25
FIONA
I buriedmy face against Zeke’s strong chest, my own full of mushy emotions that I hadn’t experienced… well, ever. I simultaneously wanted to protect Zeke from everything while also curling into the fetal position and letting him take on the world for me. I wasn’t sure what to make of it, but I knew that I never wanted it to end.
Zeke took my hand and led me to his car—the silver hatchback that I hadn’t thought was a good fit for him. Maybe I’d been wrong. I’d believed I knew all sorts of things about Zeke, but in reality, I’d had no idea who he truly was. I did now.
He helped me into the passenger seat and drove us to my apartment building. I had to admit, while I was grateful to be going home, I was a little disappointed not to finally see his place. We’d learned so much about each other over the past few days, but I still didn’t know where he lived. Hopefully, he’d take me there soon. I had a feeling it was his sanctuary.
He parked outside and stayed alert as we took the stairs to my apartment. I unlocked the door and entered hesitantly. It was clear the police had been through. Things weren’t where I’d left them, and a few of the kitchen drawers stood open, their contents emptied onto the counter, but on the whole, it wasn’t as bad as I’d expected. Zeke’s fingers threaded through mine and I held onto him as we checked the other rooms. The bathroom had hardly been disturbed, although my bedroom was another story. My drawers were open and had clearly been rifled through. I shivered. I knew the police were technically the good guys, but I still felt the need to wash everything before I wore it again.
I opened the spare room door last. The paintings that had been resting against the wall were laid out on the ground, facing up. I scanned them one by one, then frowned and counted them. There was one missing. It took only a second for me to realize it was the copy of the Degas. My breath caught. Of course the police had found it. The question was, why hadn’t they leaned harder on me because of it? The painting would have given them more ammunition to use against me.
“It was destroyed,” Zeke said softly.
I turned to him, surprised. “What was?”
“The painting of the girls dancing.” He squeezed my hand reassuringly. “The police never even saw it.”
The breath gusted out of me. “Thank you.”
“You don’t mind?”
“No.” I kissed him chastely. “I’m just relieved I don’t have to worry about it.”
He shrugged. “It was a potential problem, so I took care of it.” He grinned roguishly. “That’s kind of what I do, Fifi.”
I groaned. “Please never call me that again.”
“It’s cute,” he said.
“It makes me sound like a poodle.”
He opened his mouth, then closed it. I shot him a look. We both knew he couldn’t deny it.
“I need to shower,” I said. I hadn’t showered for nearly two days now, and during that time, I’d worked up plenty of nervous sweat.
“You do that, and I’ll get you a drink,” Zeke said. “Wine?”
“Or…” I leaned into his embrace. “You could join me.”
He looped his arms around me. “I’m not going to say no to an invitation like that.”
“I’m too tired for sex,” I warned, not wanting to get his hopes up.
“I know.” He didn’t seem to care. “I just want to feel you against me, skin to skin.”
I swooned a little but tried not to let it show. His ego didn’t need any fuel. I returned to the bedroom and took a fluffy robe from the closet. I hung it over the hook on the back of the bathroom door, turned on the shower, and shed my clothes on the tiled floor. Once steam was rising, I stepped under the water and closed my eyes, enjoying the sense of all the grime of the past two days washing off my skin. I heard movement behind me, and a bare chest pressed against my back. Zeke pulled me into the shelter of his body, and I melted against him, finally able to fully relax.
He kissed the side of my neck, spending extra time behind my ear, the tickle of his facial hair making me shiver. He reached for the body wash and pumped it into his hand, then, gently, he started to wash my back. My eyes prickled with emotion as he took his time rubbing the knots between my shoulder blades and tracing the indentations on either side of my spine. Nobody had ever made me feel so beautiful or so cherished.
When he was done with my back, he turned me to face him and kissed me tenderly before repeating the process on my front. He lingered over me as if he was getting asmuch enjoyment from the simple act of touching me as I was. By the time he finished, I was languid and mellow. I filled my palm with body wash and returned the favor, working my fingers over each of his pecs, the muscles of his abdomen, and his strong shoulders. His gaze was intense as it followed my every movement, but it wasn’t sexual. It was as if he simply couldn’t bear to look away from me.
We stayed beneath the water until it started to run cold, and then dried ourselves. My limbs were heavy as I donned the robe and we headed to the bedroom.
“Stay?” I asked, repeating my earlier question.
His lips curved. “For as long as you’ll have me.”
