Page 25 of From the Shadows

He turns to the side and bends over, bracing with his hands on his knees. He sways despite his feet being spread wide.

I step close to him and rest a hand in the center of his back. Tension skates beneath my fingertips as his muscles bunch and roll, breath sawing in and out of his lungs. “Eddie?”

He tenses, preparing for what may or may not come, and automatically, I reach for his hair and pull it back from his face. Everything screams that he’s about to hurl.

“Okay. It’s okay. Think about cool water washing over your skin, Breathe slowly. Deliberately. In through your nose, out through your mouth. Good, now do it again.” I talk him through the wave of nausea, soothing my free hand up and down his back.

Finally, he stands, one hand on his belly as he presses the other to his mouth. He’s still pale, but red dots his cheeks. He doesn’t look good.

“Let’s go inside, get you some water, maybe?”

All I get is a tight-lipped nod.

We walk across the patio in silence, him focused on not puking, me scanning the area for any slithering signs of the apocalypse. Cool air wraps around us as we step through the door that leads to the great room at the back of the house. I guide Eddie to a sofa, encouraging him to sit, before continuing on to the beverage station. I pour water into a glass but grab a can of ginger beer as well.

He sips the water, gaze averted as he runs his free hand through the long black strands of his hair, pushing it away from his face. “Thanks. I, uh… I don’t do well with certain, uh, bodily”—he pauses to swallow down whatever is bubbling up again—“blood. I don’t do well with blood.”

Merely uttering the word seems to take it out of him. And me?—I’m stunned.

“How can you work here, be around all of this, and not handle⁠—”

“Don’t. It fucking bothers me, but that shit makes me seriously not okay.”

“But—”

“What had you so freaked out? You looked like you’d seen the Devil himself out there.” He gives me a side-eye. A judgmental one, at that.

“Nice diversion tactic. You should be a lawyer or something if this family business doesn’t work out for you.” I drop down on the sofa and cross my legs as daintily as I can manage in my coveralls and bright yellow rubber boots. So attractive. The ginger beer is cold and crisp, spicy with a good bite, when I take a sip. I have to work hard not to react.

Eddie sits across from me, leaning back into the plush cushions like he’s the lord of this manor. His eyes stay glued on mine as he takes a very deliberate drink of his water, his tongue darting out when he’s done to swipe at his lower lip.

The pure unconventional eroticism of that simple move is unnerving. My body heats and my nipples pebble at the thought of all the dirty things that tongue could do.

To me.

Naked.

And the way he stares right through me, that’s exactly how I feel. Stripped bare and completely exposed.

“Jessaline, what had you frozen in place? I’m not sure you’re one to be giving me shit when you were obviously going through something of your own out there.” Now that the color is back in his cheeks, he’s nothing but detached confidence trapped up in a sinful package. Jesus, I bet his package has got to be sinful.

I should just tell him. It’s nothing to be embarrassed by, nothing to be ashamed of. People have fears and phobias, and ophidiophobia really isn’t all that uncommon. At least that’s what I tell myself, because I have no idea.

But he shared with me, so I should open up to him and share my vulnerability.

“I… Well, I, uh⁠—”

Eddie’s gaze stays locked on mine, fully and totally focused on me as Christophe barges into the room. Can it really be considered barging in when it’s his house?

“Where the fuck have you been, Eddie? You’re supposed to be in my office, not lounging with my cleaner.” At Christophe’s mention of my job description, Eddie’s face goes white again, and his throat bobs with a hard swallow. “And you”—Christophe turns to me, hands hanging off his hips—“I need to talk to you. In the kitchen. Now.”

I get it. He’s the boss. He makes his demands and expects orders to be followed, but damn. Even for Christophe, this is rough. And when he turns and stalks from the room, the cool rush of relief fills the void left in his wake.

“Looks like we both got spanked by Daddy.” I push to my feet and unzip my coveralls to my waist. I pull my arms free from the sleeves and tie them around my middle. I don’t know why I need to make that change, but for some reason, the freedom of being in a tank top and essentially loose-fitting pants bolsters my confidence.

“No.”

I push my shoulders back and tilt my chin toward Eddie, still splayed casually on the leather sofa. Outwardly, he’s as relaxed as can be.