Tell me something I didn't know.He never smells like the same thing twice—except occasionally, when I catch the same cinnamon scent on his hair when he walks by. "You sure you don't mind me wearing your clothes?" I ask, because in this state of mind, I'd be just as surprised if he asked me to draw him a cow on the wall.
"Wanna see you in them," he mutters, though his eyes are closed. "Bet you'd look sexy as fuck in nothing but my shirt the morning after."
Nope. Not going there. But now I'm thinking about it. Which isn't sane at all.
I scurry off, clean up the mess while he snores softly on the bed, and then hurry off into the shower, forgetting to grab the clothes on my way into the bathroom.
I can only hope he's still asleep when I have to leave this bathroom and get them wrapped in nothing but a towel.
Everything in this bathroom reminds me of him. The shampoo I choose for my hair—it's the same scent he wore the first time I met him. I remember the scent as we moved around in the car, meting after meeting, rushing from point A to point B, huddled over the tablet as I sorted out how to do the job I'd been hired to do. A job I had no idea how to do. The body wash is the sameone that he talked up for weeks, saying how smooth the soap and after-shower lotion makes his skin. I know it by the logo, which he thinks is a bird, but I think is something else. The conditioner matches the shampoo, though the bottle is a different shape, and I just hope that my memory isn't lying to me, because the only way I'm able to pick things out of the lineup he has on the wall of foreign products is by scent memory, because I haven't yet developed the sudden ability to read whatlookslike Kanji.
Not that I'd know, just that itlooksa whole lot like the same symbols Kai used to sign his contract.
His towels are so soft it's insane. It should be illegal to have luxury this nice. I'll have to splurge soon and get myself some towels this nice. Makes the whole after-shower experience way better, in my opinion. I peek out of the bathroom, expecting, with my luck, to see Kai sitting upright, well and ready for more mayhem on the edge of the bed, but he's simply lying facedown at the edge, his hand dangling over, soft little snores leaving his lips as I watch on.
Now's my chance. I dart over to the dresser, clinging to my towel like a lifeline, shaking like a leaf even though I'm perfectly warm in here. I manage to liberate a pair of briefs and a long-ish tee shirt from the drawer, and as I pull the damn shirt over my head, a doorbell rings somewhere.
I ignore it, hoping Anton and Roger will deal with it. They should; that's literally why they're still here. But it rings again, and I rush off, briefs forgotten about as I race to keep it from waking Kai up.
The door is heavier now, it feels like, than when we came in, but I wasn't paying attention to that when I walked through the foyer, so maybe I'm just imagining things. Either way, I snap to attention when I realize the person on the other side of the door is none other than a police officer—and I'm standing here innothing but a tee shirt. No pants. No underwear. Just a shirt that barely hits me mid-thigh, and nothing else.
Great.
The cop does his level best not to gawk, and then fails miserably, reminding me once again why I don't like police. Or men. "Evening, ma'am. I'm here to take a statement from the victim, on kNight Entertainment's behest."
I don't remember Arista saying she planned to get the police involved. "I'll have to consult with my legal team before any of us make any sorts of statements."
"All due respect, ma'am," he says with a look down at my legs, like I'm a criminal for not wearing pants, "we already have permission. How do you think I got this far? My looks?"
I once-over him, cocking a brow. "Certainly not."
I think I'm funny. The short, angry cop does not. I'm not surprised.
"I'm sorry, but you'll have to leave your card, because thevictimwon't be making any statements right now. Now if you'll kindly see yourself out?—"
I try, and fail, to guide him back out of the doorway, but he puts his foot in between the doorjam and the actual door, preventing me from closing it all the way. His eyes narrow. "We're not interested in hearing from anyone other than the victim, ma'am, and unless I get orders fromhimto leave, I'm staying right here?—"
"You heard the woman," an angry, weary voice behind me growls, and I turn around to find Kai leaning against the wall, his eyes narrowed, face paler than I've ever seen it without makeup, sweat beading his brow as he stares down the cop with one of his trademark death glares. "Get out of my house."
"But sir, it's important to gather the statement while the events from tonight are fresh in your mind?—"
"Nothing is fresh in my mind, except the taste of my own stomach acid, currently," he says weakly, "now please—I'll come down and make a formal statement before week's end, just—just leave us for now. I need to rest."
As the cop withdraws, I throw him a bone, hoping it'll help him do his fucking job. I'm not hopeful, though. Cops in this town are as reliable and competent as the weatherman. "See our driver on the way out, his name is Roger. He should have some in-car footage of the woman from tonight that was with Kai when he was last seen sober. You might start with her. I have the feeling she had something to do with this."
He nods and disappears down the hall, and I flip the lock on the door and turn around just in time to see Kai start to sink to the floor.
By some miracle, I manage to get to him in time to keep him upright, but as I throw his arm over my shoulders and clamp my other arm around his waist, I feel the cool air on my inner thighs and have to fight the urge to groan.
Just get him back to his room, it'll be fine, just ignore it, Kai's the important thing right now. Getting him back to bed before he passes out.
"You forgot something on my bed," he says with a wince, his eyes trained on the path in front of him as he holds a finger up, dangling the pair of his briefs I picked out to wear in front of us. "Does that mean you're naked underneath my shirt,kera?"
"You're still out of it," I growl, yanking the briefs from his hand. "Let's get you back where you belong. I didn't mean to wake you."
"Not your fault that cop was a prick," he mutters, his free arm holding onto the wall for strength. He's grinning like a shitheel, though, so he can't betoobad off, if he's teasing me.
Getting him back in bed isn't as rough as I think it'll be. What is hard, though, is leaving him. He looks so . . . miserablethere, on his own in that big ass bed, pale and sweat-soaked and whimpering softly.
