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I wake up covered in a soft blanket. I must have fallen asleep reading, but I know I didn’t have a blanket when I sat down.
Grisham is asleep in the bed, sprawled across the mattress, big body taking up the whole thing. He’s got one arm splayed wide and one up, forearm over his eyes. I take in the muscles of his chest, the hair there. I ache to run my fingers through his thick, close-trimmed beard and his wavy, dark hair. His cheekbones could cut someone, and his lips are ... oh god, so good.
I let out a wanting little groan and he stirs. He doesn’t open his eyes, just says, “Hey, baby, come to bed,” in a voice thick with sleep. He turns to his side and pats the bed, then starts to snore softly.
It nearly undoes me, seeing him look like this. I’m not stupid enough to think he knows he’s talking to me. It’s obvious he’s thinking of someone else, but yet, I want so badly to be the woman he’s beckoning to bed. I want to crawl into the protective shell his body is making. I shouldn’t want it. He’s my captor, after all. But I do.
I dig through the bag of clothing and find a whole ensemble of running clothes. I dress and pull my hair into a high ponytail, brush my teeth, wash my face, and shave my legs and pits at the side of the tub. Wishful thinking, maybe, that I’d need to be smooth in case someone touches me.
By the time I finish, I find Grisham awake, thumbing through my book by the window. I race over and try to grab it out of his hands. He holds it high over his head and his eyes spark with mischief.
“I hope you’re not considering this training for the real thing?” he says.
I blush. “Shut up.”
“Good comeback.” Gesturing toward the adjacent wall, he says, “There’s coffee.”
I groan and do a weird little gallop thing over to the machine, which conveniently slides out of a cabinet in the wall. Fucking genius. As my coffee brews, I turn to Grisham, who has pulled on a long-sleeve T-shirt bearing the club’s name and logo, along with a pair of worn jeans that make his ass look delicious.
He catches me looking and purses his lips to one side. “Good view?”
“Mmm,” I grunt noncommittally with a one-shoulder shrug.
“So listen, Tanzie,” he says. “I’m going to give you the run of the property today. It’s not fair to keep you locked up here. There’s a gym on the east end. You saw the dining room, and the kitchen’s just across the hall. There’s a pool out back. The garage is further past that, down the path. Feel free to wander, but if you try to leave, the guys will just bring you right back.”
This is the most I’ve ever heard him speak. And he’s saying words that indicate some freedom and trust. I could jump for joy.
“That’s awesome,” I say. “Thank you so much.”
He pushes his lips together. It’s not a smile, but it’s not a frown either. It’s, like, an acknowledgement that he’s made me happy. I’ll take it, but I decide in that moment that it’s my new mission in life to see him smile.
I wonder how often that ever happens?
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