Chapter 14

14

Something had changed.

It wasn't necessarily bad…but neither was it good.

It was just a shift in energy.

It was nothing more than a feeling, when Valentine looked at me searchingly. Like he was waiting for me to say or do something and he wanted to be prepared when I did.

I couldn't place it exactly but I knew.

This morning after Valentine had fucked me within an inch of my life and had given me the second-best orgasm in history, he'd scooped me up off the bed like he'd done the night before. But instead of the bath, he'd taken me into the shower. He'd gently washed every inch of me, including my hair.

When he was done, he didn't let me return the favor. He'd scooted me out and told me to get ready. Which was pointless because I was donning last night's clothes, sans already worn panties of course, and I had nothing I needed to get ready. So I'd dressed, pulled my tangled, wet hair into a bun that would take me approximately half a bottle of conditioner and two hours to work out the tangles when I got home, and headed to the kitchen in search of a coffee machine. I'd also done a bit of snooping since last night. I'd been more concerned about getting to Valentine's bedroom than I was about looking around.

Unlike me, he lived in a house. A nice one at that. Not too big. Not too small. Welcoming with comfortable-looking furniture that said ‘sit and stay awhile.' Like his bedroom, the rest of his home was decorated in masculine colors—tans, greens, creams, browns. No pops of bright color. No placemats on the oval dining room table. No candles. No lamps on the end tables. No clutter. The whole place looked like a bachelor pad. Not a frat house or place a young man would live, but it was glaringly obvious a woman didn't live here. There wasn't even a potted plant in sight. Not that I had a plant at my place, but I did have candles and color and my apartment looked live in.

Valentine didn't have a home. He had a house.

I didn't like this. I didn't like what it said. I didn't like the feel of it.

Actually, I hated it.

I'll make it worth it, Sophie.

I'd hated that statement last night, too.

Actually, it wasn't the words I hated. It was the look in Valentine's eyes. The tone of his voice when he'd said it. It had been all wrong. Instead of rough from lust, his voice had been hollow. Raw. Tinged with pain and hued with isolation. I didn't understand how a man so beautiful, so self-assured, could sound…broken. How his beautiful eyes could look so haunted.

I didn't like it.

But I couldn't ask. Not yet.

And now that I was dressed and alone in his kitchen I couldn't stop thinking about his admission. He'd liked the pain of my nails. He liked dominating me in bed. I hadn't missed his dominance. Just like he couldn't have missed I'd gotten off on it in a big way. But he'd acted like it was a horrifying secret, like it made him weird or different and he was ashamed of it.

That, I needed to talk to him about. My problem was, I didn't know how to start the conversation and I had precisely zero experience with a man like Valentine. My last boyfriend was Oakley and he would've been happy if I'd topped him. And not because he got off on kink. He was lazy when it came to sex, doing the bare minimum needed and most of the time failing in that department.

"Find everything okay?"

I turned to watch Valentine enter the kitchen. His long legs ate up the distance between us, stopping close enough to kiss my temple. But otherwise he didn't touch me.

My nerves kicked up a notch. Not only had I been too busy snooping to hear him, I didn't know what to do with the no-touching thing .

With a scan of his kitchen, his gaze landed on the empty coffee machine, then came to me.

"You wanna drive through Jitters on the way to your place?"

No. But he obviously wanted me out of his house sooner rather than later and I didn't know what to do with that either.

"Everything okay?"

I wasn't proud of the way my voice gave away my nerves but there was nothing I could do about that. If I'd read more into what had happened last night and this morning or I'd wrongly assumed he felt the same connection that had been simmering between us I needed to know now. I was already in deeper than I should've been.

He didn't answer.

He stared.

My nerves kicked up a few more notches and I waited. In those seconds I felt more exposed than I had spread out naked for him. His study of me intense, his eyes guarded, his body stiff, none of his natural masculine grace was present. He looked as if he was holding himself back and having a hard time doing so.

When I could no longer stand the silence I broke it.

"What's—"

"Nothing's wrong," Valentine interrupted. After another eye-sweep around the kitchen, his gaze fixed on me and he continued. "I just didn't know how much I'd like seeing you in my kitchen." His admission was almost sheepish. "I've lived in this house for three years. "

"Okay?" I prompted when he didn't go on.

"Not a single woman has been in this house."

For some reason that made me deliriously happy but I still didn't understand.

"Before that, I lived in a condo for five years. The only woman who'd ever stepped foot in the door was my teammate, Sunny, and that was only because I was sick and she felt it was her duty to load me up on meds and soup."

Suddenly I felt like I was intruding. Clearly Valentine didn't like people in his home.

"If you don't like?—"

"Did you miss the part where I said I liked you in my kitchen?"

I didn't miss it, but the strange vibe I was getting didn't say he liked anything about the situation.

"I like you in my house, Sophie."

Okay. That was a little better but my stomach was still doing somersaults.

"Liked you in my bed. Liked fucking you there. Liked sleeping with you, liked waking next to you. Liked you in my shower. Bottom line, I like you here, in my space."

That all sounded good.

"And you don't like that you like all of that?"

