Her brow lined, and she stepped over to lean beside me against the counter. “I’m sure you’re not.” Reaching up, she slid a ringed finger down one of my long purple locks. “But I swear, the way he looks at you. He might be moving himself too fast.”
“Maybe.” I looked down, remembering last night in bed. I didn’t want to talk about it anymore. Two days ago, the center of my chest felt like it was expanding with joy. Now all that extra space was collapsing in on itself.
Mariska continued wrapping my hair around her fingers, watching my expression. “I want to have you both over for dinner and Turkish coffee Friday.”
Smiling, I blinked up at her. “I’m sure he’d like that. He told me he thinks you’re funny.”
“Then we’ll put it on the calendar in pencil.” Pulling me into a hug, she spoke against my ear. “Hang in there. Men get spooked when you touch them deeply, but he’s not going anywhere.”
I couldn’t tell her I’d been the one touched deeply. The speed of it all had my mind reeling, and I probably needed a little break to sort it out myself.
Squeezing her arm, I straightened up and pushed my hair behind my shoulder. “No matter what happens, I’ll be there Friday night. I can’t make my plans worrying about what some guy’s doing.”
“That’s the spirit. Friday it is—in pen.”
* * *
Lying on my couch, I pulled out my sketchpad and charcoal pencil. The drawing I’d started of Slayde had only partly come to life. I’d finished his eyes last night, shading them slightly oval, darker at the edges and clear in the center. I’d worked on them after he left, while they were still fresh in my mind. Tonight they made my stomach hurt they were so beautiful. I started on his jaw, shading and blending until I had the bone structure and texture of his light beard just right. That brought me to his perfect chin, and I exhaled a painful sigh as I finished it. Why didn’t he tell me goodbye? He hadn’t called or anything, and I didn’t know how to get in touch with him.
I dropped my head back on the couch cushion. I’d been happily alone for so long... well, somewhat happily. Then all of a sudden, he came along in a blast of intensely erotic and unexpectedly sweet companionship. Now I was even worse off than I’d been before. The tightness in my chest, that inability to breathe was almost unbearable.
Lying on my side, I ran my finger down the line of his square jaw on my large pad. I traced the side of my thumb down the center of his chin. Closing my eyes, I could still feel the brush of his lips over mine. The memory of his beard scratching the sensitive skin behind my neck made me shiver. I remembered him holding my breasts, pulling them into his mouth, and...
“Dammit!” I shouted, standing up fast and kicking the side of the couch as hard as I could. “Ouch!” I screamed, dropping back again. “Shit shit shit!!!”
Pulling my foot up, I jerked off my sock. My toe wasn’t broken but it was already dark red. “Shit!” I hissed, standing and limping to the bathroom. “Fuck you, Slayde Bennett.” I growled, turning on the water. “You are fucking not going to make me feel this way. You can kiss my ass.”
I jerked my hair up into a messy bun and stepped into the tub. I’d shower and I’d brush my teeth. Then I’d get in my bed and read a good book, and I would not be jerked around by a guy. Not ever again.
* * *
Just like clockwork, my eyes popped open at six a.m. I threw the covers back and stood quickly, then sat back down again with a hiss. “Dammit!”
My toe was swollen today, and I could barely walk. It only made me angrier. A good night’s sleep had not made me feel better. I was ready to beat the shit out of something. Limping over to my drawers, I pulled out my exercise clothes and jerked them on. I’d be at the gym in thirty minutes.
The sound of gloves slamming against canvass met my ears before I’d even rounded the corner of the small boxing room. I paused for a moment, taking several deep breaths, trying to decide how I felt as I watched him move. His muscles flexed with every stroke, breaking into deep lines and taut ripples, causing my fingers to burn with desire to touch him. God, he was gorgeous.
It didn’t matter. I felt fine. That was how I felt. Fine. Lifting my chin, I limped confidently to the bench, dropping my bag beside it like always and pulling on my first glove. Slayde didn’t stop punching. He didn’t even pause. I didn’t even care. I pushed my hand into one of the gloves and struggled to get on the other. I’d always been able to get both gloves on before. No reason why I couldn’t do it now.
Fumbling with the second glove, I hadn’t noticed the punching stop. I was distracted and mad when I felt his hand on my elbow.
“Need me to help you?” I hated the way his voice made my insides squeeze.
“No, thank you,” I said without even looking up.
He ignored my response and took the glove out of my hand, holding it at the center of his chest just like yesterday.
“I said I could do it.” I cut my eyes at him before pushing my hand into the glove. Taking my hand back, I waited, unsure what to do next. “Are you almost finished?”
He looked down at his shoes as if he were trying to find the correct answer.
“It’s a simple yes or no question, Slayde.”
“Kenny...” he exhaled deeply before pressing his lips together. “You can have this. I’ll work on the speed bag.”
Angry or not, I couldn’t help watching him go to the small bag hanging from the ceiling. I’d always wanted to master that little bastard, ever since it knocked me in the head. Now he was walking over to it just as confident as I knew he’d be.
Waiting, I watched as he lifted his arms, elbows high and began the bicycle movement, knocking it quickly in a rhythm as his biceps and shoulders flexed.