She saw his dimple make a brief appearance before he jumped down from the bed, heading to the shower. Grinning slightly, Morana moved her limbs again, the aches from last night’s attack returning now that the haze of the endorphins was gone. Groaning, she swung her legs over the bed and adjusted his t-shirt, cracking her neck.
The sound of water came through the door and Morana shook her head at the bizarre sense of domesticity invading her. Picking her phone up from the side table, she mentally made a list of all the stuff she needed to get done, first of which was to check up on the software she had left running at Dante’s place. She also needed to thank him in person for the absolute rock he had been for her last night. Then, she needed to get info on both her assailants - alive and dead - and discover who had sicced them after her and why. Plus, she needed to find out more about that airport guy and how exactly he had known about the attack.
That decided, she quickly made the bed and went to the window, pulling back the dark, heavy curtains that had encased the room for the night. The lake - clear, placid, beautiful blue - extended for miles and miles on one side, only cut off by the lush green trees at the edge that demarcated the different territories on the property. While it was a stunning view, she also knew exactly why this was the bedroom of Tristan Caine - there was no possibility of infiltration from this side of the property. Anyone on the lake would be a sitting duck and there was no other way to get in from this side without being seen. This was safe.
The more layers she peeled back, the more her heart felt for him. Shaking her head, she turned around towards the room, and a gasp left her. Last night, in the aftermath of everything, she had not paid attention to much. Now, she did.
Early morning rays flooded in through the window, bringing everything inside the room to light. The walls were painted a warm, creamy beige, the furniture deep, dark mahogany, and green was splattered all over, on the bedding, the giant painting above his chest of drawers, and smaller, little splashes. It looked like a forest, nothing like the expected bedroom of a man who had icy, cold penthouses, and a chuckle escaped her.
Walking over to what looked like a collection of small mementos on the chest, Morana leaned in for a closer look. Small, random items littered the few inches but her eyes went straight to the top, to a tiny framed picture of a cherub-cheeked toddler with bright, inquisitive green eyes. Heart clenching, Morana picked up the frame and gazed upon his sister for the first time in her memory. She had a red cap of hair on her head, a wide toothless grin and a red little jumper. Whenever this picture had been taken, she had been happy and grinning at the photographer. Had she shared a room with this little girl? Had she looked at those big eyes? Did she have the memories suppressed in her mind?
Another photo, u
nframed, at the bottom of the chest, made her blink. She slowly took it out, staring. It was her at her graduation, getting a degree, and smiling. How did he have this photo? Why did he have this photo?
“I need to get dressed.”
Spinning around, she hastily put down the photo and watched him standing outside the bathroom, hips wrapped in a towel, studying her. She never understood how a man of his size could move as quietly as he did. He had seen her observing the picture, and obviously, he had known she would the moment he gave her entry to his bedroom. So, she waited for him to react or to say something. Maybe mention something about his sister or the fact that he had kept a photo of her hidden in his house.
He didn’t.
Seemingly unmoved, he strolled through the bedroom and opened his closet, taking out a neatly pressed slate grey suit, and put it on the bed. He noticed that she’d made it, paused, then went back to taking out a white cotton t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants. Shutting the door, he lay them on the bed and glanced at her.
“Wear these after freshening up,” he indicated the clothes. “And get the rest of your stuff today.”
Add to the list - move in.
Walking hesitantly towards the bathroom as he towel-dried his hair, Morana paused, not knowing whether she should mention something. Biting her lip, she kept moving and closed the door behind her. The bathroom, which also she hadn’t appreciated in the dark of the night, was stunning in the light of the day. Giant windows took the quarter of the front wall from the ceiling, flooding the space with natural light. The clawfoot tub she had used the night before rested against the wall, in front of which was a spacious shower cubicle walled with frosted glass. The theme of the brown and green forest was evident in this space as well.
Whipping the t-shirt off her body, Morana turned to the large granite sink a few steps from the bath and looked at herself in the mirror. Her cheeks were flushed, her hair a silky nest that smelled like his shampoo, her lips swollen pretty. She looked like a woman who had had some loving early in the morning, the only traces of the attack from the night before around her neck. A handprint coiled around her neck like a poisonous snake. Morana traced the bruise with light fingers, the rage for what had happened finally filling her body.
Taking out a spare toothbrush from the cupboard underneath the sink, Morana freshened up and took a shower in record time. Wrapped in a green towel, she went to the bedroom to find it empty.
Add to the list - find out what happened to Luna Caine.
Prepped, she quickly dressed in his clothes again, folding and refolding them to make them fit without falling flat on her face, and walked out. The smell of fresh toast made her stomach grumble. God, she was famished.
Following her nose, she lightly went down the stairs, taking the house in, seeing it change. The closer she got to the foyer, the icier it became, until the foyer itself was all whites and grays and blues. Fascinated, the implication of how deeply he hid the core of himself from everyone, and how he had allowed her in, hit her all over again. Taking a left, she entered the spacious kitchen, pretty much a replica of the kitchen at the penthouse, and wasn’t surprised to see him cooking. What she was surprised at, however, was how good he looked cooking in a suit. She’d never realized how hot that was until she stood there, taking in his muscular, sharp form scrambling eggs with expertise.
“The kitchen is fully stocked,” he told her without even turning around, letting her know how attuned his senses were to her. “Zia brings in the groceries every Saturday morning. There is a list there,” head tilt towards the fridge, “so anything you want, just write it all out.”
The toaster pinged and Morana moved to take care of it.
“Butter?” she asked him.
“Salted.”
Nodding, marveling at the ease with which they moved around the space, she got the toasts ready on the plates, moved around the island counter, and hopped on, deja-vu from the penthouse hitting her. She could get used to this. “What about housekeeping?”
He turned the gas off, serving eggs for both. “Zia. She has keys so she comes in twice a week to take care of it. I'll get you keys tonight.”
Taking a seat opposite her, he passed her a glass of orange juice and took his coffee. Morana raised her eyebrow. “And the bedroom?”
He looked up, those eyes of his glinting in the morning light coming from the windows. “Stays locked. I take care of it myself.”
“So, he cooks and cleans?” Morana chewed on the delicious eggs. “A man after my own heart.”
She saw his lips twitch, just as she’d intended, and felt something warm take root inside her belly. “But since I will be your roommate, duties will be shared.”