Page 35 of Searching for Hope

He shrugs as he chews. “I don’t know. Workout?”

“I’ve seen you work out and it certainly did not look relaxing. What do youenjoydoing, you know, for fun?”

A smile tugs at his mouth. “I think I might have found something recently that my body seemed to respond rather favorably to.”

I pick up the pillow and throw it at his head.

He laughs and catches it. “Well, you tell me then. What do you do for fun?”

“Read a book, soak in the bath, watch a movie, get drunk, listen to music, dance.” I leap to my feet. “Dance! I’ll teach you to dance.”

“What makes you think I can’t dance?” I laugh but he merely narrows his eyes. “We’re going to need music for this.”

He powers his phone back on and soon music plays through the phone’s speakers. Jericho holds out a hand and I take it. He pulls me to him and holds me firm as he begins to waltz. His technique is a little stiff, but he holds me possessively and leads me around the room. He moves confidently and I soon find myself leaning into him, losing myself in him, rather than in the dance. One hand grips mine tight. My chest is pushed against his. His other hand is spread protectively over the small of my back. We dance until the music fades and then he just holds me, his gaze directed straight into mine. What started as light and teasing has turned into something else. Something exposed and raw. Something real.

Jericho’s eyes dart between mine. “What the fuck are we doing, Miss Berkley?” He holds his mouth close to my ear, his lips brushing over me as he speaks. “This will ruin everything.”

“Or maybe this is how to make everything right.”

He pulls back, his mouth twitching with amusement. “That doesn’t even make sense.”

I screw up my nose. “I know, but I didn’t know what else to say. We’re in the middle of something really messed up, I know that, but I want to be here. I want to be with you. I don’t really care about too much else right now.” I realize my mistake. “Other than helping you find Hope, of course.”

He tips his head to mine and cups my cheeks with his hands. “You’re too good for me.”

“I’m the daughter of a monster.”

He catches my mouth with his, nipping and toying. “And even if that were all you are, I still wouldn’t deserve you. But you know you’re far more than that. You can’t let something that you had no control over dictate who you are.”

“And neither can you.” I meet his gaze. We’re close. So close his eyes lose definition and become threads of the night sky. “It wasn’t your fault.”

He drops his hands from my face. The empty space between us grows cold. “It’s not the only thing I have to feel guilt for.”

“But you’re allowed to be happy.”

“Then why does it hurt so much when I am?”

There’s nothing I can say. I place my hands on his chest, bending my head between them. His arms wrap around me without thought. They hold me limply, his pain thick in the air. Then he lets go.

“I need to make a couple of calls, okay?” He picks up his cell phone from the bed beside the rest of our uneaten breakfast. “Feel free to eat whatever you want. The bathroom’s behind that door if you feel like having a shower, or even a bath. I won’t be long, I promise.”

And then he slips out the door leaving me standing alone in the middle of his room. His footsteps fade but then they grow louder again, and the door opens, his head appearing in the crack.

“Don’t leave,” he warns with a growl. I merely give him a salute and a smile, and he closes the door again.

While he’s gone, I slip into the bathroom. Like the bedroom, it contains only the essentials. The walls and the floor are all the same dark tiles. There’s a single mirror over double sinks, a freestanding clawfoot bath and the biggest shower I’ve ever seen. Lifting my t-shirt over my head, I let it float to the floor as I look at myself in the mirror. I haven’t got a lick of makeup on. My hair is a tangled mess. But my eyes are bright, and I can’t quite seem to wipe the smile off my face. Twisting around, I attempt to look at my backside. One cheek is slightly red, but other than that, you almost can’t tell that Jericho’s hand had slapped it not that long before. I frown. For some reason I’m disappointed. I had visions of being able to see his handprint.

The shower is warm and refreshing. I lather myself in his body wash, inhaling the scent and allowing it to transport me back to when his body was plastered against mine and grunts fell from his lips as he drove into me. I wash my hair and let the foam run down my body and swirl around the drain.

Jericho still hasn’t returned once I’ve dried myself. I go through the clothing on his racks, pulling out one of his shirts and wearing it as a dress. I leave all but one of the buttons undone, hoping to tempt him as soon as he walks back through the door. But instead of being there, waiting for his return, I fall asleep in a patch of sun on his bed.

The door slams, waking me. I’m confused for a moment. I don’t know where I am. And then it comes back to me and I stretch luxuriously before flopping back onto the bed.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.” Jericho props himself beside me and I shuffle over to him, placing my head on his lap. He strokes the hair away from my face. “Nice outfit.”

He looks tired when I look up at him. Not tired like he lacks sleep, tired like he’s worn and stressed. The lines between his brows have deepened, and although there’s a slight smile on his face, it’s tight, as though it pains him for it to be there.

“Is everything okay?”

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