His Unexpected: A Demon Romance (COMPLETE)

Chapter Eight - Skin to Skin

Blaise

Goosebumps rose on my skin when I walked inside, the cold air a sharp contrast from being out in the sun for hours. My cheeks felt hot to the touch, even with the sunscreen I'd donned, but the burn couldn't possibly be worse than when Mandy was over. I just hoped that it wouldn't be too noticeable when we went to the cocktail party in a few days. Just thinking about showing up to my first event as Ash's assistant with beet-red cheeks had my heart rate spiking, but there was no use worrying about it. There was nothing I could do at this point, besides slather my face in cut apples and aloe vera gel and hope for the best.

I tossed my towel down the laundry shoot as I passed it on the way to the bathroom, and was about to shut the door behind me when Ash's voice floated down the hall.

"Blaise," he called, his voice deep, and smooth as satin. He's a billionaire, Blaise, I thought as I poked my head out of the bathroom. It would at least be silk. God, why did I think about this shit? Could my brain not shut the fuck up for two seconds?

"Yeah?" I asked when I saw him standing just outside his bedroom door. Living with him for longer did not, in fact, make him less attractive (as I had hoped). He looked magazine ready just hanging out in a towel, and I hated it.

"If you're comfortable, I'd like you to follow me," he said, and placed a hand on the doorknob. "I want to discuss some things before the event."

He didn't wait for me to respond— he just pushed the door to his bedroom open, and slipped in, leaving it hanging slightly ajar. A red hue shone from inside, tinting the wood floor and walls eerily. Alluringly. I'd never seen into Ash's bedroom, but despite how nervous he made me, I couldn't deny that I'd wondered what it looked like. Would he have cursed symbols on his throw pillows? Vials of blood neatly lined up on a shelf above his headboard? A sacrificial dagger chilling on his nightstand? Maybe he wouldn't have demon, uh, paraphernalia(?) lying around at all. Maybe he'd be like some supermodels with giant nude canvases of themselves hanging on the walls and a mirror on the ceiling.

I wasn't honestly sure which I'd prefer.

I stepped out into the hallway and walked cautiously toward Ash's bedroom. I had half a mind to ask him if we could talk later, after I'd had time to take a shower and change out of my swimsuit, but something about the way Ash had phrased things made me think he wanted to speak now, and that piqued my curiosity just enough to override my usual reluctance.

I paused when I reached his door, my hand hovering a few inches from the dark wood, before I swallowed my nerves and pushed it open.

It took my eyes a moment to adjust to the strange red light filling the room, but when they did, I was pleasantly unsurprised. Ash's room was huge, like the rest of the penthouse, but nothing unusual. On the walls hung tasteful, abstract paintings, and above his California king bed was a small bookshelf set into the wall. The only strange part was the red hue, but that came from the wine-red curtains covering the giant window spanning across the entire right wall.

I barely noticed the room, however, when I saw Ash sitting at the edge of his bed, still shirtless in his swim towel. I paused in the doorway, suddenly aware of how outmatched I felt around Ash sometimes, and especially now. Ignoring the fact that he was a demon, he was still— well— who he was, and I had to battle the feeling that I didn't belong here every time I saw myself in the mirror. Ash looked like art under the red hue, some kind of sculpture, an Adonis in every sense, and I was no Aphrodite.

"Come in," he said softly, and I bit back my insecurities. It wasn't as if I needed to match him anyway. I was his assistant, not his girlfriend, and however painfully average I considered myself didn't matter. It was just the bikini making me nervous. The bikini, and the knowledge that Ash was, you know, a demon.