Chapter 31: Chapter 31

C H A P T E R - T H I R T E E N

I awoke in the middle of the night because the Camaro had stopped purring. He'd parked. I knew one thing when he assisted me out of the automobile through a door. I was not at home. I was aware of something else. I didn't mind. All I wanted to do was sleep.

"Bed," I mumbled.

"You got it, Sweet Pea."

Falcone helped me stumble up some noisy steps, and I was interested to look around, but I didn't have the energy. I saw a bed, groped my way to it, stripped down to my tiny black dress and amazing heels, and face landed into it.

It was already dawn.

Shit.

I raised one hand and moved my hair back from my face.

I then blinked.

The building I was in was enormous, and when I say enormous, I I mean enormous. At one point, it had to have been a warehouse. I could see daylight flooding in from huge windows that rose at least three levels above the ground. Additionally, I could see that snow had fallen earlier in the evening. I could also make out that the warehouse was in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by frozen brush and a sizable brook or small river that ran near to the structure. I could also make out that I was standing on a platform with an industrial-looking iron railing rather than any sort of ornamental one.

A large area of plank flooring could be seen as I peered down the foot of the bed, and at the bottom was a large glass-walled cube with a bathroom whose door had just been opened.

My initial stop.

When I turned to look at the floor, I could see Falcone's slacks, shirt, and boots mixed up with my dress and Jimmy Choos. There was something about that that I found appealing and made my stomach squeeze.

I was in danger, boy.

I slid to the edge of the bed and sank my torso down, reaching out while holding the blankets up to my breasts. Instead of wearing my dress, I took his shirt. Then, while still lying in bed, I stood up and put it on. I pushed back the sheets and kept the door shut with one hand as I got out and stumbled to the restroom, half-dazed from still being drowsy and enjoying a nice, restful night and half-dazed because I was in Falcone's den.

The restroom was hygienic and neat, although functional. There were no individualized touches there either, just like in the bed area. All that was on the shelves over the toilet were thick, fluffy towels in midnight blue and dark gray that were folded and stacked on the rails. The bedding and comforter had the same colors of midnight blue and dark gray, which served as a motif.

After using the restroom, I cleaned my hands. Then I went to the medical cabinet because if you didn't snoop at least in the medicine cabinet, you were pretty much kicked out of the girl club. I had to check the medicine cabinet because I had passed on looking at his desk.

Toothpaste. Deodorant. Floss. shaving lotion Razors. Additional two toothbrushes. There it was.

I grabbed a toothbrush and started cleaning my teeth. I would buy him a new toothbrush if he complained that I had used one. Jimmy Choos and handymen to make my living room livable were beyond of my price range, but I could buy a toothbrush.

I washed my hands, flossed, and wiped them. The long sleeves of his shirt were then folded back when I finished buttoning it up. I left after that.

When I did, I was apprehensive. This was unique. What we had wasn't like this. This was not constant fights or fuck buddies. We'd gone on a date. The sneakers he gave me. He had rescued me from a burning structure. My dad didn't mind seeing us in a sexual embrace when he came in. He was the bomb, in Melinda's opinion. I knew his workplace. I'd already met several of his men. He cared about what I said at the dinner table with my parents.

I had now entered his lair.

As I approached the steps and gently descended them, noticing him in the kitchen, I mentally searched through this information and more. However, I refrained from turning to face him. I was observing the vast area. A large, broad couch, two recliners, and a large flatscreen TV are all placed in the center of the room on a thick rug. There is a ton of weightlifting and workout gear along the opposite wall, including a weight bench, weight bars, a treadmill, a stationary cycle, a rowing machine, and an elliptical machine. He utilized the desk and it showed, unlike the rest of his space, with papers, folders, and a laptop on it. The desk was in the far corner, diagonally facing the room. A kitchen with a large horseshoe-shaped bar and stools surrounding it, a countertop up against a brick wall column between enormous windows, and top-of-the-line appliances. There were some large rugs on the cement floor in between all of this, but otherwise everything was basically open. broad open

How on earth did he heat it, jeez?

