Better Deeds Than Words (Words#2) (11 page)

“No, there’s the power dynamic aspect. But I’m not trying to manipulate you with my authority, so that doesn’t feel like it applies either.”

“You’ve thought about this a lot.”

“You have no idea how much time I’ve devoted to batting this around in my head. I needed to come to terms with everything.”

“And you have?”

“I think so. I’ve tried to see what we’re doing as morally repugnant, Aubrey, but I can’t do it. Having you here like this—just the way we are now—feels so comfortable. It feels
right
.”

“I think so too. Last night was perfect.”

“Ups and downs and all?” he asked.

“Absolutely. I think we did great. And I’m so proud of us for not crossing the line.”

“Me too.”

He smiled as he splashed his face clean and patted it dry with a hand towel. He stood in front of me, squeezing my waist. I hung onto his shoulders as he kissed me and gently rubbed his cheek against mine.

“You need some cologne, Mr. Grant.”

“You’re right. Mind your legs?” he said, gesturing to the drawer beneath me. Instead of swinging my legs to one side or the other, I opted to move them apart. He shook his head and reached into the drawer for his cologne, spritzing himself and then replacing the bottle, no doubt getting an eyeful in the process.

“Clothes—
now
,” he said, decisively pulling my legs together. “You can get dressed in here.”

He walked out to the bedroom to collect my clothes, and that’s when I noticed the scratch marks.

“Gosh, what happened to your back?” I asked, feigning surprise.

“Whatever it was felt great, and I sure hope it happens again,” he said with a salacious grin. He handed me my clothes, and I took one last look at him in his boxers, capturing the picture in my mind for later reference before the door closed between us.

I dressed and freshened up, peeking at his cologne before leaving.
Burberry
. Where the hell had I gotten sandalwood from?

I pushed the drawer closed and went in search of Daniel. He was in his office, already dressed and looking out the window with his cup of coffee. He seemed so relaxed as he surveyed the skyline. I was reluctant to bring him out of his reverie.

“Hey, there you are.” He turned as I crossed to his desk. “I topped up your coffee. We still have a few minutes.”

“Thanks.” I grabbed the mug and took a sip, wrinkling my nose as the coffee mixed with the toothpaste taste in my mouth. I wandered over to sit on the couch.

The
couch.

“That’s a nice guitar,” I said. “I can’t believe I was here all night and I didn’t get you to play it for me.”

He smiled and walked around his desk to grab it, perching his foot on the table and balancing the instrument on his knee. Who was that smoking hot at seven o’clock in the morning? Honestly?

“How about I play you a little something I learned for someone when I was a teenager? You ready?”

“Absolutely.” I leaned forward eagerly.

He played a few bars of a song, strumming the strings expertly. I had no clue what the song was, but he looked delicious. As soon as he began to whistle, I clued in—it was Guns N’ Roses’ “Patience.” Daniel continued to strum, whistling like his life depended on it. I tried to join in, but the serious look on his face made me laugh.

“You’re a fantastic whistler,” I said between giggles.

“Helps when you have something amazing to whistle at,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows.

“So, I’m your whistling muse?”

“Yes, among other things.” He played a few more bars, singing the opening lines of the song, but then he abruptly stopped playing. “Huh. Who would’ve thought the lyrical stylings of Guns N’ Roses would be so pertinent to my life?”

“I know. Clearly we need more patience,” I said.

“This is true. I think I should switch my PhD topic. I don’t think anyone has come close to unearthing Axl Rose’s lyrical brilliance.”

Daniel placed his guitar on its stand.

“So, who was this someone you learned the song for?” I asked, almost afraid to hear the answer.

“Bradley, of course.” Daniel rolled his eyes. “And I think I know Rush’s entire repertoire. He forced me to learn all their songs so he could pretend he was Neil Peart.”

“That’s right. He plays the drums.”

“Brad’s only aspiration in high school was to bang things.”

“I bet,” I said with a knowing smile. “Too bad no one ever told him guitarists are way hotter than drummers.” I ran my nose along his freshly shaved jaw.

He kissed me slowly, all hot and wet and coffee-tasting. When he drew back, he was grimacing uncomfortably.

“I’d better get you back to Vic before I end up throwing you down on the couch and ravishing you.” He picked up his laptop bag and motioned for me to follow him. “Come on, crazy legs, let’s go.” He ushered me down the hall to the front door where he helped me with my coat, slipping my hair to the side to place a gentle kiss on my neck. “I miss you already,” he whispered.

“Daniel, I’ll see you downstairs in two minutes.”

“I know. And we have class in a few hours, but it won’t be the same.” He sighed and cradled my cheek in his hand. “Promise me we’ll do this again on Friday?”

“
Definitely
,” I promised.

He pulled me into a tight hug. “Okay. Head on down and wait for me in the lot. I’ll be there in a few.”

“No problem.”

Despite my level-headed façade, I knew exactly how he felt. Friday seemed like a lifetime away. I took one last look at Daniel’s orderly living room.

“One second,” I said, stepping back through the door.

“Did you forget something?”

“Uh-huh.”

