13. Saar
Chapter 13
Saar
I think I’m attracted to him.
Lily
To whom?
Celeste
Cormac the devil Quinn?
Cora
Who isn’t? Have you seen the man?
Have you met him? His personality negates everything else about him.
Cora
(laughing emoji) …and yet.
Celeste
How does he feel about it?
Who cares? I despise him.
Lily
Aren’t you attracted to him?
That’s the problem. But none of you are helping.
Cora
(laughing emoji)
I shower, blow-dry my hair, and sit on my bed, waiting for Corm to leave for work. I don’t know his schedule yet, but a busy man like him must be gone by nine o’clock. Sooner for sure. But I don’t want to risk it, so I’m idling around my room.
I can’t face him. I don’t know what I was thinking. I don’t even know why I went to talk to him last night.
His abrupt departure from my room unsettled me, and if I want him to set the date, I want to make sure that... Argh, hell if I know.
His door was ajar. Or did he leave it open on purpose? I didn’t expect to interrupt that . And I didn’t even interrupt. He continued.
Why? Why am I never on a level playing field with him?
I thought he didn’t see me. But something about seeing him naked—God, the man is gorgeous—making himself come, paralyzed me.
Just seeing him all-powerful and vulnerable was mesmerizing. It made him look human. That is, if a man with the body of God can be human. I couldn’t take my eyes off him. I almost fucking came myself from just seeing him come undone.
But it wasn’t just me seeing him . He saw me. How long did he know I was standing there? He probably got off on my spying. Disgusting. Or hot. I’m so confused.
As if my existential crisis isn’t enough, now I have to tango around this unfortunate situation. Plus my weird hateful attraction to him.
I sigh. Facing Corm today isn’t even the biggest of my issues. It’s my inability to unsee what I witnessed last night.
My libido has been so low, I haven’t used my vibrator in months. Until last night. I was wet when I returned to my room, arousal trickling between my thighs. That rarely happens.
Shit. I’m physically attracted to the man I hate. One that has been playing a power game I keep losing.
Now I have to play the dutiful fiancée if I want him to move forward with the stupid wedding. Can my life be more fucked up?
On top of everything, Vito hasn’t returned my calls in two days. Poor man probably wants to spare me more devastating details of my dire situation.
Okay, no more wallowing. I’m going to rock the shit out of this arrangement. I’m going to buy all the books about burnout, set up as many networking meetings as possible, and find my purpose by the end of this month.
And hopefully, by the end of the month, I’ll have my money and can have my freedom back. Life looks better after a few self-inflicted orgasms that made me fall asleep.
Nora’s offer flickers through my mind, but I dismiss it. It feels like too big of a venture in my current state. I need to find myself before I can do something so big.
My improved mood goes down the drain the minute I enter the kitchen.
With his back to me, my fiancé stands by the bay window, talking on the phone. He’s wearing a navy button-down with the sleeves rolled up, and black slacks that hug his ass to perfection.
His muscles bulk up as he raises a cup to his lips. He stands with his legs apart, owning the room without even trying.
I know he technically owns this room, this house, but it’s the energy of power that simply washes off him so naturally, and consumes everyone and everything in his vicinity.
I stay rooted in the entrance, momentarily startled by his physique. He truly is gorgeous. Like male-underwear-commercial quality.
Why isn’t he in a suit? Or at work already?
“Thank you.” He disconnects the call and turns.
Our gazes collide. If he is surprised to see me, he doesn’t let up. He studies me with an aloof coolness, and a shiver rakes down my body.
Cut. It. Out.
“What are you doing here?” I accuse, because apparently, fight or flight is my default setting. And my stubbornness doesn’t allow me to flee, so here I am, confronting him as if I had the right. Or as if it was in my interest. No fucking filter.
“I live here.” He smirks, taking a sip of his coffee. “Making a habit of spying on me?”
Heat rises to my cheeks, and I swallow a retort. Getting married is the goal here.
