Where…?
Memory hits me in a vivid, relentless reel:
Roger’s sneering face.The glint of the knife.The stain of blood on the foyer tiles.The cascading water in the shower.Matthew’s raw agony.The shared tears.The desperate heat of our bodies.Falling asleep tangled together…
In his bed.
Here.
I bolt upright, clutching the thick duvet protectively against my chest, heart slamming against my ribs.My eyes dart around the room, confirming what memory insists is true.
The space beside me in this enormous bed is empty.
My gaze sweeps the room, taking it in properly for the first time.It’s undeniably masculine, calm and ordered in shades of grey and deep blue.A heavy dark wood dresser, matching nightstands, a light grey leather armchair in the corner.Nothing like the guest room I stayed in before.
This is his room.
His sanctuary.
And I’m naked in his bed.
Alone.
A frantic scan of the space reveals no trace of my clothes.
Where are they?
Where is he?
The questions spiral, tightening a knot of anxiety in my stomach.
My eyes land on the foot of the bed.Neatly folded there, stark against the navy blue duvet, is a thick white bathrobe.Hesitantly, I push back the covers.The morning air raises immediate goosebumps on my bare skin.I swing my legs over the edge of the mattress and pad across the plush carpet to retrieve the robe.
I slip my arms into its sleeves, wrapping it around myself, cinching the belt tight at my waist.It’s huge on me.The sleeves swallow my hands; the hem falls near my ankles.But the terrycloth is thick, incredibly soft, and carries his faint, clean scent.Cedarwood and amber.
I enter the adjoining ensuite bathroom.The air is still faintly humid, warmer than the bedroom.My gaze snags immediately on the large, glass-enclosed shower stall.
Empty.
Spotless.
Tiles dry.No trace of the raw grief and desperate connection that unfolded there just hours ago.It looks sterile, making the memories feel almost unreal.
Almost.
A sudden wave of heat spreads across my skin.
The electric feel of his bare skin against mine…
The desperate fusion of our mouths and bodies…
The unbearable tenderness in his eyes as he knelt before me, drying my skin with such focused reverence…
My cheeks flush hot at the vividness of the memory.The sheer intensity of the connection forged right there, on those tiles.
Feeling shy and overwhelmed by the weight of it all, I force my gaze away, turning toward the wide vanity.I splash cold water on my face, trying to erase the lingering exhaustion and emotional residue from my features.
Looking in the mirror is a mistake.
