Page 44 of Played By Design

There’s no one at all.

I reach up and pull the headset off.

The real world rushes back, all bright lights and hard edges, and the sudden transition leaves a green afterimage ghosting across my vision.

I set the headset on the equipment rack and return the gun controller to the charging cradle.

The gym is so silent that I can hear the rush of blood in my ears, and the seams in my clothes chafe my skin.

Turning on my heel, I go upstairs and walk into the bathroom, stripping off the uncomfortable sweatshirt and pants.

I step into the shower, and hot water drums down on my head. Steam fogs the glass door, turning the bathroom into a warm, white haze.

Heated tiles warm the soles of my bare feet, a luxury I still register every time, even after living here for two years.

I take the unscented soap from the shelf, and the lather builds between my palms, white and slick. I work it over my chest, my arms, the planes of my stomach.

Water runs down the back of my neck in hot rivulets, but it does nothing to ease the tension in my shoulders.

I stand under the water longer than I need to, not getting out until my fingertips prune.

Finally, I shut off the water.

Drops patter from the shower head onto the tile, then slow, then stop.

When I step out, the counter is empty, and my soiled sweatshirt and pants still lie in a crumpled heap on the floor.

I frown at them as I put my glasses back on, grab a towel off the heated rack, and scrub it over my hair as I head out into the hall and walk to my bedroom.

There, I pull on a clean, seamless T-shirt and a pair of boxer briefs. Water still drips from the ends of my blond hair and beads on my glasses, but I don’t bother to dry either.

Barefoot, I pad back down to the basement.

Kain sits with his back to me, his shoulders hunched forward, fingers on the keyboard.

Without asking, I walk to his chair and wiggle under his arm to climb into his lap.

My damp body settles against him, my head tucked beneath his jaw, water from my hair seeping into the fabric of his shirt. My knees bracket his hips, my bare feet tucking under his thighs.

Kain shifts, one hand finding the small of my back, fingers spreading across the damp cotton of my shirt.

He nuzzles into my hair. “You smell good.”

His pheromones fill my lungs, clean skin and that underlying Alpha musk, but for once, the scent doesn’t untangle the knots in my body.

The weight is there. The warmth is there.

My shoulders don’t drop.

Kain’s hand drops to my bare calf, and he squeezes. “Why aren’t you dressed?”

I turn my nose into his throat, breathing him in.

His thumb finds my ankle and massages in slow circles. “What’s going on in that head of yours, Bunny?”

The question hangs in the air between us. My jaw aches, teeth grinding. Julian’s message flashes in my mind, followed by the oppressive silence, the soggy-fry feeling twisting my gut. The words are all there, a tangled mess behind my teeth.

But when I open my mouth, only two come out. “I’m hungry.”