“Jesus, Ava,” he murmured and I knew at his words that I was clearly not hiding my emotional freak out which was kind of a bummer.
I stared at him then started blabbing. “I need quiet space. I need to be alone. No bodyguards. No tough guys. No imminent threat of kidnapping and car bombs. I need to think. I need to get my head together. I haven’t been alone for days. I need to be alone.” Before I could stop myself, I leaned into him and put my hand on his (it must be said, rock-hard) abs. “Ren, please, can you arrange that for me?”
He watched me for a beat, his eyes scanning my face. Then he said softly, “Yeah, honey, I can arrange that for you.”
I sagged into him.
“Let’s go,” he finished.
I felt relief flood through me, so much, I didn’t notice he took my hand and held it as we walked out of his office, down the hall, through the reception area, to the parking garage and to his Jag (I did, however, notice Dawn glaring at me).
We drove through downtown where his offices were and I stared wordlessly out the window. My phone rang, I looked at it, saw it said “Luke calling” and flipped it open.
Then I flipped it shut, open again and turned it off.
I knew Ren watched this and I didn’t care. I was beyond caring, about a lot of things.
He took me to a house in Cheesman Park, a big, old, graceful one. He expertly parallel parked in front (and I had to admit, I was impressed, I could never parallel park) and walked me to the door. Inside it was a big, house-wide front room, side dining room to the back and left, kitchen on the other side, behind a wall, lots of windows with some stained glass. A split, sunny staircase in the middle where Ren led me up and to a bedroom.
Ho-ly crap.
I halted and turned to him. “Ren –” I started.
He gave me a gentle shove inside but took a step back, hand at the doorknob. “If you need anything, call,” he said.
Then he left, closing the door behind him. I stared at the door then turned and looked at the room.
More big windows, hardwood floors, dark wood furniture with a big bed, four high, spiked posts, wine-colored sheets and comforter.
I sighed. Nothing for it.
I threw myself on the bed, bounced a couple of times and curled into a ball.
You’re just latching onto this to protect yourself, Good Ava accused in my ear.
Yippee! We’re in Ren’s bed! Bad Ava yelled.
You need to talk to Luke, Good Ava advised.
You need to touch yourself in Ren’s bed. Mm, yum, Bad Ava advised.
Good Ava glared around my neck at Bad Ava. Stop talking about Ren!
Bad Ava glared back. Ren called us “honey”, we’ve been around Ren with LOTS of other women. He’s never called ANY of them “honey” like he did to us.
Good Ava had no comment because Bad Ava was right.
I closed my eyes tight and decided instead of sorting through my rampaging thoughts, I was going to try to think nothing at all.
That didn’t work so I started to sort through my rampaging thoughts.
In the end, I realized I had two choices. Be sloppy seconds to Jules for as long as it lasted and who knew how long it would last. Jules was with Vance, very with him, no way Luke was going to get in there. He might need sloppy seconds for a good, long while if his sexual appetite last night was anything to go by. Or I could get the hell out and fast.
Since I couldn’t get the hell out and fast, (which was my preferred choice) considering my life was totally fucked up and Luke had made it clear he wasn’t done with me, I’d have to take the first.
At least until I got my sextuple revenge against Dominic Dickhead. Then I was off to Jamaica for the longest vacation in history.
On that unhappy thought, I slipped into a wee nap.
I woke up when the bed moved. I saw a thigh and looked up. Ren was sitting on the bed looking down at me. His face was totally soft and gentle.
Wow.
“I didn’t mean to wake you,” he said quietly.
I got up on an elbow. “That’s okay,” I said, my voice still sleepy. “What time is it?”
“After five. You hungry?”
I had missed lunch. I still wasn’t hungry.
“Yeah,” I lied.
He took my hand, helped me out of his bed and we went downstairs. Ren made spaghetti while I watched and drank red wine. Considering I was coasting on the dregs of morning toast (with unmelted butter), the red wine hit my head like a shot.
Therefore by the time we sat down at his dining room table with bowls of (delicious, it must be said, Ren could cook) spaghetti, I had had two glasses of wine and was working on my third. I wasn’t quite drunk but I was in a talkative mood.
Unfortunately, Ren asked what was happening. So, seeing as I felt like talking, I told him.
Everything.