“If I’m going to do yoga in the middle of the night, you’ll have to endure some music.”
“I didn’t mean to wake you.” I shook my head, kneeling on my towel. “You don’t have to get up too.”
He was clicking through files on his laptop. “You’re not alone anymore, remember?” He peered at me over his computer screen. “We’re in this together.”
I couldn’t hold back a little smile. Hearing him say “we” was nice, but seeing him walking over to me, in a hotel robe and nothing else, to do a couple of yoga poses that didn’t come easy to him, melted my heart. He set the laptop down beside us, and Elvis erupted from the speakers with “A Little Less Conversation.”
“My playlist is on shuffle.” I must’ve made a face, because he started to smile. “Too fast for soothing yoga?”
“That’s all right. It’s late for yoga too, so why not go all out?”
Draped in our white robes, we moved in unison, our breathing eventually as one, too. He even managed not to groan when we shifted into half-tortoise pose. We made it through three postures before the anxiety started lifting from my shoulders. Aren didn’t complain; he just followed my lead.
While we meditated, Elvis belted out “Jailhouse Rock” followed by “Hound Dog.” Hearing Elvis, I remembered Aren telling me he liked it because it reminded him of his mother.
I turned my head toward him as we lay down on our backs. “Tell me about your mom.”
Aren met my eyes. “I wish I remembered her better. We were pretty young when she passed away.” He stared up at the ceiling. “She loved us, though. And I remember her hugs.” A sad smile pulled at his lips. “When I started school, I came home one day and told her she spelled my name wrong. She told me about Elvis and how the spelling meant I was special like he was.” He met my eyes again and grinned. “I was sure that meant she loved me the most, but I never said anything to my brother.”
He reached for my hand, his fingers weaving with mine. “What about your mother?”
I took a long, slow breath. How long had it been since I talked about my parents out loud?
“She was beautiful. I remember watching her do things around the house and wishing I could be pretty like my mom. Her family immigrated to the U.S. when she was a teenager, so she always had a Russian accent. When Nadya was about three, she asked me why I talked different than our mom.” I shook my head, surprised at how easy it was to talk to him. “My mom took charge no matter what life threw at us. We always felt safe with her.”
He gave my hand a squeeze and smiled. “I guess we were both lucky.”
I shrugged. “We still lost them.”
“Not really.” He kissed my hand and placed it over his heart. “They’re still right here. With us.” His laptop whirled, shuffling to the next song. The moment the music started, Aren tugged at my arm. “Dance with me.”
I shook my head as he got to his feet. “I don’t dance.”
His smile made me warm all over. How could I refuse him anything? I stood up, wondering when I got to be so soft.
“There’s no one here but you and me.” His lips caressed mine, further knocking down my defenses. Our eyes met, and he took my hand in his as he rested his other one at the small of my back. “Just follow my lead.”
Sure enough, not only could he lead, but it seemed like I could actually waltz while I was in his arms. Elvis poured his heart out, about fools rushing in as the belt on my robe loosened. His warm chest pressed against mine, and he held me even closer. My eyes drifted shut, and I lost myself in moving with him, enjoying the way his breath brushed over my ear.
Then I started to realize he was actually singing, soft and low along with the music. The deep baritone of his voice made my body weak, but I was afraid to say anything. I didn’t want to break the spell we seemed to be under.
“Take my hand… Take my whole life too…” He hummed the rest of the line, and I smiled against his chest. As the song slowed, and Elvis hit the final chorus, Aren drew back. My heavy eyelids lifted, and I found him staring directly into my soul. When the final chord rang out he whispered, “I love you.”
He kissed me before I could say a word. Thank God because if he hadn’t I might have cried. I was no expert with love. I’d been fooled into believing it was flowers, gifts, and romantic lines of poetry. But here in Aren’s arms, dancing alone in our room in nothing but terrycloth bathrobes felt better than any long-stemmed roses and diamond earrings ever had.
Our tongues mingled together, and I savored the taste of his lips as I slid my hands inside his robe, pulling it open. He hummed into the kiss and slowly pulled back, resting his forehead against mine.
“I’m not sorry,” he whispered. “It just slipped out.”
“Was it honest?” I held my breath.
“Completely.”
I brought my hand up to cup his cheek. He turned to kiss my palm, and his gaze locked with mine. I wanted to tell him how I felt, but when I closed my eyes, I saw his face the moment I pointed my pistol at his head.
And guilt stole my voice. I tilted up on my toes, kissing him deeply, hoping my body would give him the answer my lips couldn’t.
He carried me back to the bed, and made love to me slowly for hours. This raw, real love made me strong and weak, like a thrill ride and a cup of hot chocolate all at once.
Already, I was hooked.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Aren
The sun peered into our room through a tiny opening in the blackout drapes, shining right into my eye. I squinted, trying to see the digital clock near the bed. It was 11:30 a.m.
Shit.
I should’ve woken Sasha, but seeing her dozing beside me gave me time to keep her to myself. When she woke up, she’d be putting her guns on and jumping right back into the center of the fight with Fonthill.
Sometimes reality was a raving bitch.
Sasha’s lashes fluttered, and she opened her eyes with a dreamy smile. “I’m starving.”
I let my head fall back onto the pillow and laughed, pulling her into my arms. She grinned down at me with her bed-head hair.
“What’s so funny? It’s all your fault.”
I did my best to produce an innocent smile. “My fault?”
“Yes.” She kissed me, and then saw the clock.
The afterglow bubble burst.
“Damn. It’s almost noon!” She shot out of bed, hustling toward the bathroom. “We’ve got to go check out the gas station guy at St. Mary’s, and I need to find Sebastian.”
Afterglow officially fucking gone.
I sat on the edge of the bed and turned to look over at her. I was doing my best not to be an asshole, but hearing her mention Sebastian a few hours after I told her I loved her was definitely bringing out my less flattering qualities. “Why exactly do you want to see him?”
She came out and started getting dressed without making eye contact. “Because I think he knows a lot more than he’s telling me.”
“That’s hardly a news flash.” I yanked my hand back through my hair, struggling not to growl in frustration. “The guy is a weasel, Sash. Half-truths and secrets are his specialty. He’s only looking out for himself.”
She spun around so fast I almost flinched. Almost.
“Do you honestly think I don’t know that? I’m pretty sure I know better than most what a lying bastard he is.”
I put my hands up in surrender as I walked over to get dressed. “I just think it’s a waste of time to search him out when he’ll only tell you what he thinks you need to know.”