The Tenant (18+) (Sample)

Two

"Can I join you?" The haughty voice of a female comes over the sound of water falling.

     The blood in my veins turns to ice as I freeze, realising she must think it's Christopher in here. Is it his girlfriend? What would she think at the sight of a woman showering in his apartment?

     I turn off the shower, draping myself in a beige Egyptian Cotton towel and tying back my hair. Bracing myself for a shit storm, I open the door.

     Before me stands a beautiful woman, early twenties at most, with blonde hair that falls to her waist. Her brown eyes twinkle with mischief until they fall on me and morph into confusion.

"Who are you?" She asks accusatorily, as though I were trespassing her territory.

"I'm--"

"She's Ashleigh, not that it's any of your concern," Christopher's voice answers, smooth and rich like melted chocolate despite the sharp edge to it. "What are you doing here, Katie? I've told you before not to let yourself into my apartment."

"Why give your PA a key if you don't intend on letting her use it?"

"Emergencies only. This is my home, not somewhere you're free to wade into whenever you please."

     If his words upset her, Katie doesn't show it. She smiles at him warmly, almost predatorily, but it's not returned. Christopher doesn't look pleased at the sight of her, although his gaze doesn't rest on her for long. His green eyes drink me in, from the tips of my toes to the very top of my head, with a pained expression painting his face.

     The fibres of the towel rub against my bare skin, reminding me that I'm dripping wet, and that a single movement could send the towel falling to the floor, leaving me as naked as the day I was born. I didn't need to give Christopher, or his PA for that matter, any more of a show than I had last night.

"Nice meeting you Katie, but I'd better be-- erm--" I say awkwardly.

     Grasping at the towel, I navigate around them. Katie moves out of the way to allow me past, but Christopher stays rooted to the spot, his eyes still trained on mine as I maneuver around him. My arm brushes against him, eliciting more chills than the low temperature of the apartment. I try to push away the images of what it would be like for our skin to touch in other places, too.

     In the safety of the guest room, I get dressed for the day. I'm not entirely sure what to expect. The deal had been to spend the weekend here, to experience the 'unlivable conditions'. It hadn't been terribly clear whether that meant spending the weekend in doors, and consequently with Christopher.

     I can hear the bickering between him and Katie from the other room, although only his voice is clear, the booming of it reverberating around the walls. When he's pissed off, it brings my animalistic urges further to the surface, the roughness of his tone edged with authority. Get a grip, I think, he's your tenant. Even if he were interested, it can't happen.

     It still doesn't stop my mind flooding with the thought of his mouth on mine, hands burning the bare skin of my waist as they move towards the waistband of my... Stop it Ashleigh!

     When I hear Christopher quiet, followed by the immediate slamming of the front door, I decide to emerge from the room. Despite wearing an undershirt, heavy cotton t-shirt and a hooded jumper, it's still freezing, and I wrap my arms around myself to retain my body heat. It's futile.

"I made you breakfast," Christopher says, gesturing towards a plate of toast and eggs on the island in front of him.

     Sitting on the stool opposite him, I reach greedily for the plate, my stomach growling in  monstrous symphony with my increasing heartbeat. He pushes a mug of coffee towards me, the smell of it filtering up in wisps of warmth as I bring it to my lips.

"Thanks," I mumble appreciatively, the hot liquid doing more than my clothes to warm me. "Since when was cooking for me part of our deal?"

"Since I invited you to be a guest in my home," Christopher says, as though it should be common sense. I laugh quietly, my mouth forming a lopsided grin as I snatch up a slice of toast. "Plus, after your show last night, I kinda feel like I owe you something."

     The toast goes down my esophagus whole as I cough and sputter, trying desperately to swallow down the large lump it creates in my throat. I watch him with widened eyes, my vision blurred from the tears forming as I gasp for air.

"I thought we agreed we'd forget about that," I stammer, my discomfort laced over the features of my face.

"I don't remember agreeing to that. Couldn't forget about it if I tried. In fact, I--"

     Whatever words he was planning to torture me with next are lost on him, the shrill ringing of his phone breaking our eye contact. With a hesitant grunt, he answers it.

"I've already fucking told you I'm not going. What more do you want?" He asks roughly. The apartment is filled with an uncomfortable silence as the person on the receiving end of his fury replies. "Business can wait for one damn weekend. This is the only time I've turned him down, and if it fucks up our deal then good riddance."

     Exhaling harshly, his breath clouding in the space between us, he hangs up and slams his phone on the countertop.

"Don't let me hold you back if you've got things to do," I say, unsure of whether I prefer his pearly white smile or the gruff, caveman look he currently wears. They're both appealing in entirely different ways.

"I've got a business partner in New York who wants me to fly out to meet him. I'm not dropping things at last minute for him. Besides, I can't just leave you in my apartment--"

"I own the place. It's hardly like I'm going to rob you or turn it upside down; I can be trusted."

"I don't doubt that," Christopher says, smiling into the rim of his coffee mug as he looks at me through dark, sweeping lashes. "Maybe I'd just like to spend a little more time with you."

     The thud, thud, thud of my heart echoes in my ears, gradually picking up pace until I feel I could pass out. I'm half considering launching myself across the island at him, to show him exactly how I'd like to spend time with him. Instead I grip the underside of the chair, not trusting my body not to ruin my attempts at professionalism in search of euphoric relief.

     At seeing the tense set of my shoulders, Christopher leans closer, his elbows resting on the countertop as he leans on his arms. His biceps are flexed, the muscles strained against his grey hoodie, and I find myself edging closer to him. The space between us is small enough that his minty breath fans my face, and despite him seeming composed, it's just as erratic as my own. 

"Maybe I'm even hoping I'll get a glimpse of you half naked again," he says throatily, the ghost of a smile wiped from his face as his eyes narrow.

     I'm a goner.