I couldn’t help it. The temptation was killing me. I walked over to the coffee table and pushed the pile of magazines over, watching as they slid haphazardly across the shiny surface.

“There.” I smiled brightly and rejoined him at the door. He grinned and shook his head as I slipped out into the hallway. “See you in a couple of minutes.”

I was passing the steps of Old Vic just before eight thirty when I saw Dean Grant making his way toward me along the path. He waved, then motioned to my single glove.

“Good morning, Aubrey. Is this your homage to Michael Jackson?”

Oh, David, you’re such a square
, I thought. But then I felt guilty. Would I have thought this of Dean Grant before meeting Daniel’s grandmother and hearing her prattle about his shortcomings? I wasn’t sure.

“Merely another glove that’s lost its partner,” I confessed. “I’m afraid losing gloves is my tragic flaw.”

“Well, you’re the Shakespearean expert, but I don’t think any of the tragic heroes spiraled to their downfall as a result of a lost mitten.”

“No, I suppose you’re right.”

“That’s too bad, though. They were a gift, right?”

“Yes, I feel bad about that.”

“Well, if a lost glove is your biggest concern, then I suppose you’re doing okay. I’ll see you in about half an hour. I’m meeting Daniel for coffee to make sure everything is fine with him.”

Oh, he’s fine
, I thought.
Tired, but damn fine, indeed.

Chapter 8

Security

…you all know, security
Is mortals’ chiefest enemy.
(
Macbeth
, Act III, Scene 5, Apocryphal)

I F
LOATED
T
HROUGH
M
Y
T
HREE
-H
OUR
S
HIFT
in a haze, visions of Daniel in his boxers distracting me from every task. At eleven thirty, I leafed through the few remaining items in the inbox. Anticipation tickled my stomach when I locked up for the lunch hour, and I was practically skipping by the time I reached the stairs.

I was almost out the door when my phone alerted me to an incoming text message.

Before you leave,
head down to the basement. -D

Wait, was Daniel down there waiting for me? I doubled back and dashed down the stairs to the Northrop Frye basement. As I reached the landing, the double doors to the underground passageway to Old Vic swung closed. Daniel was striding down the corridor. Was I supposed to follow him? My phone buzzed again.

Look under the stairs.
See you soon. -D

So, he
didn’t
expect me to follow him. I continued to the basement and peeked under the stairs where I found a bag tucked underneath. I pulled it free and turned to sit on the bottom step. Inside the bag there was a large tissue-wrapped box with a Louis Vuitton logo on the top. Crap, now what was he up to? This was way more expensive than a calendar or a silly pair of mitts. There was a note from Daniel inside the box.

Hi, sweetheart,

I realize this is the second Monday in a row I’ve done this, but I wouldn’t want those delicious fingers getting cold as you walk across campus. I mean it, though-no more. God forbid I become predictable. ~D

I separated the tissue and found a pair of gloves in a muted charcoal color, the back of one adorned with the signature LV logo. They were soft and woolen and lovely. I dug around in the tissue and found a Vuitton umbrella, another note tucked into the strap. All it said was:

The weather’s been terrible round your parts. Thought you might need this.

Round my parts!
The note may have been cheeky, but the gift—not cheap by any stretch of the imagination—was proof that he wanted to spoil me. This was something I needed to get used to.

Unfortunately, I didn’t have time to sit and gawk at the gifts. I had to get to class—where I could sit and discreetly gawk at Daniel. I disposed of the packaging and stowed the umbrella in my knapsack. I hurried toward Queen’s Park where I could see Daniel ahead of me, about to cross University Avenue. I struggled to text while following the uneven path.

Daniel! Louis Vuitton? Are you crazy?
You know my track record! -A

He replied almost instantly.

I don’t care, sweetheart. You’re worth it.
Do you like them? -D

I think maybe I love them. -A

And the umbrella? -D

I love it, too.
No doubt it’ll come in handy…
maybe on Friday. -A

Maybe, Aubrey? -D

Definitely, Daniel…
see you in 5 min. -A

I pocketed my phone and put on the gloves, grinning like an idiot. By the time I got to class, my face was burning, not from being out in the cold, but from anticipation. It had only been a little over four hours since I’d said goodbye to him at Union Station, but I couldn’t wait to see his face again.

Julie was already settled in her spot in our row when I arrived. Daniel sat at the front, leaning back in his chair. I couldn’t look at him now without images of his toned body in those blue boxers flashing before my eyes.

“Hey,” Julie said as I shrugged out of my coat. “Wait, hold the phone!” She reached for my hand. “Are those Louis fucking Vuitton gloves? Since when can you afford
those?”

“Shh!” I shook my head, avoiding Daniel’s eyes.

“
Oh,
I get it. Peace offering?” she asked quietly, glancing at Daniel, who was smiling at his notebook.

“Something like that,” I whispered, stowing the gloves safely inside my knapsack.

Professor Brown arrived and launched into a quick review lecture. My mind wandered, along with my eyes. I caught Daniel’s gaze several times, but as usual, he was masterful in his nonchalance, writing in his notebook and looking around the room.