Ignite (The Disciples #4) - Cassandra Robbins Page 0,42

come in five minutes later, I would have been in the shower probably masturbating to Axel.

I lift my head and let the water pelt down on my face and rinse my hair.

I wish life was easier, but it’s not. And to be honest, it never has been. Even when my parents were alive, it wasn’t easy. Every day seemed like I had to fight for anything and everything.

Sighing, I know I need to get out of the shower. I never take long ones. It’s too easy to think and remember. But this hot water feels so good, and the longer I stay in here, the more I put off dealing with Axel. My stomach flutters at the mere thought of him.

I need to hate him. What is he expecting from me? After I turn off the water, I reach for a thick, long black towel. Bringing it to my face, I try to form a plan. I can’t stay here, can I?

I’m not sure what I want to happen. Except that deep inside I know that this is where I want to be.

Folding the towel, I hang it up and dig inside my trash bag for my makeup bag.

Jesus. This counter is so clean I can see my reflection. All that sits on the black tile is a bronze toothbrush holder. Unzipping the bag, I take out my perfume and some body lotion, along with my face cream. Everything else remains in the bag, which I tuck away in the corner. Maybe I should put it in his buffet, but he might have personal stuff in there and I’m not a snoop. As soon as I think it, I want to snoop. I suck.

I return to my trash bag and slip on some clean leggings and another short dance shirt. No matter how much I search, it’s clear this bag does not contain my bras or underwear.

“Great.” I pat on my moisturizer and some pale pink lip gloss and figure that’s good enough. My hair, on the other hand, is a disaster. I need my brush and I have a bad feeling I left it. So, I run my hands through it as best I can, then pin it back as a low bun.

“Food’s here.” Axel taps on the door as I apply my French vanilla perfume. My mother’s best friend from childhood sends it to me once a year on my birthday. She’s wealthy and spends most of her time in France, so I guess she feels obligated to at least do something for her dead friend’s daughter once a year. I don’t use much, but I’m getting low. My birthday is next month, and I wonder: if the couple gets my pretty pink package, will they let me know, or will they steal it?

“Whatever, it’s only stuff,” I whisper, then shout, “Thank you.”

I guess we’re back to being polite to each other. I reach for my garbage bag and my dirty clothes. Taking a quick look to make sure everything is perfect, I open the door and almost scream.

“Axel.” I gasp, as his eyes sweep my body and inspect my face.

“I’m hungry,” he says, his voice gravelly, and my stomach flips.

“Your place is so clean. I was trying to make sure I kept it that way.” I close my eyes, wondering if I’ll ever be able to talk to him without cringing.

He looks around and shrugs. “I like things a certain way.” His hand grazes mine as he takes the garbage bag from me and opens up a door.

It’s a fairly large closet, but instead of clothes, it seems to house more guitars and maybe a keyboard? I don’t know—it’s dark, but the man likes instruments.

“No drums?” I tease as I go on my toes to peek over his shoulder. He turns with a grin that slowly morphs into that smirk that makes my heart race.

“In another closet.”

Slowly I lower myself as his eyes travel down my legs to my feet. I suspect he likes it when I’m on my toes.

“Let’s eat.” He closes the door and his hand drops to my back. His warm touch on my bare skin sends what seems like an electrical charge to my core and I shiver.

This is ridiculous. What am I going to do? Looking at him makes me want to excuse myself to the bathroom so I can ease the achy fullness I feel around him. It’s like I’m hormonally off; I’ve never been like this before. One minute, he’s