Текст книги "Dance for Me"
Автор книги: J. C. Valentine
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Текущая страница: 11 (всего у книги 12 страниц)
Turning his head, Ransom pins me with a look. “It’s not that I didn’t want you there. I just didn’t think it was a good idea.”
“And now you do? Ransom, nothing’s changed. I’ll still be your student in the morning.”
Lying back against the seat, he drops his head back and stares up at the stars through the foggy glass. The position highlights the corded muscles lining the sides of his neck and the Adam’s apple that moves up and down enticingly with each swallow.
“I thought about what you said. Being together presents some risks, but being apart?” His head rolls to the side and his dark eyes find mine. “I can find a job anywhere, Joe, but there’s never going to be another you.”
My lungs constrict, making it difficult to breathe properly. I don’t think anyone has ever spoken anything as beautiful as that to me before.
“I don’t know what this is between us is or where it’s headed,” he continues, his gaze focused overhead. “There’s already a black mark on our record, and for all I know, we’ll change our mind again in the morning, or maybe a week from now or a month. What I do know is that I like this”—he gestures between us—“I like how I feel when we’re together. Life is too short to miss out on the things that make us feel good, make us feel alive, and I feel so alive with you.”
“And if someone does find out that we’re together, what then? Are you going to be okay if you lose your job over me?”
“We’ll cross that bridge if we have to.” He reaches out and takes my hand, pulling me over to cover his body with mine. Cupping the back of my head, he holds me against his chest, and when he speaks, I feel the warmth of his breath in my hair. “The only thing that matters right now is this, right here, right now.”
I wiggle closer, listening to the steady beat of his heart beneath my ear. This is one of those rare, perfect moments in time that life occasionally hands out. It would be so easy to just give into it and enjoy it for what it is, but I’ve experienced them a couple times before. I know not to trust them. There is such a thing as something being too perfect, too right. When all the pieces of the puzzle seem to be in place, that’s the time to sit up and pay attention.
I can feel it in the air, like the kind of calm that comes before a tornado touches down and destroys everything. I don’t know what form it’s going to take, but I know one thing for sure.
A storm is coming.
TWENTY-TWO
After a couple more rounds of lovemaking, Ransom is out. He snores. Soft, whispers of sound that rumbles subtly in his chest. I’m in his bed, in his apartment, folded up in his arms, and I can’t fall asleep. It should be the simplest thing to do, but every time I try, my eyes flip open as if they’re spring loaded.
It could be because I am used to keeping late hours at the club, or because my mind is churning over everything that happened tonight and the inability to predict what lies ahead of us tomorrow. But my money is on what’s going on beyond the bedroom because, about an hour ago, I heard someone enter the apartment.
They came in through the front door, their keys clanking against a hard surface, suggesting to me that whoever it is isn’t an intruder. But who is it? A roommate? Ransom never mentioned having one, but then again, there are still a lot of things I don’t know about the man whose bed I’m sharing.
Curiosity picks away at my patience. I want to go investigate, but I don’t dare. Do I? It’s not my place. How will Ransom and this other person respond to my snooping around? Besides, Ransom’s arms around my waist are tethering me to him and the bed and there’s no way in hell I’ll be able to slip free without waking him.
I don’t know how much time I spend lying there, listening to this mystery person move around the apartment. I track their footsteps from the front of the apartment, where they spend some time in the kitchen making all kinds of muffled racket that I’d probably never notice if I had already been asleep.
The television plays on low for a time, and then the footsteps carry down the hall, past the bedroom door, and into the bathroom. I tense as I listen to every minute sound—running water in the sink, the hiss of the shower, the flushing of a toilet. All normal things people do to get ready for bed. I listen until my eyelids grow heavy—the constant rush of the water serving as a lullaby.
I finally fall asleep after everything goes quiet and the footsteps disappear down the end of the hall where a door, that had been closed when we arrived, opens and shuts again.
Hours later, when the alarm goes off, I feel like someone has piled a load of bricks on my chest and legs and taped my eyelids shut. I moan my refusal to get up and turn over, burying my head beneath the pillow. Ransom’s body covers mine from behind, his soft chuckle in my ear as he nuzzles me making me squirm.
“Time to get up. Don’t want to be late for school,” he taunts.
“I’m not going today. Tell them I’m sick.”
Hands wandering down my naked body, he kisses the back of my neck. “Sorry, but sexual exhaustion is no excuse to slack on your education, young lady.”
“Please,” I whine as he rolls me over and positions himself between my slack thighs. He looks up at me, a wicked smile twisting his lips up at the corners.
“Nope, but I know something that will wake you up.”
“Ransom!” I gasp and my fingers delve into his hair as his mouth forms a seal over my clit. His tongue flicks back and forth, and the hands cupping my butt lift my hips, pulling me closer so he can bury his face in me.
