Page 31 of Princess of Thieves

“Okay,” I say, almost a whisper. I glance around. There’s no couch or anything—not even a recliner—only his bed in the corner.

“It’s yours,” LJ says. “And anything you need.”

Suddenly, the thought of a plush mattress underneath my aching muscles sounds better than sex. I nod and pluck at the waist of my damp, sweaty sundress. “Maybe a clean T-shirt, if you have one.”

LJ nods and strides over to the low dresser that sits beside his bed. He pulls out a black T-shirt, of course, and lays it at the foot of the bed. Then he takes a few strides away and faces the rest of the room, hands folded at his back waist, military style. It takes me a moment to realize what he’s doing, and then it clicks.

He’s turned around so I can change in privacy. His loft doesn’t have any walls, after all.

Feeling strangely meek, I pad over to his bed and shuck the sundress over my head in a single motion, the cotton releasing for me and letting in a welcome cool breath of air on my skin. It feels nice—so nice. I almost wish I could crawl into bed like this, in nothing but my underpants. But I know better; I did ask for the T-shirt.

I ball up the dress and chuck it into the corner, then shimmy the T-shirt over my head. It’s huge, the sleeves hanging down tomy elbows and the hem brushing just above my knees, but it’s soft and comfortable. I can’t deny it smells comforting, like LJ.

“All done,” I say.

LJ turns around slowly. He looks from me to the wadded-up dress on the floor. “You don’t want to hang that up or something?”

I cast a sideways look at it. “I’d rather not,” I say flatly. “Don’t think I’ll be re-wearing it.”

“Fair enough.” LJ strides over, scoops it up with one hand, and chucks it into a nearby trash can. “You’ll never see it again.”

I can’t help but smile at that. “You never do anything halfway, do you?” I say.

“Not my style,” he replies.

His eyes drift back to me, and my skin prickles with faint heat. Even though it’s beautifully cool in here and I’m hardly exposed in any indecent way, I’m showing a decent amount of leg. And he notices. He’s trying not to notice, but he does. Even without that much skin showing, I’m not wearing a bra, and his eyes linger.

I let him look a beat too long because something in my resolve cracks. If I don’t lie down, if I don’t sleep now, I don’t know what’ll happen. And God, I am tired.

“Thank you,” I say again. “I won’t be here long.”

“Don’t worry about that now,” LJ says. “Just sleep.”

I swallow, nod, and watch as he steps away, closer to the entrance, to somewhere he can keep watch. I fall asleep before I realize how glad I am not to be alone right now.

I WAKE UP WITH A START. It’s quiet, dark, and cool. At first, I don’t even realize where I am, and then realization comes over me in waves.

All the lights are off, the only illumination a silvery streak of moonlight drifting through the rice paper shade on the window near LJ’s bed. LJ’s bed. I push myself up, still half-asleep, shoving my hair out of my eyes in the dimness. I smooth my hand over the other side of the mattress, but it’s empty, still covered by the slate-colored bedspread.

I sit up further and squint out into the room. A few paces away, on the stained rectangle of carpet, I see him asleep—but on the floor.

My heart twists. That can’t be comfortable, I think. Not that LJ would ever complain. He doesn’t even have a blanket, and his pillow looks like a couple of boxing gloves stacked together.

I press my lips together as I draw my knees into my chest. I can’t tell if I’m still tired or not. I feel drained, but not necessarily sleepy.

I know sleep won’t come if I lie my head back on the pillow, so I decide to tiptoe over to the kitchen area and get myself a glass of water—the poor man’s warm milk. I find glass tumblers on an open shelf just to the left of the sink and fill one with as little noise as I can manage. I’m mid-sip when I turn around and find myself staring at LJ. He’s awake, sitting up on the floor and staring at me.

“Shit. I didn’t mean to do that,” I whisper, padding back toward the bed. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t,” he says. “I’m a light sleeper.”

I stare at him. “Yeah, and you’re sleeping on the floor,” I say. “Come on, you don’t have to do that.”

I feel strangely sheepish. LJ draws himself to sit cross-legged, criss-cross applesauce style. He only shrugs. “I’ve slept on worse.”

I squeeze the tumbler of water a little tighter. “But this is your home. You shouldn’t have to—”

“Princess, if all we got in life was what we should get, then I’m not sure either you or I would be here.”

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