“I didn’t expect you to still be home.”
He puts the cup down and slides his hands into his pockets, observing me with an expression somewhere between annoyance and curiosity. “Let me make you breakfast.”
“What? Why?” My heart rate spikes, and now I am somewhere between annoyed and curious. What is happening?
He moves around, shaking cereal from a box, adding nuts and milk into a bowl. He puts it on the counter for me, ignoring my question.
I don’t move. “Why are you not at work?”
“I’m working from home.”
“Why?”
What’s with the twenty questions? Just eat and leave. Or better, take the bowl to your room and get away from him.
Here is my problem. After the kiss last night and my unplanned voyeur session, something shifted, and my hatred for him softened. Which makes no sense at all. He’s the same asshole.
It’s probably just my good mood due to a better sleep, and he will piss me off soon enough, and everything will be balanced again.
“Eat,” he barks, ignoring my question.
Ah, here it is, his charm. I cross my arms over my chest. “Or what?”
This man draws the worst out of me. I don’t even know anymore why I am fighting it. I’m not very hungry, but having a healthy breakfast is the first step in resetting my internal clock, and finding a better, more regular lifestyle.
So what’s my problem?
That the man who regards me like an annoying insect is here instead of yelling at people on the phone and serving me breakfast cereal. Why?
“Isn’t that an iron-fortified cereal?” I beckon to the box behind him.
“So?”
So? With nuts and everything else, it’s like he googled breakfast for iron-deficient people and served it to me. Why? Too many whys for this morning if you ask me.
He eats the distance between us and picks me up.
“What are you doing?” I gasp.
He sits me on the stool gently and lowers his head to my ear. For a moment, we are frozen like this. His breath on my skin sinfully warm. His closeness dangerously tempting.
“Fucking eat, or I’ll feed you,” he growls.
His breath fans my face, and along with the timbre of his voice vibrating through me, I can feel him in my core. This should not make me giddy or excited. It. Should. Not.
“Why are you so concerned about my diet?” I mumble, desperately searching for my sanity.
He grumbles something I don’t catch, picks up the bowl, digs in, and moves the full spoon to my lips. “Open.”
It’s not even a command. It’s kind of a plea, I think. Maybe I don’t need a well-rested mind, because that fucker offers wild interpretations of reality.
And it ignores me. Because I didn’t decide to obey, and here I am, glaring but opening my mouth.
“I’m concerned with the health and wellbeing of my fiancée. As should she be.”
I chew. Yum, this is really good. Not too sweet. Not too bland. “Stop patronizing me.”
He uses the opportunity to stuff another spoonful into my mouth. “Stop acting like a brat.”
Fair point. Stop acting like an asshole.
He gives me another spoonful.
“You don’t have to feed me.”
He raises his eyebrow, deadpan.
I snatch the spoon from him and resume eating. “I thought you were working from home? Since when is feeding your fiancée in your job description?”
“Since she keeps almost fainting near me.”
“It happened once.”
“Twice.”
His phone rings, and he taps the earbud in his ear. “Yes.” He doesn’t move from me, just mouths ‘eat’.
I roll my eyes and finish my breakfast, with him standing so close that my body shivers while my heart gallops.
He barks at someone on the phone. And a completely surprising feeling grabs me. I envy him.
I’m jealous that he has a job, a purpose, an agenda… a life that is put together. I finish eating and slide from the stool, taking my dishes to the dishwasher.
Corm listens to the person on the other side, but his gaze is firmly on me. It’s unnerving and comforting at the same time.
I pour myself a coffee and head for the entrance to sneak out.
“Lunch is in three hours.”
I stop. Did he say that to me? Or is he still on the phone?
Turning, I collide with him. Is he a panther now? How did he creep up behind me? And again, I’m against his solid body which, as history taught me, robs me of my resolution or free will.
“What?”
“We’ll eat here, since the dining room is… nausea-inducing.” He towers over me.
I don’t understand what is going on this morning. He’s his usual aloof asshole, but exhibits intentions of care.
