Chapter Ten
Emerson
I t had been a week since the incident in the bar, though indignation still freshly circulated my veins. It appeared audacity was currently on sale for the men in New York, given the smug grin on Atlas’ face when I enlightened him to Orion’s antics upon his arrival home.
What had been his response to my tangent over his best friend acting like a psychopath? Atta boy . The idiot was pleased, puffing his chest out like a proud father after hearing his nutcase of a best friend had threatened to cut someone’s hands off . Apparently, insanity was normalized around here .
He didn’t even appear fazed by the brutality of Orion’s words, shrugging his shoulders like it was just another day in the life and he wasn’t willingly indulging a barbarian.
Atlas was far from concerned, remaining infuriatingly impassive to the situation. As though delivering unprecedented, gruesome threats to people you didn’t know was as normal as breathing.
As though I am the one with issues for not treating it as such .
When I tried to explain that encouraging Orion’s behavior made him just as much of a psycho, his smile only deepened. Pressing him on his unusual reaction, I came to learn it was my dearest brother who requested Orion put on such a performance over the last three weeks.
Apparently, Atlas asked him to keep an eye on me while he was away working which seemingly included scaring off potential suitors.
So now, four days after Atlas’ return, my frustration was directed in equal parts to both Orion and Atlas. However, my frustration towards Orion was mixed between anger at his unsociable characteristics and undignified sexual fantasies that placed him right in the center.
“Atlas needs to appreciate that women have needs,” Clover sighed, the sound of the clothing hangers sliding across the rail muffled in the background. “You don’t get in the way of his… stress-relieving activities.”
Could have gone my entire life without that image in my head.
I poked my head from behind the curtain, my naked body hidden in the changing room. “I don’t want to know about his activities.” My face, I was sure, held a look of disgust. “As far as I’m concerned, Atlas isn’t even human. He’s a robot whose mission is to put the ‘kill’ in ‘killjoy’.”
Clover sniggered, to which I pulled the curtain shut. “I’m just saying Atlas and his beddable friend need to find something else to do other than cockblocking you.”
“Beddable?” I echoed, surveying my eyes over one of the dresses I’d chosen.
I received an official invite to interview at White she’d keep circling back, no matter how far you threw her, until you’d finally had enough.
“Yeah, sure, he’s hot.” Slightly understated, but whatever, I wasn’t going to outright admit that I wanted him to devour me in every sense of the word until I was nothing but a puddle of my own arousal on the bedroom floor. “Shame about the asshole personality, though.”
Not that it seemed to stop him from plaguing my thoughts, corrupting my imagination with carnal desires that had no business existing in the first place. At least, not around him . A crazy man with a God complex.
I spent most of my days chanting the same three words:
Brother’s best friend.
You’d think his tendency for making unhinged, psychotic threats would have my legs clamping shut and the inferno coiling inside me a dying ember, though it did nothing of the sort. Apparently, the devil on my shoulder liked that kind of thing.
“True,” she pursed her lips, conceding. But then the corners of her lips tugged upright, and she wagged her brow. “Though, the bedroom is no place for a gentleman.”
As reluctant as I was to admit it, she had a point. After all, the best pleasure was mixed with a little pain.
Just not his kind of pain.
I was baking.
Cookies. I was baking salted caramel cookies.
I didn’t even like caramel.
It would get stuck to your teeth and your tongue would ache from twirling it around in awkward positions to try and free your teeth from the thick, syrupy texture.
But alas, I was baking salted caramel cookies. It was better than the alternative.
I needed a distraction. One that didn’t have me sharing my thoughts with Aero who was currently looking at me down his snout, judging me through those amber eyes like I’d gone mad for sharing my thoughts with a dog.
Apparently, he was only a willing therapist for Atlas.
Between prepping for my interview at White & Rivers and replaying my interactions with Orion over again in my mind, my head had begun to hurt .
It felt like someone had blown up a balloon inside my skull and now it was bouncing around trying to find an exit.
So, I dug out my mother’s cookbooks from the madness that was my unpacked belongings and here I was.
