Suddenly, a new set of questions flood my thoughts. Why are we here and not in my room? If this is his, who was yelling in here yesterday? What does he want from me? Sex? More?
I can’t think clearly, and I know I’m unable to make any rational decisions right now.
“Denham, I need—”
He presses a finger to my lips, silencing me, then shakes his head gently from side to side. “Shhh, he will be well looked after, and we’ll call the hospital in the morning if that’s what you want.There’s nothing more we can do tonight.” He’s reassuringly calm. His demeanor is protective and I know I can trust him. I know he won’t expect any more than I’m willing to give.
I don’t know how I can be so sure of that, I just am.
He leads me through the lounge and I already know where we are going. The layout is the same as mine, so it feels familiar. When we enter his bedroom, he comes to stand in front of me and kisses my cheek. His lips are soft, warm and gentle.
He starts unbuttoning my blouse, but his eyes are soft without a hint of the intense passion I saw there earlier when we were in his office. He’s caring for me, and I let him.
He removes my blouse, placing it on the nearby chaise lounge, then runs his fingers around the waistband of my skirt, stopping when his arms are circled around my waist and he finds the zipper. His hands linger there for just a second and I feel his warm breath on my neck. I know he’s waiting for my resistance, but when it isn’t met, he continues to undress me.
When I’m standing in front of him in only my underwear, he crouches and runs his hand down my calf, slipping off my heels one at a time. I should feel exposed, maybe even self-conscious, but I don’t. He doesn’t look away, but he doesn’t stare. He’s not taking advantage of the situation in the slightest. On any other occasion, I’m sure this would be erotic and sexual, but right now I feel comforted and beautiful.
He folds back the covers on his big bed, then guides me to it, helping me in before covering me over. We have so much to talk about, but we both know that now isn’t the time, so we say nothing. I know that once I start to talk, I won’t be able to stop. I want to tell him everything. He deserves to know the truth after being so honorable and I know I have to start facing things head on rather than ignoring them if I want to move on with my life.
I watch in the moonlight as he removes all of his clothes, completely comfortable in my presence. It feels as if we’veknown each other for a lifetime. He pulls on a pair of boxers which is a thoughtful gesture, before he climbs into bed behind me and pulls the light cotton sheet up over our bodies. His front is pressed to my back, our bodies joined from top to bottom, shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip, ankle to ankle. I’m cloaked in his strong protective body and I don’t feel vulnerable or threatened in any way. Despite the events of last week, I feel safe and content, and strangely enough, I’m okay with it. I’m not sure how long we lie here, not speaking, not moving, just listening to the sound of each other’s breaths as he combs his fingers gently through my hair.
My strained thoughts disappear and I can feel my heart rate level out. I give in to the heaviness of my eyes and drift off to sleep.
It’s still dark when I open my eyes, but unlike the last few days, I immediately know where I am. Denham’s presence is calming, his smell is intoxicating and I know I probably shouldn’t be feeling happy after everything that’s happened, but I do. I’m strangely happy that it’s led me here. In the few small hours that I’ve spent with him, he has shown me that I shouldn’t spend my life second guessing my own shadow. He’s actually made me begin to think that there’s more to life if I can just open my eyes and see past the fear. I’ve seen more happiness in the last few days than I have in the last year.
As much as I don’t want to move, I’m starting to feel physically uncomfortable. I look at the clock and notice it’s 3.28am. I really need to pee, so I try to sit up but Denham’s body tightens at my movement and he pulls me closer to him.
“Don’t even think about it…” he mumbles, his voice husky from sleep and making him sound even sexier than usual.
“Think about what?” Does he really not want me to pee?
“Running …”
“Running? Denham, I need to pee.” I laugh at him and he chuckles back.
“You’re not going to try and disappear?”
“No, your bed is far too comfortable.” I turn onto my back and his arm slides around my waist and pulls me closer so I’m facing him.
“You promise you’ll come back?”
“I promise.” I kiss him on the cheek and wriggle out of his hold.
“You know I’m faster than you? If you come out of that bathroom and make for the door, I’ll be forced to take you down.” I can hear the smile in his voice, and the threat makes me tempted to run. The thought of Denham tackling me to the ground is quite exciting.
Once I’ve done what’s needed in the bathroom, I look in the mirror. My hair looks like a bird’s nest, my mascara is streaked down my face and my foundation has worn off, revealing the still very purple bruise that covers my cheek. I know it’s pitch black in the bedroom, but one look at me in the morning and he’ll be bundling me out of the door instead of tackling me to the ground. The little voice hovering over my shoulder tells me that I couldn’t be further from the truth. Denham King does not scare easily. If he did, I’m damn sure I wouldn’t be here now.
I find a comb and tidy my hair the best I can, then find some tissue and remove the streaked makeup from under my eyes before splashing my face with cool water and using the soft hand towel that smells of Denham.
I remember the previous day and hearing a couple arguing. I scan the bathroom for any sign that Denham has a girlfriend, maybe even a wife. The thought causes a nasty taste in my mouth. He doesn’t wear a ring on that hand, but he does wear one on the other hand—a gold band encrusted with diamonds. It catches my eye every time his hand moves.
I dismiss the thought of him being married. Everything about him is genuine, it feels different, and he’s different. There are no female products in the bathroom. It’s all male, and besides, he wouldn’t have me sleep in his apartment if there were anyone else. I use his toothbrush to brush my teeth and pick up his aftershave to smell. It’s him, a perfect mix of fresh and sexy.
When I climb back into bed, I bypass the side that would be labeled 'mine'. It’s cold and uninviting. Instead, I curl into Denham, tucking my head under his chin and burying my face into his chest. He nuzzles into my hair and groans. “Better?” he asks.
“Yes, thank you.”
“Good,” he mumbles, stroking my hair.