When I noticed an area under the bed platform that was unmistakably Falcone's space, I moved my head to the left and bit my lower lip. Books and CDs are stacked from floor to platform. a gorgeous stereo. A worn-out chair and ottoman that weren't new or fashionable, unlike the other furniture and equipment. Next to it was a table that was also severely damaged.

A floor lamp with a base that rises and a shaded bulb that hangs over the chair behind the chair to offer light for reading. There was a large, worn-out rug on the floor that completely covered the space. Another cube with a closed door and soft, old wood paneling might be seen at the end. That area appeared out of place; it didn't fit, yet it was warm and welcoming anyway.

Interesting.

I reached the bottom of the steps and realized I had to stop delaying.

I looked over at him.

He was standing in the kitchen, bare-chested, holding a coffee cup high, looking at me.

It suddenly dawned on me.

The benefits outweigh the drawbacks. I had lost my hesitancy. I was quite certain.

It was better than my finest daydream when he was kind, giving, sensual, and open, even if he could be domineering and a lot of what he did frightened me out or annoyed me.

By far.

Additionally, I was skilled at creating the finest daydreams ever since I had spent a lot of time doing it.

Therefore, certainty had to fit in for reality to overcome that, and once it did, it held fast.

As I turned the horseshoe, I noticed that guy was walking about with bare feet and black track trousers with dark gray side stripes.

Hot.

I walked straight to him, not stopping until my body collided with his, my arms wrapped around his waist, and my face pressed into the flesh of his chest.

I walked straight to him, not stopping until my body collided with his, my arms wrapped around his waist, and my face pressed into the flesh of his chest.

"Mornin', baby," I muttered.

"Mornin', Sweet Pea," he whispered against the top of my hair as one of his arms wrapped around me and drew me closer. Do you get enough sleep? ”

As I nodded, I moved my head to lay my cheek on his chest.

"Good," he said, squeezing my hand.

I pushed him back.

“Coffee?" he inquired, and I nodded again into his chest. "How do you feel about it?"

I pressed my cheek against his warm skin, tilting my head back to look at him, my brows furrowed when my gaze met his black ones. "Do you have no idea?" ”

His lips twitched. “No.”

"Half a sugar, half a cream."

His brow furrowed this time. "How about half a sugar?" ”

"I keep my sugar for when I make cookie dough."

He chuckled, his arm tightening for a split second before he continued to stare down at me, and I saw his eyes get drowsy. I'd never seen his eyes go sleepy before. It was incredible.

Then he bowed his head, placed his lips to mine, and walked away.

He proceeded to the coffeepot on the counter against the wall, and I rested on the horseshoe bar.

"I used a toothbrush," I explained.

"Good," he said, picking a cup from some brick-mounted shelves containing a plethora of glossy, midnight blue stoneware, stainless steel utensils hanging from hooks off the lower shelves, and sparkling pots and pans on the top.

I guess he didn't need me to get him a new toothbrush, and the near-new appearance of his dining and cooking items suggested he didn't cook or eat much at his lair.

“Do you move the furniture back and play football matches on Saturdays with your commandos? " As he poured my coffee, I queried the dark skin over firm muscle on his back.

"No," he said, but I could detect a grin in his voice.

“Rugby?

" I continued.

He twisted to the refrigerator and opened it while saying, "No."

“Paintball?”

He pulled out the milk, shut the fridge, and grinned over his shoulder at me. “No.”

"Hmm," I muttered.

He drank my coffee and handed it to me, then leaned against the counter, his body facing mine and our bodies touching.

I had a sip of my coffee as he drank his.

He made excellent coffee.

"You make great coffee," I said.

He didn't say anything.

I cocked my head back to face him. "You're also neat."

His brows knitted together. "Am I neat? ”

"Your bathroom is clean, there isn't a tangle of cargos and skintight shirts strewn over the floor of your bed platform, and your rifle and ammo stockpiles are plainly gone."

The dimples appeared.

"Disordered house, disordered mentality, disordered life, darling," he said.

This was correct. I knew it because Dad had taught me, and it was also a concept I followed, which was why my living room drove me insane.

"I can't imagine you cleaning," I said.

"I don't. Janine handles it."

“Janine?”

"Looks after this place, looks after the base." Janine is in charge of order, so I can concentrate on other things."

"Hmm," I muttered.