His Ballerina

He’s still sleeping, breathing evenly. The scruff on his cheeks is thicker than it was when we first met. I have to resist the urge to reach up and run a hand over his face to test the roughness. Sleep is funny like that. Even the most intimidating person seems a lot less so when they’re asleep.

And he’s definitely intimidating. Controlling. Demanding. Oh, and a killer. I can’t let myself forget that part.

Shouldn’t I be terrified of him? I was once, just a few short hours ago, wasn’t I? Convinced he was biding his time before murdering me. Am I terrified now, though?

No. Not anymore. Do I feel completely comfortable? Absolutely not. Do I wish he would tell me what this is all about and why it’s so important for me to stay with him? Very much. I can’t make sense of any of this. Why I’m here, what he wants with me. To make sure I don’t tell, probably, but would that necessarily come with a bath and everything else that happened last night? No. He doesn’t have to be caring or even nice. He could lock me in a spare room if that was what he wanted.

None of this makes sense. He hasn’t hurt me… yet. He swears he doesn’t want to.

What does he want, though?

Then something else hits me—real life.

And right away, I feel that sick rush of adrenaline. “Oh, no!” I can’t believe this. I didn’t even think to check the time. The little clock on one of the two nightstands reads quarter to nine. I missed my shift at the grocery store and am now late for the diner. My heart starts to race and only gets worse when Archer sits bolt upright, eyes open wide.

“What is it?” He jumps up out of bed, and for a second, all I can think about is an animal ready to attack. Two seconds ago, he was fast asleep. Is this how he always lives? Never able to rest, ready to fight at the drop of a hat?

“Sorry,” I whisper. “It’s just that I’m gonna be late for the diner. I have to be in by nine.”

It takes him a second to process this. He scrubs a hand over his head, making his dark hair stand on end. This is the first time I’ve ever seen him look human. Like he’s not completely in control, a little groggy.

He breaks out of it fast enough. “That’s all? Don’t worry about that,” he scoffs.

I hate to break it to him, but not everybody’s daddy bought them a fabulous apartment to live in. “I have to work. I can’t afford to lose my job. Literally.”

He blinks hard. I don’t know whether he’s blinking away sleep or trying to understand me. “You don’t have to worry about that.”

“Says who?”

“Says me. Who do you think?” He sits on the bed with a sigh. “You’re okay now. That’s what this is about. You don’t have to ever work again—especially not where you were before. It’s amazing you were never mugged.”

“Actually, I was mugged before.” When his eyes darken, and his jaw tightens, I add, “It happened a long time ago, and I wasn’t hurt.”

“I don’t see how you can make jokes when it’s your safety on the line.” The tension in his expression eases. “Which is why it’s good that I came into your life when I did. If you won’t take your safety seriously, at least I know I will.”

Is he for real? This sort of thing doesn’t happen in real life. Movies? Sure. But I’m not a prostitute, and this isn’t Pretty Woman.

I wasn’t born yesterday, either. “What do you expect in return?”

“Nothing,” he says without hesitating, without blinking, without pausing to take a breath. “I only want you. That’s enough.”

“You can’t mean that.”

His eyes narrow as he laughs. It’s tight, not exactly uplifting. “I never say anything I don’t mean.”

But he can’t mean it. He can’t be serious. No, this is a ploy—a trick. Granted, it’s a lot of work to go through for the sake of a trick, but still. I can believe that more easily than I can believe he means a word he’s saying.

He lowers his brow. “You look like you don’t believe me.”

My mouth works, but nothing comes out, mostly because I don’t know what to say. All I can do is point to myself with my eyes wide. Me? You want me?

He nods, chuckling, and I have to say it’s nice to hear that. He sounds more human. Less intimidating. “Yeah, you. Why’s that so hard to understand?”

“How much time do you have?”

When he stretches out on his side, propping himself up on one elbow, I can’t help but notice his body. I’d have to be blind not to. Some of the guys at the gym could take a lesson from him. “For you? All the time in the world.”