"That's the problem, baby, I like it. I like it too much. I like it enough to forget all the reasons I should keep this casual between us."

"But you said?—"

"I know what I said and I meant every word. I want all of you. I knew before bringing you home with me, there was no way I could do casual with you. Last night proved what I already knew. Walking in here and seeing you standing in my kitchen after sleeping in my bed, proves I'm a selfish fuck because even though I know I'm wrong for you and you deserve better than anything I could give you, I'm not letting you go."

"I don't want you to let me go."

"That's good, baby, but I wasn't giving you the option."

Now the acrobatics were going on in my belly for a different reason.

"Then why when you walked in did you not touch me?"

The side of his mouth hitched and my Valentine was back.

"Are you sore?"

I will not blush.

I will not blush .

I was a grown woman who knew her body and what she liked and I wouldn't blush like a schoolgirl.

Yet I felt the heat hit my cheeks.

"A little," I admitted.

His right eyebrow slowly rose, calling out my lie.

"Fine. Yes. I'm sore."

"That's why I didn't touch you when I came in."

I must've shown my confusion because he explained.

"I was rough with you last night and I worked you over hard this morning. Seeing you standing here in my kitchen, in my space, knowing how much I loved what I was seeing, knowing you rolled out of my bed, remembering the way you come apart for me, if I'd gotten any closer and touched you I'd forget how sore you are and bend you over the island and fuck you again. I'd forget I need to get you home so you can get to work building your empire. I'd forget everything."

I wanted him to bend me over the island. I wanted to forget my responsibilities. I wanted him to lose control and treat me like I was his sole purpose for living. I wanted that more than I'd ever wanted anything.

But…

"Why do you think I deserve better?"

His eyes went stormy and I wondered if he knew when he was uncomfortable his gaze gave him away. The change was ever so slight, but it was there.

"You only deserve the best."

My phone started ringing. There was at least three feet that separated us yet I could feel Valentine's relief roll off of him.

"And you're not the best?"

His relief was short lived. Every bit of tension that had drained out of him when my phone rang came back full force. Steel-blue eyes stared through me, stiff shoulders, a tic of his jaw.

"Sophie—"

"That's bullshit, Valentine. Who told you you're not worth it? Who told you, you weren't the best? "

He blinked at my outburst and that pissed me off more.

"No, don't tell me. I don't want to know. I have mad internet sleuthing skills and I'll find the bitch and…"

Shit . I didn't know what I would do.

"And do what, Soph?" he teased.

Teased.

He was grinning.

"Are you seriously making fun of me right now?"

"No."

No?

Yes, he was.

"I don't find this funny, Valentine. More than once you've said you'd make it worth it. More than once you've talked about what I deserve, and now you've said I deserve better. That's not funny."

"I can see?—"

"Can you, Valentine? Can you see how that's so totally absurd it would piss me right the hell off?"

His smile disappeared. So did the distance between us. Then his hand was on the back of my neck and his mouth was slamming down onto mine. My mind raced to catch up but it was too late; his tongue swept in and stole my thoughts. He didn't let me up for air until I moaned into his mouth, telling him I was ready for him to bend me over the island.

Valentine broke the kiss but unfortunately ignored my silent but obvious request.

"I couldn't see, but I do now. "

Well, that was something .

"Who—"

"Give me time."

I wanted to push but with his gentle request paired with the pleading in his eyes I had no choice but to give him what he asked. Besides, asking for time when we were getting to know each other wasn't the same thing as denying me.

"Okay."

I knew I made the right decision when he brushed his lips over my cheek.

"Coffee here or Jitters?"

Jitters was my second favorite coffee shop after Hot Java.

"Jitters."

"You got it, baby."

Without further ado, Valentine was pulling me out of the kitchen into the living room. He nabbed my purse, handed it to me, retraced his steps, and we went into his small laundry room, then out into the garage.

"I like your Rover."

"So you said," he returned, holding open the passenger door for me.

My ass hit the tan leather and I looked up at Valentine doing that cool guy thing where they stand in the opening, one hand on the roof the other one on the frame of the door, and stare down.

"Was that your way of asking if you can drive her?" he asked, totally figuring me out.

"No, not if your answer is you never let anyone drive your expensive SUV. Yes, if you're considering letting me drive."

My answer garnered the Hot Cop smile I loved.

"I've never let anyone drive her. But if you want to take her out, she's all yours."

"Why do men refer to their cars as she and her?"

Hot Cop morphed into Sexy Valentine before my very eyes.

"Because men are smart and understand that, much like a woman if you want her to purr then you do everything you can to keep her tuned up and well-oiled."

With a wink he slammed the door.

I watched him round the hood. I did this smiling with butterflies in my belly. Not from nerves. These butterflies were telling me this was the beginning of something special. Something I'd been searching for but never thought I'd find. No, not something—someone.

If he needed space, I'd give it to him. If he wanted to know me better before he spilled his secrets, I'd wait.

At least that's what I thought I was supposed to do.

Unfortunately, I was wrong.

I should've pushed.

I should've asked.

But above all else I shouldn't have assumed.

My naiveté would prove to be heartbreaking and ugly.