never compare to this. I’m a privileged woman. I grew up in a massive home, with several staff members to care for me, and the finest food—not cooked by me—served as many times a day as we ordered. But I never had this. In the city, there’s nowhere to get away. The parks are busy, and you don’t want to be alone anywhere anyway.

Several minutes tick by before I call London.

Jacobi answers. “So soon? Did you miss me?”

I grin. “No, but I miss your wife. Is she around? Can I talk to her?”

“Oh, hey, Penni. Absolutely. Let me grab her.”

A minute later, London’s on the line. “I’ve been thinking about you.” I can always count on her to be happy to hear from me. Even Jacobi sounded like it was a nice surprise.

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