Chapter Sixteen
I wake to an empty bed.
Sunlight streams in through tall industrial windows.
The life-size ninja turtle glares at me from across the room. I’m guessing he isn’t too fond of women sleeping in his master’s bed. Ha. Too bad he’s immobile and incapable of doing anything about it.
Sticking my tongue out at him, I snag my spectacles from the nightstand, roll out of bed, and pad to the bathroom.
After a short shower, I don a conservative knee-length teal dress paired with a yellow cardigan, black stockings, and ballet flats.
My bangs are particularly stubborn today, and my thick, long tresses could do with a dollop of sheen. After struggling for a time and a half with my hot mess of hair, I give up and leave it as is—wild and untamed.
As I make to leave the closet, I stop to assess the capacious space. Looks like a normal master bedroom closet, but I know better. No thief’s closet is just a closet. Even if the music box isn’t here, something else surely is.
I don’t dig yet, though. Have to be patient, and smart. First of all, there could be hidden cameras. And for that, I’ll need my bug scanner.
I continue out the closet and fetch my laptop and cell. As I’m leaving the bedroom, I trip to a stop at the sight of Jaxon stepping down from the treadmill in his office. Running shorts, running shoes, bare chest, and sweat.
I was not prepared to be assaulted by this sort of physical perfection. And the dripping, glistening elixir—okay, sweat—is not helping matters.
He isn’t ripped, by any means. No bulging, corded muscles or wall-like pectorals. No MMA fighter arms. He’s long, and lean, and taut. With abdominal muscles that are somewhat defined, but not too pronounced. His limbs are sexy, his height is sexy, his skin is sexy. And although his abs aren’t, his V-cut is very much pronounced. Very…there.
I suck in a cool breath, hoping it will temper the sudden heat in my belly.
Snagging his hand towel from the treadmill handle, he wipes the sweat from his face. He then sweeps his gaze up and down the entirety of me. “You know you talk in your sleep?”
Oh…crap. I cringe, and attempt to inch off to the opposite side of the room, to the exit.
“Pig Latin,” he continues to torture, a hint of amusement in his voice.
See, Collin and I had a deal. He never brings it up that I speak Pig Latin in my sleep, and I never bring up his piggish snoring. Now that I have a new sleeping partner, I’m going to have to find out his sleeping quirk and make a new deal.
Note to self. Go to sleep after him tonight or wake up before him and catch his sleeping quirk.
“Good morning, Jaxon,” is my response, right before I shift and make a dash for the door.
He gets ahead of me and blocks my path. “Who sleep-talks in Pig Latin?”
Hugging my laptop to my chest, I peer up at him defensively. “We can control ninety-nine percent of the things we do while awake, but what we do while we’re asleep cannot be controlled.”
“You say that like it’s a fact,” he says, curiosity in his tone. “Is it?”
I bite my lip, because it’s not. I just made that up. I’ve never had an inclination to research this area before, and I’m not one to speak on a topic I’m ignorant about, so my reply is shamefully quiet. “I don’t know.”
He mocks, “Are you actually admitting there’s something you don’t know?”
Who is this jerk? “There are plenty of things I don’t know. For example, I don’t know how to cook, unless it’s easy breakfast stuff a five-year-old can do—scrambled eggs and bacon, for instance. I don’t know how to speak Turkish, Arabic, or Yezidi. I don’t know which religion is the true religion. Also, I don’t know the name of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle in your bedroom.”
Jaxon studies me for a heartbeat or two, and then offers, “Raph.”
“Pardon?”
“Raph. Short for Raphael. That’s his name.”
“Oh.” I nod. “Okay.” I press my lips together. “He doesn’t seem to like me very much.”
Barely, just barely, Jaxon’s lips curve upward. “He’s not used to seeing anyone in my room. Especially in my bed.”
“But you want me there. So he needs to deal, yeah?”
“Probably worried you’ll steal his spot.”
I freeze. “Steal his spot? Do you, like, sleep with him?”
“Sometimes.”
Wait…what? Is he serious? I can’t tell.
“Raph holds all my secrets,” he says. “So, I gotta keep him close.”
“You’re toying with me, right?”
To that, I get nothing but a blink.
“You’re bonkers,” I mutter under my breath as I duck and snake my way around him, squeezing through the sliver of space between his narrow hips and the doorframe.
I hear something, then. And, it might be my own wild and insane imagination of all the things I’d love to be true, but as I escape down the hallway, I could swear… I could swear I hear him murmur, “Bonkers for you.”