Page 18 of The Desert Prince's Jewel
He walks inside, sweeping his eyes around the empty shop. “Are you working alone tonight?”
“No. I’m just waiting for the crew, who’re late,” I say, eyeing him curiously as Ranbir all but tiptoes around, closing the door behind him.
He’s wearing that damn uniform, the one that seems to accent every hard muscle on his body. I just wished for him to be here, and now I wish he’d disappear. If only to quiet the racing of my treacherous heart.
“Hmm. I see. So we’ll be alone for a while?” Ranbir says in a totally not creepy way.
I pick up a broom and dustpan, and inch towards the supply closet, not liking the direction of our conversation. I mean, I don’t think Ranbir wants to knife me in the gut anymore. But I don’t think I can handle any level of intimacy right now. I want a good night’s rest and not another wet dream robbing me of much-needed sleep. And seeing him get down on his knees and grovel may just seal my fate to become an insomniac. Plus, he seems way more tired than usual. It’s not the right time to apologize.
Clearing his throat, Ranbir peers down at me with a guarded expression, stepping closer and closer still, “Um, well then, I guess the time is–”
“Not right! Rain check, Ranbir?” I say, fumbling for the closet’s handle as he crosses the room.
When he reaches for me, I freeze. He’s so damn fast! I stumble against the supply closet door, only to curse my continued misfortune when it swings open and collapses under my weight. He follows after me, trying to grab me. And when he doesn’t, I shove at Ranbir andclick.
The damn door jams! It always jams, which is why I never come in here for long, always keeping the door cracked since I have a terrible phobia of locked, cramped spaces. But I cracked under pressure like an idiot! Usually, wiggling the key in the deadbolt does the trick, but it’s like something heavy fell against the doorframe. How? Doesn’t matter, because the door won’t budge!
Shit. Shit! Shit!!
“Are you alright?” he asks, but I’m not. I can’t stay here, locked away. I’m hyperventilating before I can stop myself, ashamed, scared, wanting to be anywhere else but here.
Why do I have to fall apart in front of Ranbir!?
“Open the door,” I whisper, hating how my voice shakes. I clutch my throat, crescent moons digging into my raw skin as I try to stop myself from flying off the edge of an anxiety-riddled abyss, or else I’ll have a full-blown panic attack.
Ranbir reaches over my shoulder and jiggles the knob once, then twice. We’re still trapped, even as he pushes his shoulder into the frame. I start spiraling out of control, turning towards his chest as I cup my hand over my mouth to stifle a sob.
Did he trick me into a private place so he could apologize? No, I’m tripping! Ranbir looks just as confused and pissed off, trying to rip the supply closet off its hinges. And he would if he could. But he’s tried. Exhausted. He doesn’t have the energy I know he usually does.
Fuck!
“Calm down,” he murmurs, but I can’t!
Until he wraps his arms around me, and for a fleeting moment, I trick myself into believing that I’m strong enough to overcome all my fears.
CHAPTER NINE
RANBIR
My heart hammers against my chest so hard I fear it will jump out of my clenched teeth. Until, all at once, I realize it’s Mateo’s erratic heartbeat pounding so hard I can feel it against my skin. He trembles from head to toe in my arms, as I slowly encircle his waist and pull him closer to my chest until he’s crushed.
Taking long, slow breaths, I squeeze Mateo tighter until he starts to breathe evenly. He’s so light. Too light and bony. I frown as I hold him much too tenderly in the cramped space. It isn’t the feel of a naturally slender person. He feels too delicate, brittle, like he’s been living off pastries and black coffee for weeks.
“Have you been living off pastries and coffee, Mateo?” I whisper into his dark curls, trying my best not to inhale his scent. That damn intoxicating scent of coffee and ink prickles my nose.
Mateo pulls away from me suddenly, or at least, he attempts to. Instead of releasing him, I hold him firmly by his hips. Mateo, quivering all over, can’t be trusted to keep himself upright. And I don’t want him swinging in the dark. After a long, silent standoff in which Mateo dares me with his furious eyes to let him go or else, and I remain as unshakeable as stone, he finally breaks the silence with a ridiculous question.
“Can you read minds with your magic?” he whispers, unblinking, gaze suddenly flooded with even more fear.
“I–” he doesn’t allow me enough time to respond.
“Do you have magic? What kind of question is that! Of course you do. You got two arms and no tail right now. What am I even saying?” my terrified barista argues with himself, before resting his cheek on my chest and peering up at me.
“So?” he asks.
“What?” I say.
“Can you read my mind? Give it to me straight, okay?” he says, confusing the shit out of me again.
