Chapter 17
Cora
Isnap my eyes to him.
I blink.
I squint.
And I wait.
But the punchline doesn’t come. Xander is standing there, all six feet, one hundred inches of a god-like male form, with that latent smirk.
He’s waiting for my reaction.
But I’m not getting the joke. It is a joke, isn’t it? He can’t be serious.
A laugh escapes me. Even to my own ears, it sounds a bit deranged.
“What do you mean, a marriage proposal?”
“Let’s wait for breakfast, and then we’ll talk. I need a shower anyway.”
“Xander,” I warn, but he saunters out of the room. “Xander!”
The bathroom door closes. I plop back onto the pillow.
My first thought? At least there are fresh towels for him on the shelf. What the fuck? He drops a bomb and leaves me hanging, and I care about his comfort?
I didn’t even invite him to stay in the first place.
But if I’m honest, I’m grateful he stayed. The atrocious tea aside, as much as I wanted to ascertain my independence, I was in no shape to cope alone.
And if he hadn’t shown up—let’s not think about the alleged reasons—it could have ended up way worse.
Plus, the sheet-wrestling show was strangely arousing, but perhaps my fevered brain was sending the wrong signals. And him constantly re-tucking me in has been annoying and endearing at the same time.
As uncomfortable as it is for me to rely on someone, having him around hasn’t been bad at all.
The man is an ultra-rich business genius with no practical life skills, but he didn’t call his helpers to make my bed.
He probably made his first ever tea for me. Not that he got any better with the third or the tenth, but he put the effort in.
And all the food. He’s been sourcing nutritious meals for me while I sweated in my bed and barely took a spoonful.
A thoughtful Xander.
If I stop fighting the help, ignore the guilt from accepting it, and surrender to the situation, I must admit it feels really good to be cared for. I haven’t experienced that in the longest time.
The universe probably sent me this moment of receiving, so I can continue giving. Perhaps it’s not selfish to indulge in his care. Maybe it’s fine.
Besides, the sexual tension between us is a plus. Or a minus—I’m not sure yet.
A marriage proposal, though? What the fuck? Is that some fucked-up way to help me? Why would he want to go to such lengths? It makes no sense.
“Even in the shower, I could practically hear you overthinking,” Xander says from the living room. “The breakfast is here.”
“I don’t have time for breakfast. I have to go to work.” I push to a sitting position as I hear him open the door, murmur something, and close it again.
Fuck, I need to go prep and open. The idea brings tears to my eyes.
“You’re not going anywhere today,” Xander calls from my kitchen, while he opens and closes all the cabinets and drawers by the sound of it.
I wouldn’t need to if I were married to you.
My mind trips over the thought and stumbles. What the hell? He mentions a proposal, and I immediately give up my independence?
What’s wrong with me?
Still, my tired brain wanders there, and for a moment I let myself linger with the idea. It feels so peaceful not to worry about money. I close my eyes. I could revitalize the bistro and bring it back to life.
I could probably get better care for Dad.
I could take days off.
It’s the last thought that spreads hope through my chest, as if taking a break is the only need in my life.
“Cora?” Xander whispers.
I open my eyes, and fuck… Xander holds a tray, filling up the doorway, wearing only a towel. I repeat, the man is wearing only my white towel.
I’ve seen him like this at the spa, so I shouldn’t be this spellbound, but I can’t drag my eyes away for the life of me.
All the ridges and planes of muscles still glisten with droplets of water. His torso is a perfect triangle, narrowing into lean hips. His body is firm, perfectly defined, like he spends days training instead of sitting in a boardroom.
“I’m glad you like what you see.” He smirks. “You can touch whenever you want,” he drawls, and saunters in.
I may imagine it, but he walks slower. Just to torture me with every move. God, I want those arms to toss me around.
I want that body to cover me and consume me whole.
“Your breakfast.” He places the tray on my lap.
The smell of quiche finally distracts me from the half-naked man standing beside me. Smoked salmon and avocado sit neatly on the plate, with a bowl of fruit and a small salad off to the side.
“I don’t have time for this. I really need to go to work,” I protest, but it’s more of an autopilot response. Like I know deep down I’m staying, but my sense of duty hasn’t gotten the message yet.
Xander doesn’t say anything and leaves, but before I have a chance to react, he’s back with two cups.
“I think this time I got your tea right.” He puts the mug on my nightstand, snatches a slice of salmon from my plate, and sits at the foot of my bed with his cup.
