“I’m taking a shower. When I’m done, I want you to tell me everything you know about the family. Everyone that comes and goes, how they relate to each other, everything.”
“And then we’ll just—” I gesture at him, not sure how else to say it.
“Fuck until you scream? That’s the idea.”
“Kellen.”
He smirks at me and shakes his head, walking away.
* * *
That night,I brush my teeth alone in the bathroom and stand in front of the mirror staring at my tank top and shorts and my hair in a messy bun. I consider changing into something else—but what? A turtleneck and jeans? I won’t give him the satisfaction of knowing this makes me uncomfortable, so instead I take a few deep breaths to calm myself.
I’m exhausted from talking for the last few hours, and Kellen filled an entire notebook with everything I had to say, and still he didn’t seem satisfied. I know there will be more marathon interrogations in my future, but at least we’re done for now. I didn’t even realize I knew so much, but now that he got me thinking, it should be obvious—I’ve done nothing but watch these people for years. I picked up a few things.
Once my heart rate calms, I turn and march out of there like I’m off to war.
Kellen’s in bed already. He’s in a tight white t-shirt and thin shorts, and he’s sitting propped up by a couple pillows paging through the notebook. He’s frowning at something and I hesitate at the side of the bed, staring at his lips as they silently move, subvocalizing as he reads, and the slope of his nose and jaw, and the muscles in his arm as they flex slightly when he turns the page, and I wonder—
How the hell am I going to get into this bed?
I’ve never slept with a man before in my life.
Not sexually, not platonically—nothing.
I went from an addict as a teenager to living like a monk alone in a cottage for years. I never had a chance to fall in love or lust. I’ve never shared a bed with a man, with anyone except Cait really, and the idea of getting under the sheets so close to Kellen and closing my eyes is terrifying.
“Are you going to stand there and stare at me all night? Because that’s going to make it hard for me to sleep.”
“No, sorry.” I slide onto my side, annoyed with myself for apologizing, and adjust the pillow. He doesn’t look at me as he turns the page and grunts. “Are you going to sleep anytime soon?” He grunts again and doesn’t reply, and I’m about to push him but whatever, it’s not worth it. I roll onto my side and switch off my bedside lamp, leaving only his still illuminated.
I pull my knees up and close my eyes and pretend like he’s not there, but I’m intensely aware of him. His breathing, his little sounds, the heat of him under the blankets. It’s a queen-sized bed so we’re not exactly on top of each other, but still, it’s like he’s curled up against my flank and I can’t stop thinking about how close his hands are or what I might do if I wake up in the middle of the night to him pinning me down, kissing my throat, whispering horrible, beautiful things in my ear—
He puts the notebook down on the bedside table and looks at me. I gaze back, not sure what to say, but before I can speak he gets up and walks across the room. I watch him, frowning, trying not to stare at his body in nothing more than a pair of boxer-briefs and a tight t-shirt. His muscles, his tattoos, god, his bulge—
I shift, uncomfortable, crossing my legs. He opens the closet, disappears inside for a moment, and reappears with a dark gray box speckled with dirt.
My mouth drops open as he walks over and sits on the edge of the bed on my side.
“That’s the box you were burying, isn’t it?” I lean forward, unable to help my curiosity. “Why’d you dig it up?”
“I wanted to give it to you.”
“A dirty box. Thanks so much.”
His lips quirk. “Open it.” He shoves it into my lap.
My heart’s racing. A thousand possibilities flit through my mind. Cash, guns, jewels, pieces of a dead body, map to an ancient treasure. My hands tremble as I unlatch the front and slowly lift it up.
Inside, wrapped in bubble wrap, is a cellphone.
I left it out, not sure what to say.
“That’s the only clean phone in this whole building,” he says quietly. “The only way I could be sure I’d have a phone free of tampering was to bury it in the garden. Now, it’s yours.”
“Kellen.”
“You’re my wife. I need a way to contact you safely. Please don’t argue.” He takes the box away and places it on his bureau as I unwrap the bubble wrap. The phone is a basic Android model and powers up easily. There’s already a SIM card inserted and it connects to the mansion’s WiFi automatically.