Crown of Lies
A loud meow sounded just before a silver streak charged from the white couch facing the floor-to-ceiling windows directly for Penn. Sage latched onto his leg, no doubt sinking her claws into his calf.
I laughed softly. “Seems I’m not the only one who doesn’t like you.”
“The feeling is mutual, I assure you.” Wincing, he stalked forward—with Sage still clinging to his leg—entering my sleek kitchen, where every cupboard looked like a high gloss wall with no handles or appliances in sight—all hidden or magically designed to keep such necessities of life a mystery.
Placing me on the white bench top, he grabbed Sage, ripped her off his jeans, and plonked her down beside me. She swatted him, hissing, but immediately leaped into my lap and purred, stretching to lick my chin with her sandpaper tongue.
“You did well.” I scratched her neck. “Thanks for protecting me.”
Penn snorted, turning to locate the sink. He wouldn’t find it. It was hidden beneath a large slab of bench top that revealed the tap and bowl with a press of a button by my orchid plant.
He searched for two seconds then stalked off, leaving me gaping after him.
Where the hell is he going?
A few moments later, he returned with a white towel from the guest powder room and a bowl that had contained blue marbles for decoration now filled with tepid water.
Without a word, he dropped to his knees and grabbed my foot.
I froze, speechless as he wet the towel then slowly, carefully, with all the tenderness in the world washed my feet, running the towel so, so gently over the lacerations from the beer bottle I’d run over.
I sucked in a gasp, my breath wobbly as he cleaned the towel and the water turned pink with my blood.
There was nothing else in that moment.
No questions. No lies. No lust.
Just him giving himself in ways I never imagined he would.
My heart stopped thudding, settling for the slightest tiptoe as if afraid one wrong move or noise would shatter this strange new existence.
His hands were swift but sure, soft but serious. He didn’t tickle me while he felt my instep to make sure no debris remained, and he didn’t take advantage when my legs spread with instinct as he rubbed my ankle with his thumb.
He tended to me, and once I was tended to, he stood, placed the bowl onto the counter, then grabbed my face in his warm hands.
He stared into my eyes, barriers in place, curtains protecting his true thoughts. He didn’t speak, but he leaned forward and his lips claimed mine in the most sensual kiss I’d ever been given.
His tongue was velvet. His mouth cashmere.
I swooned into him, utterly seduced and unbound.
There was magic in this kiss, a spell promising secrets, a connection to sever all other connections.
And then, it was over.
As silently as he’d washed my feet, he turned around and walked out of my apartment.
Just like that.
Chapter Twenty-Five
A FEW DAYS passed.
I didn’t contact him.
He didn’t contact me.
It was as if he never existed.
If it weren’t for the fading cuts and bruises on my feet, I would’ve struggled to believe the night at his place even happened.
My mind was a broken record—even work couldn’t distract me.
All I could think about was Penn washing my feet, Penn hitting that guy, Penn sliding inside me.
He’d shown two totally different sides of himself, and I couldn’t unscramble what it meant. I’d hoped having some time to myself would deliver decisions on what to do. To make up my mind to forget about him or chase the answers slowly turning me hollow.
Spread-sheets and conferences calls didn’t help, and the lack of contact did the opposite of what I wanted. My heart grew fonder (just like that stupid saying). My idiotic mind sketched him in a kinder light than the one he’d shown. I second-guessed his pretension and conceit, making up stories that would explain his sudden switch to guardian and medic all in one.
Just like my unpaid debt to Nameless, I had one toward Penn now. I owed him thanks at the very least for ensuring I returned home safe and my injuries were disinfected.
When he finally did text me, I no longer wanted him to fall off the face of the planet but was grateful to hear from him.
Penn (08:47a.m.): How are your feet?
Elle (08:52 a.m.): Fine. I never said thanks for taking care of me.
Penn (09:00 a.m.): Are you saying it now?
Elle (09:03 a.m.): Maybe.
Penn (09:06 a.m.): Are you sore?
Elle (09:08 a.m.): My feet?
Penn (09:08 a.m.): No. The other part I touched that night.
Sex between us exploded into my senses: sight, sound, taste, feel—I wasn’t in my office but back in his bed. I had no intention of letting him know how much I wanted a second round.
Elle (09:09 a.m.): Oh yes, that’s right. I’d forgotten about that.
Pen (09:10 a.m.): Do you want me to refresh your memory?
Elle (09:11 a.m.): Perhaps you should.
Penn (09:12 a.m.): I want to fuck you again.
Elle (09:14 a.m.): So do it.
Penn (09:17 a.m.): Fair warning, I won’t go so easy on you next time.
I choked a little.
I’d played fairly easy to catch, and the thought of tangling in bed together sounded far too tempting. But if I let him into my body again, I might not be able to keep my feelings out of it. Damn him for washing my feet and showing me he could care. How could I keep my heart frosty if he’d thawed a little?
The answer was I couldn’t.
We’d slept together. We’d had three days apart. It was a good time to end this charade before everyone he’d lied to got hurt. I’d thanked him. I could move on.