Page 9 of Fearless
Her eyes followed when he pointed to the other archway directly behind him.
“Toilet’s across from it. Only one, sad to say. We’re going to have to be nice roommates.” He winked, then beckoned her to keep following as he strolled down the long hallway. He flicked on the lights as he went, in case she had problems with the dark. His office with its backyard exit was next to the bathroom. “This door’s always open.” His bedroom dotted the end of the hall. “This one not so much. I like my privacy,” he said as he touched the closed door. He then touched the closed door to the right of it. “This one’s yours. Now, I reckon you like your privacy too. Sad to say, there’s no lock. But, my mum raised herself two of the finest gentlemen this town has ever known. I promise always to knock first and never to enter without your say so. Privacy and trust are very important, to about everyone I suppose. We’ll make that Rule Number Four.”
“Is that all of them?”
He swung his gaze back to hers, both startled and a little pleased that she was at least speaking to him. Her voice was pretty too, soft, not too high-pitched and not too low. She wasn’t smiling, but at least she wasn’t mute.
“That’s it,” he replied. “It’s a small house, but seeing as it’s just me, it fits right fine.”
“No, I mean the rules. Is that all of them?”
Her tone was as guarded as her expression, but he could have sworn his dominant’s ear had picked up a hint of sullen defiance. He kept his smile. “Nah, not even close. Rule Five: Shoes on at all times and check ‘em in the mornings before you put them on. Rule Six: I forgot to pay the maid service, so pick up after yourself, yeah? The rest of them I figure we can plot out as we go along. How’s that sound to you?”
She was here, maybe by her own agreement but not necessarily of her own free will. Still, when he locked his eyes with her, his persistent smile doing little to soften his commands, she only kept his stare for a moment before dropping hers to the floor.
“Fine,” she said, no trace of that momentary sullenness. Something told him it might still be there, but she was good at hiding her feelings. Her refusal to hold his gaze made it harder for him to get a good read on her, and that bothered him. He’d seen this kind of defense mechanism before. It wasn’t the sort born out of pleasant past experiences.
“Are you hungry?” he asked, softening his tone.
She shook her head.
It had been hours since she’d thrown up what few bites she’d attempted, and heaven only knew if she’d eaten anything during her travels. The poor girl was little more than a skeleton as it was.
“I’ll make a sandwich,” he decided. “Thirsty? We’re on well water here and it’s the best you’ll ever taste coming from a tap, but I’ve also a pitcher of tea in the fridge. So long as you bring your glass back out every morning for a scrub up, feel free to take some in to bed with you at night.”
“Rule Seven?” Her face was a careful mask, pale American porcelain without a trace of disobedience. But again, he could have sworn he detected a hint of it in her voice, and the dominant half of him was definitely taking notice. That tickled him. Noah liked a little spunk in his submissives. Not that Kitty was his. In fact, up until this point, he hadn’t wanted to think of her even as a submissive. More, she was like the koalas in the trees above his house. A wild thing, something that needed a little help from him to get by, but definitely not a thing for him to hold or keep.
“We’ll chalk that one up under cleaning up after ourselves, eh?”
She said nothing.
“I’ll get your bag, shall I?”
Funny, how he’d never before noticed how close the hallway was. But, from the moment he made that suggestion, suddenly he found himself eyeing what little space there was between her and the wall. If she didn’t turn sideways, they were going to touch. A curious pang thumped once in his chest as he envisioned his hand contacting her shoulder as he squeezed past her, his back brushing full up against the wall, maybe even bumping some of the family pictures that still hung there from his grandparents’ day. And yet it was the incredibly physical brush of the back of her arm against his that exploded that imaginary tingling into the realm of the very real all throughout his skin.
“I’ll get it,” Kitty said, turning on her heel and retreating in long, quick steps all the way back to the living room.
Just like that, the spell was broken.
What the hell, mate, he thought to himself. No, he didn’t invite a lot of company back to his house, but he wasn’t a hermit. Now and then, he did have guests. Some were even women. He couldn’t count the number he’d slipped past coming in and out of the kitchen or the bathroom, but none had made his skin break out in tingling chills.
It was because she was submissive, he decided as he watched her grab her duffel bag off the end of the couch. He usually did well with submissives, but it wasn’t often that he brought one home for… close encounters.
Not that she was that. He watched as she hugged her bag close for comfort before turning back to him. He was a man who could touch a woman, study her, know without words whether she wanted more, softer, harder, or enough. Right now Noah couldn’t read a single one of Kitty’s thoughts, but the way her arms tightened around her luggage gave him the distinct impression that the same could not be said for her.
Who was reading whom, he found himself wondering, and did she like what she was seeing in him?
Like that made a difference either way. Don’t forget what you’re doing here, mate, he told himself.
Embarrassed at his own wayward thoughts, he pointed to the kitchen’s hall entry. “I’ll get those sandwiches.”
Slipping into the other room and out of her immediate sight, Noah stood for a moment in front of the fridge. Every inch of him was aware of the woman standing frozen in the other room, listening intently back at him.
A creak from a squeaky floorboard in the hallway was his only warning, and thank goodness he heard it otherwise when she slipped past the open doorway, glancing awkwardly in at him on her way to her new bedroom, instead of busily gathering sandwich material, she’d have seen him standing there like an idiot. Only when he heard the hinges on her door squeak open and then the soft bump as it swung shut behind her did Noah dump his minor armload of supper components on the counter.
Hands braced to either side of the cutting board, he hung his head in absolute amazement at the lingering tingles of that accidental touch still swimming through his flesh and his chest.
What. The. Hell?
