Chapter 25
Chapter Twenty-Five
Cordelia
Viking Renthrow is trying to seduce me.
Because why is he standing at my front door, wearing a navy-blue button-down that hugs his broad shoulders in the best way?
And why, oh why, did he tuck that shirt into his pants to show off his perfect waist that’s in perfect proportion to his shoulders?
And did he have to wear grey slacks that tapered down his tree-trunk legs in a style that’s both effortlessly sophisticated and unquestionably masculine?
I strain my neck staring up at him as he crowds my doorway, looking too tall to even pass through without ducking.
I was magnanimous enough to overlook him carrying me bridal-style out of the garage. I was kind enough to ignore that he paid for my hospital bill.
But this is crossing a line.
His face tightens at my assessment, and it’s not until I see the red creeping into his ears that I realize I’ve been staring without saying anything.
Blinking and shaking my head, I mumble, “You dressed up.”
He shrugs as if him in a button-down and slacks is no big deal.
Technically, I saw him dressed up for the announcement of the Lucky Falls training tournament, but this…feels different.
“Why?” I demand with a little more fire than necessary.
“This Brennon guy sounds like a schmuck.”
“A schmuck?” He’s not wrong, but how did he know? “What does that have to do with your outfit?”
“Schmucks take pretty ladies to pretentious restaurants. They have nothing else going for them but money, so they need to show it off.” He tilts his chin higher. “I’m here representing the team. I can’t make them look bad.”
I barely hear the rest of what he said. “Did you call me pretty?”
His eyes whip to mine and then back away slowly.
“You said pretty ladies… I’m assuming that includes me.”
“I wouldn’t call you pretty.”
My playful mood dissipates. “Oh.”
Renthrow’s eyes slide over me, slow and steady. As he always is. “That word…is too basic.”
My eyebrows jump.
“You’re one of those fancy words.”
“Fancy words?”
“Yeah.” He swallows. “Like ‘exquisite.’”
The compliment is delivered so matter-of-factly, so evenly, that I can only blink in stunned silence.
“Oh, I almost forgot.” Renthrow dips into his pocket and produces a small box. It’s wrapped in Hello Kitty wrapping paper and held together with glittery pieces of tape.
“Is that…for me?”
“Gordie wrapped it.”
“I figured.” I chuckle, fondly touching the paper.
He rubs the back of his neck. “I, uh, was told to bring you flowers.”
I unwrap the gift and cradle a box in my palms. “Your mom?”
“She’s babysitting.”
“Ah.” I shake the box. “These must be small flowers.”
“I thought traditional gifts wouldn’t suit you.”
I scrunch my nose. “Why? Because I own a motorcycle?”
“Because you’re you.”
“I can’t tell if that’s a compliment or not.”
A hint of laughter in his voice, he mumbles, “Just open the box, Cordelia.”
I do, and inside is nestled a shiny cylindrical object that’s small enough to fit on a keychain.
“What is it?” I ask, lifting the device.
“It’s a magnetic pickup tool. It expands to almost a yard.”
A grin explodes on my face as I lengthen the stick to its full capacity.
“You got hurt looking for a screw. With this, you don’t have to risk your hands while hunting in an engine.”
I run my fingers over the magnet and try to contain my excitement, but I know I’m failing. “I love it. Thank you.”
Renthrow looks pleased, but he doesn’t allow himself to smile. Instead, he pulls his lips into his mouth and puts on a serious face. “Are you ready to go?”
“Just a second. I’m trying to decide on my earrings.” I dash away. In the comfort of my room, I happily lift the keychain to the light and inspect it. It’s perfect. Why have I never heard of this brilliant invention?
I want to drive to the garage and test it out immediately, but Renthrow and Brennon are waiting. Still, I take the time to work the pickup tool on my keychain. Then I slip my keys into my purse.
After putting in my earrings and spritzing some perfume, I walk out of my bedroom.
“I’m such a bad host. Would you want some water or…” I halt when I see Renthrow still standing outside my door. “Why didn’t you come in?”
“You didn’t invite me, ma’am.”
“Ma’am?” I laugh. Since when are we so formal with each other?
His ears get a little red again.
