This feels like I’m giving him too much control. I’m not sure how to get out of this, and I have a feeling there is no out. I should have thought about the phone thing, and now I’m inside this apartment with him, or condo, or whatever the fuck it is, with no real way out and zero leverage.
“I should call one of my coworkers, let them know I won’t be able to open the bakery tomorrow so she can put a note on the door or something.”
Paul tilts his head to the side, and judging by the way his face is completely expressionless while he stares at me, I can’t help but wonder what he’s thinking. I bite the skin at the inside corner of my bottom lip and shift the skin back and forth, waiting for him to respond.
“Put her on speaker. Then give me the phone,” he states.
It is not a suggestion. It is not an offer. It is a statement. Opening my small purse, I reach inside and find my phone. My movements are slow and precise. I don’t know why, but this feels like it needs to be slow. Nothing sudden because I have a feeling this guy would lose his cool in an instant.
Finding Dakota’s name, I decide that she’s the one I should call. Sure, she’s probably tucked into bed, but I can leave her a message if nothing else. What I won’t be able to do is tell her anything that I don’t want Paul to hear. So that’s going to be tricky.
Touching the call button on the screen, I wait for her to pick up. She answers on just the second ring, which surprises me. When I hear her greet me, she sounds out of breath. I open my mouth to ask her if she’s okay, but I don’t get the opportunity because she speaks first, asking me the same thing.
“Is everything okay?”
I clear my throat before I say anything, wondering how exactly I’m going to proceed. My gaze stays affixed on Paul’s, and when he dips his chin, I continue speaking. “I’m okay. I just… I won’t be at the shop for a few days. Can you put a note on the door?”
“A note on the door?” she asks in a whisper.
“Just a note saying that due to a personal emergency, I won’t be able to open the bakery until next week.”
There is a moment of silence, and I hope against all hopes that she doesn’t say anything that I can’t explain away. Or ask me anything that I can’t answer. Sucking in a breath, I hold it and only release it when she speaks.
“I can do that. And, Lainey?” she calls out.
“Yes?”
“Be careful. We love you.”
“Love you, too,” I whisper.
For a moment, I’m filled with the idea that maybe I’ve just agreed to do something that I shouldn’t have. I love my family, all of them. The last thing I want to do is turn my back on them.
Ending the call, I hand my phone to Paul, placing it in his still-waiting hand. I watch as he powers it down, sliding his thumb across the screen, then shoves it into his pocket. His eyes slide up the entire length of my body and stop when they meet my own.
“Go to bed, Lainey.”
His voice is gruff, sexy, and a thrill of desire slides up my spine. “Okay,” I exhale.
Without another word, he walks past me, and I follow behind him as I make my way toward the hallway. He stops at a door, reaching out before he pushes it open. Then he’s gone. I don’t watch him go, though. I’m too mesmerized by the bedroom in front of me.
I didn’t think about what it might look like, but I didn't imagine it would be… lush.
CHAPTER TEN
LAINEY
Lyingin the beyond luxurious bed, I stare at the ceiling and wonder how in the hell I allowed any of this to happen. I didn’t just allow it; I ran straight for it, headfirst, no damn brains. Now that I’m here, and this is real, I’m wondering if Viking was right and if I just fucked up… big time.
Rolling onto my side, I slip my hands beneath my pillow and stare at the bedroom door. I’m not sure how long I stare at the door—wondering what the hell is going on, what’s going to happen, and what the fuck is wrong with me—when said door slowly opens.
There, standing in the doorway, lit by the dim lighting somewhere in the distance, is Paul. He’s wearing nothing but a pair of loose sleep pants. They’re low on his hips, his torso on full display, and… I am not disappointed in what I see.
He’s not as big as Viking, not as tall, his muscles aren’t stacked on top of one another, and he’s definitely not as rough. Paul is polished. That’s the best way to describe him. Even now, with his hair a little messy, it’s still fairly tidy.
“What are you doing here?” I ask softly when he doesn’t make a move. Pushing up slightly, I sink my teeth into my bottom lip as I watch him.
He takes a step inside, then another, leaving the door open, but he doesn’t turn the light on. “You’re here,” he murmurs.