I don’t understand how or why I’ve garnered Cain’s interest, but I’ll hold onto it as long as I can.
Every inch of me is sore. And yet, if Cain needed more of me, I would give it to him right now. I’ll give him everything that I possibly can. Which doesn’t feel like very much, especially compared to what he’s so freely offered to me.
My heart aches with that knowledge. I don’t know what to do. I don’t see how this can go on indefinitely. And yet no part of me will allow the thought of leaving right now.
Perhaps he senses my presence because Cain suddenly turns to lock eyes with me, pulling a light gasp from my lips. His gaze drifts down my body, that deadly curl touching his lip. “I hope you don’t mind me going through your dresser.” My fingers stretch the plain gray T-shirt of his that I’m wearing as I make my way down the steps. I found it folded neatly in his top drawer and I couldn’t help but put it on. It reaches my thighs, it’s soft, and, though obviously laundered, it still somehow smells like Cain.
He places the cup in his hand down on the side table and silently strolls over to wait for me on the landing. By the sudden tilt of his head and his focus, I’m thinking the shirt isn’t entirely long enough to cover the fact that I have nothing on underneath. When I reach the landing, his hand grabs onto the front of it, hiking it up around my waist as he pulls me into him. “I would prefer you without this.” His hands slide down along my back to get a solid grip of my bare ass.
“What, like some sort of sex slave?” I tease as I inhale the scent of soap. Cain has showered. I, most definitely, have not. After last night’s bedroom marathon, I’m regretting this fact right now. It doesn’t seem to bother him, though. He pulls me into him tighter.
“I tried to wake you up this morning but you sleep like the dead,” he says absently, a soft smile on his lips as his attention roams my face.
I scrubbed my makeup off before I came down. I also took out the contacts. I can do that much for him, at least.
“I could use a slave,” he murmurs. Then he leans down and lays one of his knee-buckling, thigh-tingling kisses on me and I silently thank God that I at least used his toothbrush to clean my teeth.
“Hmm . . . I thought you said you weren’t a pervert,” I tease against his mouth.
His dark chuckle sends shivers skittering along my skin. And then suddenly I’m being turned and my feet are moving backward to keep my balance as his powerful frame overwhelms me. Before I know what’s happening, my T-shirt is gone and I’m falling into the couch, just as Cain’s track pants hit the floor.
The smirk on his face is downright dangerous. “I lied.”
“I really like waking up to you in my home,” Cain says as he slides a cup of coffee across the counter to me.
“I can tell,” I murmur dryly, letting my eyes roll over Cain’s arms, his chest, down his stomach—memories of what all those muscles looked like straining above me only twenty minutes ago firmly entrenched in my skull. With a glance up, I see him watching me with an amused smile, as if he knows exactly what I’m thinking about. I quickly distract myself with a fake itch on my thigh, focusing intently on it.
He could make it easier on both of us by throwing on a shirt.
But he won’t.
I think he likes me gawking at him.
It’s not bad enough that Charlie Rourke is a drug trafficker and a retired stripper. Now I’ve turned her into a sex fiend.
With a chuckle, Cain states rather than asks, “You must be hungry. I’ve got . . .” He opens the fridge and peers inside. “. . . condiments . . . orange juice . . . bread.” He sighs. “Sorry, Karina—my housekeeper—comes in twice a week to clean and replenish staples. I’m rarely here to eat a meal. But I’ll get this stocked.” Throwing the door shut, he pulls a piece of paper and a pen out of a drawer and asks, “What do you like?”
Cain is making a grocery list. For me.
I hesitate for a second and then grin playfully at him. “Frosted Flakes?”
I get an arched brow in return. “Really?”
“Childhood vice.”
“Okay . . . children’s cereal. That will spark Karina’s curiosity, no doubt.” A slow smile touches his lips as he jots it down. His penmanship is exceptionally neat. “Ten pounds of coffee . . . your own damn toothbrush, so you don’t use mine again.”
I feel the sheepish grin touch my face. By the wink he throws me, I think he’s only kidding.
“Brass pole for my bedroom . . .”
“They have those at the local grocery store?”
His phone starts ringing as he adds while scribbling, “Ten economy boxes of condoms.”
“What?”
He answers his phone with a chuckle and I use that opportunity to snatch the paper out from under him. He actually wrote that down.
“Nate,” I hear him say as he dumps the rest of his coffee in the sink and places the cup in the dishwasher. “Yup . . . good.” His gaze flickers to me. Listening for a moment, his eyes absently settling on my bare legs, Cain’s face suddenly turns serious. He stands up straighter. “Seriously? Fuck . . . Why didn’t you call me? . . . Yeah. I’ll have to deal with her tonight.” Another pause as he listens, his hand scratching his chin. Finally, he heaves a sigh. “Yeah, I’ll be in by four. I’ve gotta take Charlie back to her place . . . Yeah.” I can hear Nate’s deep rumble on the other line but I can’t make out what he’s saying. “See you later.”
I sense the atmosphere in the kitchen shifting as Cain’s mood sours.
And I hate it.
“I should get you home, Charlie,” he mutters, now focused intently on the granite pattern. I can tell his thoughts are elsewhere, moving out the door to head back into his own reality. Everything about him—his body language, his facial expression, his tone—feels like it’s closing off. Shifting back to the Cain that I first met. It’s as though he’s pulling a door shut to leave me and whatever this is between us on the other side. Separated from that other part of his life.
Cain and I have a lot in common.
I dive for that doorway to wedge myself in. “What happened? I assume it involves Penny’s?”
After a pause, “Yeah.” He leans down onto the counter and I don’t hesitate to reach forward and begin rubbing the muscles in his back, knowing that his body is tense again. I’ve noticed that the longer he’s away from the club, the more he relaxes. “China and Kinsley were at it again last night, fighting over a customer like two alley cats.” He shakes his head. “China threw a drink at Kinsley that accidently hit a customer. Now the guy’s threatening to sue.”
“Shit,” I groan, silently piecing together the conversation. “What does that mean? You’re firing China?”
He scowls. “No . . . Kinsley.” His eyes drift off toward the window.
Wow. I don’t doubt that Kinsley is at least half-deserving, but . . . even with China physically abusing customers and putting his business at risk, he won’t fire her?
His bottom lip pulls into his teeth. “I’m really starting to hate that place.”
I lean in to press my lips against his shoulder, wishing I could help him somehow. “But you can’t walk away from it.”
“But I can’t walk away from it,” he repeats with a slow nod, more to himself. Breathing in deeply through his nostrils, he mutters, “I hate firing people.”