Solace in Scandal. Kimberly Dean
but he kept going until the muscles wouldn’t respond any more. He dropped to the ground, flipped onto his back and started doing sit-ups.
She was an unwanted, uninvited distraction who apparently didn’t want to be here any more than he did.
He stopped for a moment on the upbeat with his elbows bumping against his knees.
No, that wasn’t all true. He wanted her like hell.
His teeth gritted as he started pumping out the reps again. She was beautiful. Heart-stoppingly so. When she’d come upon him down by the lake, he’d gotten his first up-close look at her. It had nearly made him swallow his tongue. She was tiny, but with curves in all the right places. Her hair was so long and silky, it made his fingers itch. But that face. Her skin was flawless and he couldn’t look away from her eyes. She had doe eyes. Deep, dark and captivating.
He could drown in those eyes.
Or he could drown her.
He didn’t need her here, not now and not like this. He needed this time alone. He couldn’t afford distractions, no matter how gorgeous or tempting.
But he couldn’t send her away. He might be a heartless son-of-a-bitch, but he wouldn’t feed her to the wolves. Not the kind that stood outside his door, anyway.
‘Shit,’ he muttered.
Collapsing back, he lay on the gym mat and stared at the fluorescent lighting. This was the first time he’d used the gym in ages. The rain this morning had forced him inside. A little drizzle wouldn’t have stopped him, but a constant downpour was another thing. He’d had his share of discomfort. The Precor and Cybex equipment was here for a reason.
He rolled his head and looked around the room. Full-length mirrors on the opposite wall showed his reflection. He’d put in a hard workout. His body felt like mush as he tried to catch his breath. His muscles were warm and his skin was damp with sweat. For a moment, he let his eyes close. Worn out, maybe he could relax.
He lasted for fifteen seconds. Twenty tops.
He heard every little pop and whir in the building. The last year and a half had honed his senses, and he was aware of everything that went on around him. Too aware. That made it all the more difficult to explain how she had snuck up on him yesterday in the garden – and she’d come up behind him. The last guy who’d made that mistake had ended up in the infirmary, yet she’d come upon him like a butterfly on the wind. He’d only known she was there when he’d sensed her watching him.
And felt the responding tightness in his groin.
With a surge of energy, Ax came to his feet. Grabbing his towel, he wiped his face and stalked off to the shower. The woman was like a wraith, so quiet as she floated about the grounds. She was ethereal as she took her morning walks in the mists along the waterfront … entrancing as she did yoga on the dock … but so sad, it made him ache.
He needed to get her out of his head. He needed to be sharp. He would be sharp.
But today, instead of feeling like a knife blade, he felt more like a hammer head.
The towel snapped against his back as he flung it over his shoulder. ‘Damn rain.’
It had him trapped him inside this house. It might have more rooms than he could count, but so had Otisville. He didn’t like being pinned down here by the media any more than his guest did. Wolfe Manor had its own special kind of demons, even for one of its own.
Especially for one of its own.
Something caught at his athletic shoe as he walked into the bathroom, and he looked down quickly. The thick rubber mat that covered the floor had flipped up at the corner. Demons, indeed. They were grabbing for him even now. Walking into the bathroom, he slammed the door shut behind him.
He stripped as the water warmed. When he finally pulled the glass door shut behind him, the steam was already rising. Bracing his hands against the granite wall, he let the dual shower heads spray over him. He was pushing himself, he knew. That snake was still coiled inside his chest. He was doing his best to keep it contained, but she’d seen it lash out yesterday. He regretted that.
He bowed his head and the pulsating water beat against the back of his neck. He needed to get both of them out of here.
Those eyes.
They showed everything she was feeling – distrust, curiosity, anger, lust …
Ax felt himself stirring. His tired body was filling with another kind of energy, one that was immediate and gnawing. Hunger started seeping through his veins. His mouth watered and his fingertips ached. His senses heightened, and the images behind his closed eyelids became vivid. Below the belt, he was hard and aching. Damn near throbbing. When the tip of his erection bumped against his belly, he swore and slapped the slick wall.
‘Fuck.’
Standing upright, he reached for the soap. He’d had her pegged that first night. She was a temptress, a siren luring him in so she could bring him down.
That was not going to happen.
With their intertwined histories, they could destroy each other.
He soaped himself, shampooed and rinsed off. His body was one big ache, but he ignored it. Screw the rain, he needed to get out of this house.
He turned off the water so abruptly, the pipes shook. The bathroom was cloudy as he stepped out of the shower stall. He’d forgotten to turn on the fan. The mirror was fogged over and condensation covered the fixtures. He dried off the moisture, but it came back just as quickly. He wrapped a fresh towel around his waist and reached for the bathroom door to let in some fresh air.
It didn’t give.
His head came up. The tired muscles of his gut seized up as one, and he gave another tug on the door.
It held firm.
‘What the hell?’
Stepping closer, he looked to see if a lock had been flipped. There wasn’t even a mechanism. Wrapping his fist around the handle, he braced his other hand against the wall. He might be fresh from a workout, but he should still have enough strength to open a stinking door. With a sound close to a growl, he gave another yank.
This time the top corner bowed inward, but the bottom remained lodged. Something had the door jammed.
Ax felt his breaths go short and his chest tighten unbearably. The air wasn’t going past his throat and it felt like it was bulging. He yanked on the door again. Shoved it and pulled. It was like a bank vault.
The walls pressed in on him. He looked over the door, his thoughts pinging about as he tried to force his brain to work. Looking around, he realised he was in an interior room. No windows. No other route for escape.
The snake slithered. He jimmied the door and yanked it harder.
Nothing worked.
He was locked in. Trapped in the tiny space. Those demons he remembered were out and about, taunting him. He slapped the light switches, turning on the string of bulbs over the vanity, and switched the fan on high. The dampness in the air was making it hard to breathe. The moisture coated his vocal cords and clung to his exposed skin.
‘Hey!’ he yelled, banging his fist against the door. ‘Somebody!’
The big old house was silent.
Not wanting to, he turned off the fan so he could hear. The loss of the whirring noise left a gaping hole. He heard nothing. No water dripping, no gym equipment running, no footsteps, no voices in return.
He set up a staccato rhythm that had the door bouncing on its hinges. It set up a racket, but the door was immovable.
‘Can anyone hear me?’
He heard a noise now, but it was his heart pounding in his ears and his head. He was confined again. He slammed both fists against the heavy oak door, making contact all the way down his forearms to