J.R. Ward the Black Dagger Brotherhood Novels 5-8 - J. R. Ward [285]
Oh . . . whoa.
How in the hell had Phury stayed away from her?
As she put her robe on, she pivoted toward the house and froze as she saw him. He felt like a total Peeping Tom while he raised a hand up for an awkward wave. She hesitated, as if she wasn’t sure whether she’d been caught doing something bad, then returned the greeting.
Opening the door, he signed without thinking, I’m really sorry I’m late.
Oh, that was brilliant. She didn’t know ASL—
“You’re sorry you saw me or that you’re late? I’m guessing either one of those is what you said.” When he tapped his watch, she blushed a little. “Ah, the late part.”
As he nodded, she came over, her feet making no noise as they left wet prints on the flagstone. “I waited for you— Oh, dearest Virgin Scribe. You’re hurt.”
He put his hand up to the bruise on his mouth, wishing her eyes weren’t so good in the dark. He started to sign something to divert her attention, got frustrated with the communication barrier, and had a flash of inspiration.
Taking his phone out, he typed into a text: I’d still like to watch a movie, if you’re up to it?
It had been a hellacious night so far, and he knew that when the Brothers returned from the clinic and Lash’s outcome was made clear, things were going to get even harder. As he could barely stand to be in his own skin, much less his own head, the idea of sitting in the dark with her and zoning out was all he could handle at this point.
She measured him for a time, eyes narrowing. “Are you all right?”
Yeah, just fine, he typed. Sorry I was late. Would really like to watch a movie.
“Then it would be my pleasure,” she said with a bow. “I should like to rinse and change, however.”
The two of them went back in through the library and up the grand staircase, and he was impressed. She wasn’t overly awkward, considering all he’d seen, and that was attractive, it truly was.
At the top, he waited for her as she went into her room and expected to be there for a while, but she was back in a flash. And her hair was down.
Oh, sweet Jesus, what a sight. The blond ringlets fell down to her hips, the color darker than its usual pale wheat because of its dampness.
“My hair is wet.” With a flush, she held out a handful of gold clips. “I shall put it up as soon as it is dry.”
Not on my account, John thought as he stared at her.
“Your grace?”
John snapped to it and led the way down the hall of statues to the pair of flapping doors that marked the entrance to the staff quarters. He held them open for Cormia and then went to the right, over to a leather-padded door that pulled wide to reveal carpeted steps inset with strips of glowing lights.
Cormia picked up her white robes and ascended, and as he followed her, he tried not to watch the curling ends of her hair brush the small of her back.
The movie theater on the third floor had a real 1940s Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer vibe, its black and silver walls done up with art deco lotus reliefs and ornate gold-and-silver light sconces. The stadium seating in the place was the quality of what you’d find in a Mercedes, not a ballpark: Twenty-one leather chairs were set back in three sections, the aisles marked with more little lights. Each of the superpadded ass-palaces was the size of a twin bed, and collectively they had more drink cup holders than on a Boeing 747.
All down the back wall of the theater were thousands of DVDs, and there were eats, too. Along with a popcorn machine, which hadn’t been turned on, as they hadn’t told Fritz they were coming, there was a Coke fountain and a real candy counter.
He stopped and looked over the Milk Duds, Raisinets, Swedish Fish, M&M’s, and Twizzlers. He was both hungry and nauseated, and had to vote with the greasy feeling in his stomach, but he thought maybe Cormia would like some. As she was busy looking around with wide eyes, he took out M&M’s, because they were a staple, and a bag of the Swedish Fish in case she