Try being the key word.
“Not my doing, actually.” My eyes drift to each hiding spot out of nature, hunting and searching for the monsters waiting to jump from the shadows, “He wished to spend more time with that little plaything of his. You know how men get when they’re feeling romantic.”
When nothing reveals itself in the mirrors, I step beyond the carpet and onto the hardwood. Cold flooring sits unyielding beneath my feet, alerting intruders of my location with every pattered step.
“They are quite insufferable.”
Tahira’s voice grows muffled as she pulls away from the phone, a distant yell that doesn’t register with the sight before me.
The lump that has no business being in my bed.
“As I was saying, send along Marlin’s information and I will bring dresses for us to wear at the gala. Ridiculous how your mother insists everyone has to be in attendance from year-to-year.”
Midnight-coloured strands fan out across Christopher’s forehead, the steady rise and fall of his chest taking up too much space on my mattress.
“Calista? Did you hear me?”
“Yes.” My eyes drop to the dark lashes painting his fair skin. The slight part of his lips as sleep bids him a goodnight.
“Good. Then I’ll see you in a few days.”
The call ends and I remain standing there, standing and staring at the beautiful creature in front of me.
“I told you to leave.”
Nails click against the floor as Ronan trots into the room, his ears perked and his eyes flicking over me with a silent accusation.
“I told him to leave.”
He huffs, disbelief echoing loud and clear.
Pursing my lips together, I reach over and poke Christopher’s chest. Firm muscle and hot skin greets me, a tantalizing sensation for a woman who struggles to stay warm.
“Devil.”
Another poke.
“You’re not allowed to sleep here.”
Ronan huffs again, reinstating his position on the topic.
“Christopher.” Flicking the tender flesh on his bicep, I contemplate pulling out my knife and removing a layer of skin, “It’s time for you to leave.”
“Five more minutes.”
A drowsy mumble slips from his lips, his eyelids remaining firmly closed.
I sigh, sitting on the end of the bed and staring at the clock. Counting down the seconds until the bad boy returns to the place he belongs.
Five minutes go by. Then ten.
After thirty, I start counting the pieces of art lining his body. The number of ridges I can see, the uneven juts of skin that are too raised for a needle and ink.
Leaning over him, I touch the sharp edge of the rusty key tucked between his pecs. I caress the uneven piece of metal, the mystery that clings to Christopher’s scarred surface as though it’s the one thing holding him together.
“I wonder what you belong to.”
A murmur that does nothing to stir his sleeping form. I set the memento carefully back in place, smoothing the harshridges over with my palms. Flattening my hands against his chest, I tilt my head and listen to him breathe.