Intrigued, I walk slowly to him, noticing the way his eyes dip down my dress. I’m wearing simple black heels and a little black dress that fits me like a glove. It’s not flashy or poofy or ultra feminine, but it’s comfortable and fits my tastes.
To be honest, I wore the dress for Brennon. Not to impress him but to give myself that extra confidence boost. “A woman who looks good, feels good,” is what my mother always says.
But now, I think I wore this dress for Renthrow. For the way his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. For the way he holds his breath in my presence. For the barely masked hunger in his eyes.
He admitted he finds me beautiful, “exquisite” really, and after hearing from May about how carefully he keeps women at bay, I don’t think he tells that to everybody.
As I approach him, I measure my own feelings. Something shifted between us the night he offered to be my fake boyfriend. And I’m not…mad about it.
“You’ll only act when given permission?”
“When it comes to a lady and her space, yes,” he says without a hint of hesitation.
In an instant, he becomes ten times more attractive.
“You’re a man who cares about consent,” I say softly, stopping right in front of him.
He looks down at me. “Most men do.”
“Oh, you’d be so surprised how many don’t.”
“Most decent ones do,” he amends.
“But you’re a tad more than decent.”
He lifts a brow.
I gesture to the line of my doorway where he’s still refusing to enter. “With this high of a standard, do you”—my eyes drop to his lips—“ask for permission before you…?”
“Kiss someone?”
I step out into the hallway with him. He doesn’t step back, and so I end up crowding his space, blocked as I am by the wall of his body.
“I’m so curious,” I whisper, eyes locked on him.
“Cordelia.” He rasps my name. It almost sounds like a warning. Not to get too close. Not to cross the line. Not to push him to a point of no return.
I lean forward just an inch, testing that resolve.
He tries to hide it, but I catch his attention snapping to my mouth as I do. Tension swirls through the air.
We’re closer than we’ve ever been before.
Renthrow takes a deep, centering breath and shuts his eyes, fighting me. Fighting this. I see the muscles in his jaw working, and I know he’s about to pull back, just as he did that night when he touched my face and pushed my hair behind my ear.
So I lift my un-bandaged hand and, with the gentlest touch, smooth his collar, taking the liberty to run my hand down his shoulder and arm. His eyes open and fasten on me.
“Do you?” I press, batting my eyelashes just a tad.
His pupils dilate when I touch him. He moves closer and leans in until his nose nudges mine. His labored breath fans over my lips, and my heart races crazily.
This feeling is new.
Electrifying.
Every part of me wants him to close that gap and kiss me. The tension between us is strong, so delectable. I know it’s going to be amazing if he gives in.
But Renthrow bypasses my lips and slides his cheek against mine until he gets to my ear. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
The tension shatters, and my lips curl instantly in a smile. Maybe I’m getting rusty because I don’t think I won that game, but somehow, I don’t mind that I lost.
He straightens, and I see a smile tugging on his lips too. “I didn’t take you for a flirt.”
I bark out a laugh. “Me? I was just asking a question.”
Renthrow’s eyes slide over me, moving inch by inch until I’m burning up from the inside out. “Right.”
How he backs one simple word with a ton-load of disbelief is beyond me.
“You’re the one who started talking about kissing.”
His eyes widen as if he’s been exposed. “I…thought that’s what you were going to ask.”
“I was going to ask if you get permission before you hold hands.”
“You’re…” For just a moment, he tilts his head to the ceiling and seems to short-circuit. “You’re…”
“Amazing? Irresistible? Exquisite?”
“Late. We’re late.” He checks his watch which is an obvious ploy to break eye contact. “We should hit the road.”
I laugh and lock my door, noticing that he’s keeping a more than respectful distance while I do so.
Renthrow remains silent as he walks me to the car and opens the door for me. I watch him jog around the hood, his shoulders broad and his profile ruggedly handsome.
And I feel myself coming to some dangerous conclusions.
This man really, really doesn’t want to like me.
Which makes him even more tempting.
My whole life, everything I’ve ever wanted has been laid out before me. The best schools, the best summer vacations, the best houses and cars and bikes. It was delivered on a silver platter.
But easy is boring.
I like a challenge, and when I see something I want, I go after it—no matter the odds.
When it comes to Renthrow, well, the odds are not in my favor.
I really wish that was enough to stop me.