“Shower, darlin’. The night’s still young, and so are you.”
15
Keely
Icould barely get out of bed the next morning. Cash Kelly had worked my body like no man ever had before. He lingered in the soreness of my muscles and bones. His marks were all over my body, coming up in blue and purple bruises on my skin. In all fairness, I easily bruised, but he was still intense.
He gave me experiences that I would never forget. The son of a bitch was more addicting than what he had smoked last night. There was no doubt—not an ounce of it—that he knew that as well as I did.
After doing the necessary things in the bathroom, I stepped into the deep closet in his bedroom, taking one of his white button-down shirts and slipping it on. It was better than having to search the other room for my things. I was going to move my boxes into Kelly’s room on principal.
He wanted me here. He got me. Baggage and all.
Before I found my way downstairs, I stopped and admired the view from the library. The sun was rising, starting to brighten Hell’s Kitchen, and the view of New York held me captive to my spot. For the first time in a long time, I took a second to appreciate the start of a new day. It all had to do with my new point of view.
It was different, and in this overcrowded city, something fresh.
The moment the sun fully came up, I moved, looking for Kelly. I found him in the kitchen eating breakfast. He was dressed in a suit, sitting at the table, reading a magazine on the mob. He set it down when he heard me rummaging through the cabinets. I had cereal every morning for breakfast. All the marauder had was oatmeal.
Sighing, feeling like I was five again and forced to eat something that gave me a texture problem, I started looking for items to make oatmeal. If I was going to do it, it was going to be sugary. Bananas. Cinnamon. Walnuts. Brown sugar.
“You don’t have any sugar,” I said, searching deeper into the pantry. “You’re not one of those kinds of people, are you?”
“I don’t need it,” he said, and I noticed the way his eyes took in his shirt on my body.
I shook my head, deciding that I’d pick up something quick on my way out. I had a fitting for one of my costumes, and then the rest of the day was mine. I’d decided to make myself at home in Kelly’s bedroom after, getting cozy.
He stood, fixing his tie, and then grabbed his bowl and cup from the table, bringing them over to the sink. I turned and watched him.
“Work?” I said.
“Every day.”
“Must be fun to be you,” I said.
“Loads.”
Was that an attitude I detected from Cash Kelly? My bet was still strong from the night before—he was either going to be gone or not asla de daas usual. Since he stood next to me, his carefree attitude had taken a small hit.
He turned to me but said nothing. He just looked at me. I wasn’t a woman who minded attention, but we stood close, and he eyed me like he had something on his mind.
“What’s that look for?” I said, finally breaking the tension.
He looked around. “No mirror in here, darlin.’ The only face I see is yours.”
“Your thoughts are showing on your face. It matches the hate I feel coming from you.”
Without missing a beat, he said, “Maybe I do. Hate you a little.”
I grinned, not taking offense. Hate was an emotion, and I considered it a small victory that I’d gotten under his skin some. “It’s no fun when someone magically slips over your walls and rages war against your heart, Marauder. Am I right?”
He narrowed his eyes at me in a challenging dare. “I don’t have one to war with.” He fixed his tie again. “Be ready by five sharp. I’ll be by to pick you up.” He pulled out his wallet and set a credit card on the counter. “Get something new and expensive.”
“Where are we going?”
“Dinner and then a political thing.”
“Formal?”