“Have you stayed home to babysit me?”
His jaw tenses as he studies me through hooded eyes. We stand there in yet another silent duel.
And again, my vital functions go haywire—I can’t get enough oxygen, my stomach is fluttering and churning at the same time, my heart is thumping in my temples, and goose bumps and sweat dust my skin.
A full-blown arousal mingled with anxiety. The worst possible combination. Corm Quinn elicits the weirdest cocktail of emotions in me.
“I have a conference call to prepare for.”
He pushes past me and storms toward his office, leaving me there, staring into the empty space for I don’t know how long.
“Let’s go.” Corm pokes his head through the opening in the sliding door.
I have been enjoying the silence on the outdoor patio. A fire-pit coffee table surrounded by lounge chairs softens the large, cold, tiled rectangle. Several large potted plants lining the corners augment the cozy feel.
It’s only five in the morning, but I couldn’t sleep, and this place is my favorite part of the house.
Sitting here always calms me.
Perhaps it’s because this part of the house’s exterior is the first peaceful place in my life. I haven’t had a space like this before. Definitely not at home growing up.
Not in the student home at my Swiss school, and never while I was working, despite owning two apartments in Europe.
I can’t possibly imagine Corm spending time here. It’s filled with fresh air and harmony, unlike his stifling mercurial personality.
“Go where?” Why is he even up this early?
“Just come.” He sighs like he’s annoyed with my non-compliance.
Fuck him, but I’m too tired to argue, so I stand up and follow him. On my best behavior for a few more days, and we set the date, I remind myself.
He turns to the kitchen and then along the pantry to the garage.
I didn’t venture here during my house exploration, mostly because I have no interest in cars.
“Wow, are all these yours?”
Five different cars are parked under his house, but I’ve only ever seen him in his Escalade with a driver.
Lined up here are a Porsche, a Ferrari, a Lamborghini, and a car I don’t recognize. Its lights blink after a beeping sound, and both doors lift like wings.
“Who else would they belong to?” The annoyance in his voice is now more pronounced.
“Why do you wake up this early if it makes you grumpy?” I roll my eyes.
“Get in.”
Sighing, I climb into the seat. He slides beside me, and the doors close. The car purrs, and the front gate hums before it rolls up.
“Where are we going?”
“For a ride.”
“Really?” I exaggerate my fake shock.
We drive out of the garage, and he stops, turning to me. “She needs to go for a spin. There is no traffic at this hour.”
I want to ask why I have to join him for his joy ride, but he leans over, and all words evaporate.
His masculine scent hits my nostrils, and my breath catches. I’m not going to lie, I’ve been reliving that kiss from the other day. But is this a good idea?
His eyes pierce through me, probably reaching into my soul. Fuck, his gaze is intense. Heat spreads around my cheeks, and… well, all over my body.
His nose is just an inch from my face, and his warm breath elicits goose bumps all over my skin. He moves his arm, and I hold my breath.
The tension is thick with unspoken words and heavy with desire. Until he reaches for the seat belt and moves back to his side, buckling me up.
I look away, gluing my eyes to the passenger window, my heart hammering in my temples. This man will drive me to a loony bin.
We drive in silence, and the monotony of the movement falls heavy on my eyelids. I close my eyes and find it hard to open them again.
When I do, I’m slouched in the seat, my cheek wet from my saliva. The sun is up, the streets full of life. I blink a few times and stretch. I recognize we just turned into our street.
“Good morning,” Corm says.
“What time is it?”
He pulls into the driveway and kills the engine. The door rises again.
“A few minutes past nine.” He gets out of the car.
What? I scramble off my seat while he rounds the car and gives me his hand. Fuck, these low cars are hard to get out from.
“We drove for four hours?” My hand lands on his chest as he yanks me up. Burn. But also, can I please keep it there?
“I didn’t want to wake you up.”
He strolls away, his words cracking something in the hard shell around my heart.