Eden
The next morning, I woke to a pounding head, and immediate disorientation. I stared at the unfamiliar ceiling, trying to place the pieces of last night together in my memory. Right, I moved into a new apartment. I’d gotten shit-faced and ended up wherever here was. Someone had brought me upstairs.
Khan.
I sat bolt upright in bed and stared around the room wildly. Khan Aslan out on the street, bringing me home, taking care of me. The forgotten door code… Khan carrying me upstairs. I clapped a hand over my mouth to keep my shriek inside and stared around the room. Priceless and tasteful art lined the walls, and views of the park met my eyes. The view was even better here. It had to be the penthouse. The mirrors and furniture were antique looking and beautifully maintained, and a stunning Turkish rug lay on the floor, soft as a feather to the touch, when I lowered my bare feet to it. I checked my clothing situation, unsure how to feel to when I realised I was still fully dressed. I was alone, that much was certain, and there wasn’t so much as a dent in the other pillow to show that Khan had slept beside me. I stepped out of bed and headed straight for the shower. My foggy brain had to go if I was going to figure out what exactly happened, and I couldn’t face Khan without scrubbing the hangover off me.
I remembered as I stood beneath the hot stream of water from the rainfall shower head. Khan Aslan owned my apartment? Surprise, disbelief, annoyance and a slither of excitement flashed through me. Who did he think he was? Manoeuvring me behind the scenes? What else had he done? Anger won out. Anger that was stretched thinly over something else entirely. A deep, simmering volcano of hope hiding just beneath my outrage. Why would he do this? Why?
There was only one real reason, and the prospect both scared and excited me.
I got out of the shower and wrapped a huge, fluffy towel around me. His initials were stitched in the cuff of the huge towelling robe behind the door. I slid it on and brushed my hair with a comb at an ornate dressing table. Wiping the steam off the mirror, I stared at my reflection. I was passable. I didn’t look my best, but I didn’t look like I was about to vomit, so that was a relief. Khan’s cologne sat in a glass bottle on the counter, and I couldn’t stop myself from unstopping it, and inhaling deeply. Heat washed through me, tingling my senses with the masculine, spicy, citrus scent. I bet it smelled amazing in here when he showered, all steamy and- I had to get it together. I was mad; I reminded myself, as I wrapped the robe tightly around myself and belted it. Mad, right, not flattered, not relieved, not excited. Mad!
I opened the door, and prepared what I was going to say to the meddling megalomaniac who had set his sights on me, rolling up the cuffs of the enormous robe, when I drew up suddenly.
Sitting on the bed, with his legs stretched, ankles crossed, and arms behind his head, was Khan Aslan. He was wearing a black t-shirt, black boxers, and nothing else. Nothing else at all. He smiled at me as I came barrelling out the bathroom, itching for a fight, on a cloud of his cologne and steam.
“Good morning, buttercup. How are you feeling?”