His fingers penetrate my opening as he continues to lap at me, and my hips buck uncontrollably as he brings me to the fastest climax I’ve ever had. I lay there, boneless and breathless for what feels like an eternity. I used to think that orgasms were a rare phenomenon, but Ransom’s quickly proving that theory wrong.
When I finally manage the strength to open my eyes, Ransom is pulling on a pair of jeans.
Leaning over me, he sucks my bottom lip into his mouth and releases it with a smack. His dark eyes dance with mirth as he pulls away and backs toward the door. “I’m going to start breakfast. Join me when you can walk again.”
Damn him, that cocky bastard. When he’s gone, I stare up at the ceiling wondering what I’ve gotten myself into. My mind spirals down a dangerous path of what-if scenarios until even I am sick of hearing the insecure thoughts running around in my head. Last night, when I got into the backseat of my car with him, I decided that there was no more running from this. No more indecisive bullshit. If we’re going to make an honest go of it, then I can’t walk away at the first bump to appear in the road.
Locating Ransom’s discarded shirt on the floor, I slip it on and fasten enough buttons to look presentable, and then gather my clothes up. A quick shower and then breakfast, that’s the plan.
The heavenly smell of bacon sizzling in the pan hits me when I step out of the room, but despite my stomach’s demand for sustenance, I head in the opposite direction.
The second bedroom’s door at the end of the hall is still closed, so I guess whoever Ransom rooms with is sleeping, which makes sense. They came in extremely late last night. I wonder what the story is. If they’re friends or family. Maybe an ex.
That thought sets me on edge, and I shake it off before I decide to march in there and find out who this person is. All I know is that it had better not be an ex-girlfriend. God, what if it’s Red?
Right, I need to stay focused and think rationally, and a warm shower is just the ticket.
The door to the bathroom stands partway open. I push it aside…and jump back with a startled squeak.
Ransom stands in front of the sink, a black towel slung low around his hips. Even though he scared the tar out of me, I quickly recover as I let the vision of him nearly naked set in.
Water droplets cover the span of his wide shoulders, occasionally gliding down the deep crevasse of his spine to soak into the plush fabric hiding one of my favorite parts to ogle. He’s in the process of shaving, which is a shame, because I rather enjoy the feel of his stubble scratching my skin when he kisses me.
His eyes leap to mine in the mirror as I stand in the doorway, and the razor stops mid-stroke. A small bead of crimson appears on his chin and is captured by droplets of water, which collect and begin running in a single rivulet of red down his neck.
Slowly, he lowers his arm, the razor hanging loosely in his hand. “What are you doing here?”
His tone is sharp and commanding, his black eyes filled with dangerous intent, and the change in him is such a shock that my head jerks back.
“I’m sorry. I was going to grab a quick shower. I didn’t think you’d mind.” My words are small, full of apprehension. I don’t understand why he’d be upset with me. Have I crossed some invisible boundary?
I hitch my thumb over my shoulder. “I thought you were cooking breakfast?”
His eyes narrow a fraction more as his reflection continues to glare at me. Lowering his head, he dips the razor into the basin of murky water and swishes it around. Then, he pulls the plug. I stand there and watch him finish his routine, carefully replacing the razor in a custom silver hanger and splashing on a clean smelling aftershave.
When he is finished, he turns to fully face me, covering the two steps that separate us and crowds the doorway with his large body. I look up into his dark eyes, feeling dwarfed, feeling vulnerable.
I realize with a note of apprehension that this isn’t the man who brought me to orgasm this morning and kissed me goodbye so he could go make me breakfast. The man, who stands before me now, is cold and menacing. I feel as if I’ve just walked into a lion’s den at feeding time. I feel exposed, unwelcome, in danger.
It’s the exact same feeling I felt every time we met in his hotel room.
“What’s wrong? Did I do something?”
He studies me with his perfect features, with this perfect calm that only serves to make me feel even more unsteady like there’s not enough oxygen in the room.
“How did you get into my apartment?”
I’m confused by the question. “Are you serious?” I tilt my head to see if there is any hint of teasing in his eyes, but he’s completely unmoved. “You brought me here last night. I slept in your bed.” Nothing. I’m staring at a blank wall. “Did you fall and hit your head in the shower or something?”
The pulse in his jaw ticks wildly. “Or something.” Securing the towel with one hand, he takes my arm in the other and moves me out of his way as he steps out of the bathroom. Then, he forcibly guides me down to the end of the hall where it opens into a great room comprised of the living and dining rooms and a spacious kitchen.
As we continue moving forward, I catch movement ahead. All I can see is a pair of blue jean clad legs moving around, and I assume that it’s his roommate who’s taken to cooking us breakfast—a meal I have decided not to stick around for.
