I bite my lip, pondering that, as I make two coffees, finding my way around his kitchen with relative ease. When I make it back to the bedroom, James is still sound asleep. I place his cup on the nightstand and take mine to the window. I feel like an ant, surrounded by giant buildings. Not seen. But so very exposed.
I hear movement behind me and turn with my cup to my lips, finding James propped up against the headboard. I smile mildly over my coffee. He swallows, casting his eyes to the side, finding his own. “Did you sleep well?” he asks, raking a hand through his bedhead before reaching for his cup.
“Too good.” I pad over and settle on the side of the bed, unable to resist a leisurely jaunt with my eyes up his bare chest. “You?”
He takes a sip of his drink, resting back. “Too good,” he replies, taking me in, quietly observant. “What are you doing today?”
“I don’t know. What are you doing?”
He releases a hand from his cup and takes one of mine, caressing the back of it slowly. “I have a few errands to run. You could hang out here if you like.”
“I should probably go make peace with my uncle.”
His lips twist a fraction, but he nods, if mildly. “And later?”
I study him, unable to hold back a small smile. I feel like he’s taking the long route to where he wants to be. Where I want to be too. “Would you like to do something?” I ask, looking at his thumb circling the top of my hand.
“Like?”
“Opera we won’t watch,” I say, peeking up for his reaction.
“Or dinner we won’t eat?” Naturally, there’s no reference to Goldie. “Or asking questions we won’t answer.” He hitches a brow, and I discreetly roll my eyes, pulling my hand free and standing, setting my cup down.
“I saw that,” he says lowly.
“You were supposed to,” I counter, heading into his bathroom. “What errands do you have to run?” I ask, the question falling out of my mouth. I stop at the threshold of his bathroom and frown to myself. I can feel his eyes on my back. “Never mind.”
“I have a safety deposit account I need to close,” he says, almost tentatively.
“Why?”
“Because I don’t need it anymore.”
“Do people even have safety deposit boxes these days?”
“I do.”
I turn to face him. “And what do you keep in it?”
He raises his brows at my annoying curiosity. “Personal effects. You don’t have one?”
“A safety deposit box? No.” I have nothing sacred worth hiding in a safety deposit box. I pick up my feet and go to the sink, splashing my face and ruffing up my hair as I take in my reflection. I look . . . rested, which defies reason when my mind is racing with endless questions.
As I pat my face dry, James appears past me in the mirror, his coffee in his hand. He holds my eyes as he sips. I don’t like the assessment I’m under. The judgments being made. I feel like he’s taunting me. Goading me, tempting me. The air around us feels awkward, and that’s not what I’m here for. “I’ll leave you to your day,” I say, placing the towel on the unit and approaching him. He doesn’t move from the doorway, his big body filling it, blocking me. I stop before him, virtually toe to toe, and I tilt my head back to get him in my sights. “Excuse me.” I sound assertive. I feel anything but.
His gaze lingers on me for a while, until he slowly moves aside, letting me pass. I collect my shoes and hurry down the stairs, locating my dress and shimmying it on. I press the call button as I fasten the zip, and the doors open.
I step in.
Turn around.
He’s in the elevator with me, his naked, imposing frame crowding me.
I step back until my back meets the wall. I can feel the pounds of my heart in my stomach. Can feel my skin sizzling under his closeness. Dipping slowly, eyes glued to mine, he pushes our mouths together and moans. I give him immediate access, opening up to him, speaking in a language he understands. His warm tongue is soft, his lips firm. I taste coffee. I taste all man. This kiss has purpose. It has meaning. My body reacts, and just as I’m about to climb him and take it to the next level, beg him to take me back to his bed, he pulls away, panting, and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, leaving me stumbling back into the wall, dazed. This is what I crave. This freedom from pain, from thinking, from grieving.
This release.
“Call me later,” he orders softly, backing out of the elevator, tilting his head, waiting for my compliance.
He doesn’t need it.
The doors close, and I urgently pull air into my lungs. “I will,” I say to myself.
Of course I will.
I’ve never stood outside Lawrence’s house for so long, just staring at the door. Dreading what’s waiting for me inside. This house has always been a haven. Now? Now it feels like a cage of discrimination. On a needed injection of bravery, I slip my key into the lock and turn it tentatively, pushing my way inside. I hear them in the kitchen, knives and forks scraping their plates as they eat their breakfast. I glance up the stairs. I could go straight up. Hide. Delay facing their looks of disapproval.
No.
I drop my keys in the glass bowl on the table, making a loud clang, and the sounds of metal scraping on plates stops. I wander down the hallway into the kitchen and go straight to the fridge, and their eyes follow me the whole way. “Morning,” I say.
“Morning,” Dexter replies, sounding tentative. “Nice evening?”
I grab a bottle of water and twist the cap off as I turn to face them. “Lovely,” I reply simply. And mysterious. And curiosity inducing. And enlightening. Uncle Lawrence regards me for a few, uncomfortable moments, taking in my lace dress. Then he goes back to his breakfast without a word. The silent treatment. I give Dexter tired eyes, and he smiles tightly.
“You could have been civil,” I say, taking a seat at the table, my focus on Lawrence. If he wants to be a child, fine, but I won’t be a child with him. Dexter shifts on the chair, setting down his cutlery before standing. Lawrence pretends like I’m not even here. “Lawrence, come on.”
“Don’t ask me for my blessing.” He pushes his plate away. “I tried, but I cannot bless . . .” He fades off and turns his eyes onto my wrists.
“One of the things I love most about you is your open-mindedness.” I get up from the table, knowing I’m fighting a losing battle. He needs to pull his head out of his ass. “But right now, you’re behaving like my father.” I turn and walk out, just catching sight of his horrified expression and Dexter’s blank face.
“I am nothing like your father.”
“Then stop being so narrow-minded,” I call, taking the stairs. “I’m a big girl. I know how to say no.”
“Then say no!” he yells, sounding unusually frazzled. “There must be better ways to let loose.”
“Better?” I laugh. “I know where you keep your bondage gear, Lawrence.” I turn at the top of the stairs, hearing him scuttling down the hallway.
“I do not have bondage gear.”
“No?” I ask.
“No.”
I shake my head and make tracks to their bedroom, letting myself in and zooming in on the French cabinet I shifted not too long ago so I could decorate. I yank a drawer open and swipe up the leather crotchless panties. “No?” I ask again, waving them over my head. Then I grab the bra that sports more spikes than a porcupine. “No?”