Baking cookies.
With a glass of Whispering Angel in hand.
Atlas went to the New York Knicks game, apparently trusting me to breathe on my own, so it was the perfect time to mess up the untouched kitchen and use the TV he’d never even switched on to catch up on the true crime series I’d fallen behind on.
Honestly, I wasn’t even sure he knew how to work the thing.
True crime was my Roman Empire. Cliché for a criminal defense lawyer, I know . But a little cliché didn’t hurt anybody.
The thrill of working out whodunnit was addictive. Piecing together the puzzle with the farse strands of information the narrator gave you, exhilaration flooded through me. And not to brag, but I always guessed right. I had an eye for psychopaths, maybe that’s why I’m so drawn to Ori—
Nope, not going down that road .
As if saving me from my own thoughts, the timer on the oven dinged , letting me know the cookies were done.
I set the cookies on the side, letting them cool down. The sweet, caramelized scent infiltrated the air, warming me on the inside. The smell of freshly baked goods always reminded me of my mother.
Baking was our favorite thing to do together.
Every Sunday, she’d have me pick out a recipe from her books and we’d bake for hours. It was messy and chaotic, but it was always the best day of the week. Then, I’d take whatever Atlas and my father hadn’t eaten to school the next day for my friends.
It would drive me crazy when I’d catch my father eating most of whatever we’d pulled together, stuffing his cheeks like a hamster, but now I’d give anything for him to be here scoffing down each of these cookies.
I guess life is funny that way.
I turned to open the fridge, searching for the caramel sauce. Gotcha . I shut the fridge door, and that was when I was subject to what I could only imagine would feel like a heart attack. Or an aneurysm. Or both.
Seriously .
My heart painfully leaped out of my chest, while shockwaves rippled over my skin and settled in the pit of my stomach, the sound of my blood rushing pounded in my ears. All I could do was choke on the air already in my lungs and drown in my mortification when Orion raised an expectant brow .
He towered over me, his ever-present scowl drawn across his features. He was glaring down at me like he was surprised to see me in my home . Or maybe, pissed would be a more accurate description. Either way, he was watching me like I should be giving him an apology or explaining myself.
God, he could crush me if he wanted to.
His presence filled every corner of light around me, snuffing out every slither of peace and shattering it with his quiet dominance, making the kitchen feel far smaller than it was. And darker . He was unyielding, his muscular arms folded across his chest as his brows pinched together like he was posing for a Maverick movie.
He was dangerously close to resembling a statue, but not one of those hideous sculptures you find guarding those daunting, abandoned homes in a horror film. No, Orion would be a Michelangelo sculpture carved from marble and homed in the Louvre for everyone to appreciate his beauty.
I wonder whether he’d jump if I suddenly yelled, “Boo!”
“Christ, Orion,” I breathed, my pulse running haywire. My hand pressed against my chest as if that act alone would steady the outrageous thumping of my heart. “You should come with a bell.”
He remained silent, unfazed and taunting me, while the sound of Atlas on the phone out in the hallway faintly filled my ears.
Then his gaze traveled along the height of my body before a strained expression took over his face and his hazel-gray eyes darkened, his pupils dilated, and his lips pressed into a hard line after a definitive gulp.
Suddenly I became conscious of my appearance, and I felt the heat blossoming in my cheeks. Wearing nothing but an old, baggy Harvard T-shirt that drowned out my upper body and a pair of boy shorts, it was hardly my most dignified outfit.
In my defense, I wasn’t expecting Orion to pop up in the middle of the evening like Casper the goddamn ghost.
Seriously, when the hell did he even come in? He was like a cheetah, stealthily using his agility to prepare for a lightning-fast sprint to catch his prey.
Though a smug sense of satisfaction rushed through me when I noticed the pained look on his face, like he was fighting against himself to say something or… do something. Despite how self-aware I was currently feeling over my outfit choice, I was still able to find pleasure in knowing the desire wasn’t one-sided and—
Dammit! No, there’s no desire. None. Zilch. Nada. Brother’s best friend. Psychopath.