“This is really nice. Thank you.” I take a bite of the mini-quiche and moan. “Jesus, this is good.”
“Wait until you try their eggs Benny. I didn’t order them because they need to be eaten fresh, but I’ll take you.”
“So now we’re making plans?” I cock my head, teasing.
“Of course.” He shrugs.
“Because you want to marry me?”
“Look, I…”
He stands up and turns to the window. Like it’s difficult to explain to my face. It’s so out of character for a man who oozes confidence like it’s his birthright.
“I have an important business deal in the works that requires a seat on the board of a firm in San Francisco. My father can open those doors, but he wants to see me settled to help me out.”
“That’s fucked up.”
Xander turns to look at me. The sight pulls at my heart. He looks like a little boy in trouble, and my need to help him is strong. But Jesus. This really is all sorts of fucked up.
“I left the family business after I made a wrong move, a terrible one. The business I was in charge of suffered because of that. My father wanted to save the situation by pawning me off in marriage to a business associate, a potential investor. I couldn’t stomach the idea of an arranged marriage with someone I barely knew, so I left.
The company I sank filed for bankruptcy afterward. ”
“I don’t even know what to say. That’s horrible. You’re his son, not a chess piece on his empire’s board.”
“This is his way of doing things. I grew up being groomed for that world, but when it mattered, I couldn’t do it.” He turns back to the window.
The shame he feels may not be justified, but it’s real; it resonates from him.
Putting the tray to the side, I slide from the bed to stand behind him.
I put my hand on his tense back. “You did what was right for you at the time.” The tension melts slightly under my touch. “I think you’re judging yourself too harshly for what went down. What changed?”
He turns around, frowning. “What changed?”
His scent of sin, and the warmth of his freshly showered skin distract me, but I try to stay focused. This conversation is important.
“Clearly you’re ready for an arranged marriage now. To help your business endeavors. What changed?”
He bows his head and sighs before he looks at me, this time not hiding his vulnerability but facing it.
“I guess I accepted I’m not that different from my father. Also, I’m choosing the bride this time.” He winks, snaking his arm around my waist, yanking me to him. And the playful Xander I know so well is back.
I put my hand on his chest, the contact burning. The way he’s looking at me is intoxicating. How does a man make me feel like a goddess, when he hasn’t really touched me yet? “You have to stop looking at me like that.”
A gentle frown touches his face. “Like what?”
I lick my lips. “Like you really want me.”
“That’s impossible, Coraline. I can’t look at you any other way.”
My breath hitches, the room’s temperature skyrockets, and I kind of want to step back and get closer at the same time.
“So, will you marry me?” His playful grin gives me the opportunity to breathe in.
It’s like he sensed I was getting aroused and freaked out at the same time, so he dialed back.
I’m forgetting why him and me are not a good idea. The list of warnings about this man seems to have been wiped from my brain. Or it’s buried under lust.
“What’s in it for me?” I tease.
It’s not like I would ever accept it.
Why not?
Fuck. The fever must have burned some of my gray cells.
“Besides mind-blowing orgasms?” He caresses the small of my back, sprouting goose bumps on my skin. His touch is gentle, and I can barely stop myself from leaning into it.
“That theory hasn’t been tested yet.” The air crackles with yearning, accentuating my taunt.
“And whose fault is that?” He cups the back of my neck and fuses his lips with mine.
I missed his kisses—it’s the first thing that invades my mind, but it’s the last coherent thought I have.
After that, it’s just heat.
The press of his mouth, firm and hungry. The glide of his tongue, coaxing mine into answering. The way his thumb brushes the side of my throat like he’s memorizing my pulse.
This isn’t sweet or tentative.
This is Xander taking.
His mouth claims mine like it’s already his.
Like the question was never if, only when.
His grip tightens at the back of my neck, anchoring me in place while his other hand curls possessively around my hip, pulling me into him until I can’t tell where I end and he begins.
And I should stop this.
I should push him away, say something cutting, remind us both that this is a terrible idea—
But all I can do is gasp against his mouth and open for him. Every kiss from him feels like a decision already made.
Like he’s rewriting my body’s loyalty with every stroke of his tongue. My bones, my blood, the traitorous thrum low in my belly—
They all lean into him. I melt. I fight it, but I melt.
Because kissing Xander is a full-body experience. It’s chaos with intention. A slow slide into surrender dressed up as play.
And God help me, I want to drown in it.