Adam froze—just for a split instant, but even in my hazy state, I noticed it.
“Are you?” I repeated.
“Here’s a bottle of water—and your aspirin’s in the bathroom?”
I glowered at his back as he disappeared into the bathroom. I took my aspirin and drank the water. Then I stood and walked toward him. “We can always take care of this whole thing now.”
He pressed his lips together. “You’re drunk, Emilia.”
“So… that was the original plan, anyway. Drink a lot of wine and then lie back and think of medical school.” I snorted, though at the back of my mind I was vaguely aware that I shouldn’t have said that. I probably shouldn’t have snorted, either.
His dark eyes glinted in the low light. “Do what, now? Lie back and think of medical school? Was that your idea of how this would go down?”
I shrugged and took another step forward, until we were touching, chest to chest. “Maybe. You plan on showing me it could be different?”
He didn’t move, just stared at me. “When the time comes, you’ll see it’s very different.”
I tilted my head up toward him flirtatiously. “Show me.” And I pressed my lips to his in an open-mouthed kiss. He returned the kiss, sliding his tongue into my mouth before pulling back.
“I will show you—just not when you are smelling like Ernest and Julio Gallo’s wine cellar.”
I threw my arms around his neck with wild abandon. “Come on. My bed is right over there.”
“You’re right. Let’s go then.” He bent and scooped me up and I let out a little squeal of surprise. He carried me over to my little twin-sized bed and laid me down on it.
“Time for sleep, Emilia.”
I lay there, squinting in the light. “Why are you putting this off?” I asked quietly.
He smoothed my hair back from my face, sitting beside me on the edge of the bed and didn’t speak for a long time.
“Let’s talk about it when you are feeling better.”
My eyes fluttered closed. I had to admit that my head was throbbing and all I could think about was how tired I was. “I’m sorry,” I finally whispered.
“For what?”
Sleep was reaching up to take me. “For saying you were empty.”
And I don’t remember much after that—except for the vague impression, minutes later, of him leaning down to kiss my cheek and murmuring against my skin. “You were right.”
Chapter Ten
I woke up fairly early—around seven—and it took me a few minutes to clear the cobwebs out of my mind, but thankfully I had no headache. I remembered everything that had happened the night before with a sudden rush. Cursing my own stupidity for having drunk so much wine at a study date, I crawled out of bed, working the kinks from my neck and back, and took care of my brief morning routine. Shower, dressing, breakfast.
I opened up the computer and went to the webpage for my Cayman bank account to check the balance. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust him, but I was curious. And it was just as he’d said. Transferred from his account into mine, dated the day before. First thing Monday morning. I shook my head, trying to figure out what the hell was going on and strangely feeling like I was digging myself deeper and deeper into a hole that I had no idea whether I liked or not.
I had half the money. Shouldn’t I be happy? But for some unsettling reason, I wasn’t. This payoff represented a barrier between us—like a wall, half-built. The balance of our transaction would only complete that barricade, blocking us from each other forever. After his kindness the night before, I had to admit to the regret—even if I just allowed myself to wallow in it for a few moments before solidifying my resolve that things had to be this way. That it was for his protection as well as mine. We had the power to hurt each other. With this safeguard in place, it could never happen. We both knew it would end and exactly when it would end. Or so I hoped. There was still that niggling matter of why he kept putting this off.
I bent my head, resting my forehead in my palm for a long moment, and when I opened my eyes, I saw the key sitting on the table next to the computer. It wasn’t mine. There was a sticky note attached to it with neat, even printing that I did not recognize. It was an address—somewhere very close, near the Old Towne area at the center of the city of Orange. I stared at it, puzzled, starting to understand Heath’s description of where we were: Bizarro world with a sharp left turn into fucked-up land. When I inhaled, my chest felt tight, my heartbeat thumping. Was this a key to his house? Why the Orange address?