Puppet Master

Chapter Eight

It was his scent that had her opening her eyes to sunlight pouring through the curtains, just like her mother used to say, and she was practically purring as she turned her head on the pillow to face him.

Or not.

Scent lingers, she remembered, from the blanket. Her bedroom was exactly the same as ever, not a single ornament out of place on her sideboards, the pale cream carpet, littered with Jayden’s clothes the night before, was just as spotlessly clean as ever. He’d even made his side of the bed, and turned over the pillow, or plumped it, who knew, but there was no indentation to show that his head had been nestled there in the night. Was that normal? She almost smiled at his tiny neuroticisms. He’d always been such a control freak. He was so cocky, though, so bloody arrogant that you’d probably not necessarily notice until you spent hours of every day with him, watching the little nuances of that private facet to his character, the way that he lined up cups on a dish rack after he washed them, the way he was always playing DJ when anyone was driving, the way he’d overseen the lease on his first flat, even though he’d been two years too young to legally be considered anything but a lodger. The way he threw commands around in the middle of parties, like he could never really, truly relax.

The only place the world noticed was in business, where he was driven and ambitious, and he knew his trade inside out with a toothcomb.

The way he fucked off after sex because he didn’t want to have to look her in the eyes and tell her he didn’t want her after all.

Disappointment crushed down on her, suffocating her, until the strong scent of coffee burst through, and she heaved a sigh of relief, smiling as she turned at the door.

He wasn’t smiling, even though he held all the caffeine, he looked unusually torn. So many different faces to Jayden Caine over the past fifteen hours, she thought, blushing with the memory of a few of the more explicit ones. He’d always been so black and white: angry, bossy, serious Jayden, or smiling on the back porch with a beer Jayden.

But never in her wildest dreams had she thought she’d ever see uncertain Jayden, and she didn’t have a clue what card to play.

Morning after the night before ... new territory for her ... in the face of uncertainty, say nothing at all.

So they stared at each other, the air crackling between them.

Memories brushing through her mind, it was Tori who broke first, biting her lip, and quietly asking for her coffee. He looked down at his hands as though he’d forgotten he was even holding anything – what the hell was the matter with him? Shaking his head almost imperceptibly, he handed it over, with a rueful look on his face (getting weirder), and sat down on the unruffled bed linen that he’d slept under.

“Tor, I,” he took a deep breath, straightened up, “We need to talk. About last night...”

She huffed a sigh, and settled back against the pillows sipping her coffee, not willing to make a single interjection, the man had a thousand excuses, and, if that very un-Jayden look on his face was anything to go by, he was in the middle of some sort of mental lucky dip.