Something is up with Ransom, and I know I told myself that I wouldn’t run at the first bump in the road, but he’s acting strange. Well, stranger than usual. I don’t know if he suffers from a split personality disorder, if he’s bipolar, or if he really did take a nasty fall in the shower this morning, but I’m not comfortable with the current situation. I need to go home, collect my thoughts, and ruminate over them a while.
“I found this wandering around in the hall,” Ransom growls, jerking me in front of him as we enter the circle of cabinets that define the kitchen. “Care to explain to me what she’s doing here?”
I frown, my mouth parting on a protest that sticks in my throat the moment the roommate turns from the stove.
“Holy…shit. There are two of you.”
I’ve just stepped into the Twilight Zone. An exact replica of Ransom stands before me, only this one is dressed exactly the way the Ransom who left the bedroom this morning looked. A quick appraisal tells me that those are indeed the same low-slung jeans I saw him leave the room in.
Looking up at Ransom Number Two, I see all the same details from the curve of his lips to the slope of his jaw, to the high, round cheekbones. All of it is the same.
“Damn,” Ransom Number One says. “I’m sorry. I meant to tell you earlier.”
“Meant to tell me what exactly?” My body feels like it’s been stuck in one of those paint mixing machines at Home Depot. I’m trembling and I can’t seem to stop. Stepping to the side, Ransom Number Two’s hand falls away, and I wrap my arms around myself.
Ransom Number One wears this goofy smile, like he thinks all of this is one giant joke. Well, I don’t find any of this funny.
He walks over and puts his arm around my shoulder, tucking me against his chest and kissing the top of my head. The gesture would be soothing if I wasn’t so damn confused. And then he says, “Joe, this is my brother, Rebel. We’re identical twins.”
TWENTY-THREE
The puzzle pieces finally click into place. The scene they create makes total sense now. Ransom has a brother. An identical brother. As we stand in the kitchen looking at one another, it dawns on me just how embarrassing this situation is.
“God,” I say, hiding my face behind my hands. “I totally walked in on you in the bathroom.”
Rebel maintains that stern frown, and I think he must be a real ass if he can’t forgive an honest mistake. If he didn’t want anyone to walk in on him, then he should have closed the damn door.
“Don’t worry about it, babe,” Ransom said cheerily. “Rebel’s not exactly the shy type.”
Rebel’s hateful stare hasn’t left me for a second, and when Ransom leaves my side to tend to the bacon, I scoot a little closer to him and farther away from his brother. Supposedly, everyone has an evil twin out there somewhere. Rebel must be Ransom’s, I decide. Even his name seems to suggest it.
“Don’t worry,” Rebel says, his voice a deep, dark rasp. “It’s nothing she hasn’t seen before. Right…Joe?”
The way he says my name, like he’s testing out the feel of it on his tongue, is disturbing. Oddly, I feel my body responding to the low timber of it as if his voice is calling to me on a deeper, more intimate level. It must be the resemblance. Or, rather, the effect of looking at the exact same image of the man who drives me crazy.
Ransom shoots his brother a condemning look over his shoulder and turns off the stove. “Stop trying to make my girlfriend feel uncomfortable, Rebel. I’m sure it’s a pretty big shock to find out I have a doppelganger before she’s had her morning cup of coffee.”
“Imagine what a shock it must be for me, then, to see the woman I’ve been screwing these last few weeks dressed in my brother’s shirt this morning.”
Everything just stops. Time, breath, heartbeats. My head snaps up at the same time as Ransom’s. He looks at me and then at his brother as if he’s insane. Which he is because there is no way in hell I’ve slept with this man.
No way.
Is there?
I study both men again. They’re exactly the same, every single detail. But, as they begin to argue, I start to realize that there are some differences. For instance, Ransom’s voice is smoother, even when he’s angry. Whereas Rebel’s is a husky growl, no matter his mood.
That’s the deciding factor. I’d thought the puzzle had finally clicked together? I was wrong. So very wrong.
What I didn’t realize until this very moment was that a piece was missing—the one crucial piece of the puzzle responsible for pulling it all together in a nice, neat package.
Suddenly, the differences I’d recognized in Ransom are making sense. Perfect sense. All those times at the hotel and the club, when he’d been too rough, demanding, and callous compared to when I’d see him at the university, where he was subdued, softer, and more agreeable. When he’d made love to me and actually tended to my needs for once, instead of only worrying about his own.
Ransom wasn’t always Ransom.
He was also Rebel.
Twins. Identical twins.
I’d been sleeping with two men.
Brothers.
My blood runs cold. Falling back, my hip bangs against the counter, but the impact is nothing against the heavy cloud of confusion, hurt, and betrayal that’s slowly choking the air from my lungs.
Noticing the panic written on my face, the yelling stops and Ransom reaches for me. I move out of the way, refusing contact.