I would ask myself why later, and God for why she made me this way, but there was no stopping me from opening my mouth again when the deafening silence became insufferable, eating me from the inside out.
“Did you need something, or did you get lost on the way back to the insane asylum? Terrible how easy it is for patients to escape these days.”
And for some reason, unknown to even myself, I punctuated my remark with a pointed look and a quirked brow.
Even Aero tilted his head at me, his ears raising like he just heard something stupid. He did. A bubble of nerves floated along the edges of my stomach, but I quickly squished the feeling aside. It was too late to worry about the repercussions of my smart tongue now.
This is why wine is called the Devil’s juice .
I expected his infamous murderous glare to transform his face and a string of his creative threats to follow, but instead, there was movement in his lips as the corners tugged ever so slightly, and I almost tipped over in disbelief.
Orion De Luca… amused? Did not compute.
“Got quite a mouth on you, don’t you, Tesoro ? Someone should teach you what to do with it,” his voice washed over me, settling in the deepest corners of my soul, and leaving goosebumps in its wake.
My God…
I blinked, trying to drown out the smooth sound of his voice as it slid its way into my ears and electrified every nerve ending in my body.
He made Hell feel so inviting.
He wandered over to the kitchen island, light seeping back into my surroundings now that his skyscraper of a body had shifted, and I blew out a breath of relief.
But the icy tension was still heavy in the air, lingering around us before settling on the cool, marble flooring and weighing heavy like a wet blanket.
My brow practically jumped off my forehead. “And who’s going to do that? You?” I retorted, my lips curving into a sardonic grin.
Ask me later why I am intent on provoking the beast.
His eyes returned to their darkened state, his tongue darting out and swirling over his bottom lip. A sinful little act that overwhelmed my body with such heat I was nearly biting my cheek for control.
I’m almost convinced he did that on purpose.
He clicked his tongue before a devilish smirk graced his lips. The sight was overwhelming, obliterating my concrete wall of defenses and a pulse fluttering in my core. “You shouldn’t tempt me, Tesoro . You’re begging for someone to put you in your place.”
“And you think you could do that? Cute.” I grinned. Leave it at that, Emmy. “I could have you on your knees in a heartbeat. It would suit you, actually.” Where the hell was my off button?
He leaned forward, only the slightest bit with his hands resting on a bar stool, but it had me feeling like I was being backed into a corner. It was all I could do to not take a step back.
He raised an eyebrow. “You think about that a lot?” he asked coolly. “Me, on my knees, between your legs? ”
Mortification washed over me in a tidal wave. “What? No, of course not!” I spluttered. “Don’t flatter yourself. You’re the one who brought it up.”
“I believe you’re the one who mentioned having me on my knees.” His grin widened, clearly enjoying the humiliation stamped across my face. “Be careful what you wish for, Emerson. I love to snip the wings from sweet angels like you.”
Mind? Blank.
Thoughts? Non-existent.
Heart? Stopped.
Skin? On fire.
I had to ask. I can’t just keep my mouth shut.
Dammit, Emmy.
I was still trying to formulate a coherent sentence by the time Atlas eventually joined us. None the wiser to the thick tension desperately clinging to the air in the room, he began rattling off the baskets the Knicks had missed in tonight’s game, complaining about the bet he’d lost as a result.
Though I couldn’t process anything, I couldn’t register his words in my mind, not when the sound of my heart pounding against the cage of my ribs rang in my ears, and the feel of my pulse drummed in my neck.
Goosebumps were rippling through my skin, encouraging the unwanted inferno lit in my core and butterflies fluttering in my stomach.
Orion’s darkened eyes had me pinned in place, his attention as fixed on me as mine was on him.
We were two people staring at a big red button that read “Do not press” and considering doing it anyway. I was completely immobilized under his stare, like he was silently willing me to stay put. His haunting expression was nothing less than an absolute promise to be my ruin if I let him.
And despite my better judgment and the anxiety rippling at the base of my spine, I wanted to let him.