I don’t want anyone touching me, least of all him. Them. Fuck! My head is spinning. I feel like I’m on a tilt-o-whirl, everything around me reduced to a blur of indistinct shapes and colors. My emotions are a mess of confusion, humiliation, and abject horror.
How could this have happened? How could I not have known?
“Joe, are you okay?” Ransom’s concerned voice comes from a distance, and the feel of his hand on my arm is ethereal. A lined brown leather recliner enters my vision and I feel my legs buckle beneath me as I’m pushed into it.
Ransom kneels down in front of me and I see him, but I’m not sure if this is a dream or reality anymore. Any minute, I’m hoping I’ll wake up still wrapped in his arms and all of this will have been some twisted joke my brain cooked up.
“She’s in shock,” Ransom says, and another set of bare feet, feet that I recognize, enter my vision.
“It’s not every day that you find out you’ve been screwing brothers. The question is, do you think she knew what she was doing?”
“Does this look like a reaction that someone who knew what they were doing would have?” Ransom answers angrily.
“Women play games. You know this as well as I do, brother.”
“Well, she’s not.” Cupping my face in his hands, Ransom leans closer, looking me in the eyes. “I’m sorry, baby. I should have told you sooner. I should have…” His voice strangles and he squeezes his eyes shut and his head droops on his shoulders.
I don’t know what he’s apologizing for. It’s me who messed up. I couldn’t tell the difference. Or maybe I didn’t want to. Both of them have fulfilled a need in me. But what have I done for them, besides creating a rift in their relationship.
“When did you start seeing her?” Ransom’s voice is quiet, filled with a mixture of regret and worry.
“The beginning of summer, nine months ago. It was right after I returned from New York.”
There is something in Rebel’s voice that hints at a deeper story, but Ransom speaks up. “Nine months,” he murmurs. He looks up at me again, his dark eyes hardening. “That explains a lot.”
Yes, it does. He stands, turns away, and begins pacing.
“Maybe we should sit down together and compare notes,” Rebel drawls, and from the look on his face, I get the impression that in his anger, he’s looking to drum up trouble. “I wonder who she’s more responsive to, you or me.”
“This isn’t a fucking contest!” Ransom shouts. It’s enough to shock my system, and I shoot to my feet, claiming their attention.
“I’m not staying here for this.” I need to leave. Get out of here. Go home where things are simple and there isn’t a war ready to break out in front of me. Right now, I feel like someone is playing a joke on me. Is Annie in a back room somewhere, ready to pop out and tell me I’ve been Punked? There’s no sign of Ashton Kutcher or a camera crew anywhere, so I have to assume that this is my life. I’m a stripper and a whore and a liar and it’s all finally caught up with me.
I grab my clothes from where I left them—in a pile on the hallway floor. The bathroom is right there, so I lock myself inside and tear Ransom’s shirt over my head. I am dressed in a matter of seconds, but it’s trying to dial the phone with shaky fingers that holds me up. When I finally manage to type the number in without making any mistakes, I cry with relief.
Annie answers on the second ring. “Joe?” I sniffle, and her voice fills with concern and a touch of panic at not knowing what’s wrong, but I don’t have time to explain.
I give her the address and ask her to hurry. She doesn’t ask questions, but I know they’ll come in time.
Drawing in a steeling breath, I force myself to leave the room, and make a beeline for the exit. Ransom and Rebel are facing off in the living room, and I bypass them, hoping to go unnoticed. I get caught up fumbling with the multitude of locks, cursing and on the verge of tears, when Ransom’s hand stops me. The heat of his skin on mine is a comfort I can’t afford to fall into.
“Don’t try to stop me,” I snarl, yanking my hand away.
His expression is pained. “I wasn’t going to. But if you wait a minute, I’ll call you a cab.”
I stay stuck in his haunted gaze long enough to drown before self-preservation kicks in and I force myself to break away. “Annie is on her way.”
He nods solemnly and then reaches past me to turn one of the locks. The door creaks as it swings open and the fresh slice of air that leaks in makes my lungs inflate as if they’re starving for oxygen.
“We’ll talk soon,” he promises me. My nod is automatic and before any more words can be exchanged, I escape through the door.
This time, I’m the one walking away.
It should make me feel strong, empowered. But the only thing I feel is the heavy weight of sadness that has settled on my shoulders.
Annie is waiting in her car, parked along the curb outside the building. Her eyes widen when she sees me, and I know I must look like shit. She doesn’t comment as I climb into the passenger seat, only pausing long enough to ask if I’m okay.
My answer is simple, my voice dead, even to my ears. “No, but I will be.”
Whatever happens tomorrow or the next day, I will be okay…because I have to be. I am Josephine Hart, and I was built to stand on my own.
To be continued…
