Chapter 33
Scarlett
Iblink awake slowly, my face buried against a pillow that smells like cedar and spice. Like…something darker. Masculine. Dangerous.
Cormac. Dr. O’Rourke. My professor.
Oh wait, and now, my husband.
I shoot upright so fast the room spins. I’m in his bed, sprawled across the center because I’m a restless sleeper.
Cormac isn’t here, though. His side of the bed looks neat, still made.
Did he not sleep with me last night? At all? My heart bangs hard against my ribs.
I slide my legs out of bed and freeze, catching my reflection in the stand-up mirror next to his dresser.
My nightgown is more transparent than I realized, and I have nothing on underneath, something I never cared about in the past. I have to care about it now that I’m living with a man who is forcing himself to stay out of the panties I didn’t bother to wear.
After throwing on a tracksuit, I pad softly into the hallway. Early morning light spills through the floor-to-ceiling windows into the living room.
Where is Cormac? Did he sleep on the couch to avoid touching me? Or did he go out? To find a woman? Some distraction he needs with no complications. Sleep in her bed?
My stomach twists so violently, I have to grip the wall.
Why do I care? Why does that make me feel sick? We were strangers until recently. And even then, it was a one-night stand. But I never stopped wanting him, never stopped fantasizing about our night. And over the last couple of months, he’s gotten under my skin.
The apartment is wildly quiet. The kind of dead noise that screams at you. There’s nothing. No running water, no low Irish muttering from the kitchen.
I’m ready to face a pink-washed skyline when the door across from the primary bedroom opens. It’s the door to the locked room.
The one I’ve been warned to stay out of.
Cormac steps out, hair mussed and sticking up at the crown. He looks…young. Boyish, almost. And exhausted. Plus, he’s shirtless. That hijacks a whole other part of my brain.
He startles when he sees me. “Hey, Scarlett.” His voice is rough as gravel. “You’re up.”
“Yeah. I was looking for you.” I glance past him before my eyes give me away.
The room behind him glows with the kind of filtered light that comes from sheer curtains. I catch a flash of elegant gray furniture, different from the dark masculine lines of the rest of this place.
Cormac’s jaw tenses, and he shifts to block my view as he pulls the door shut in one smooth motion. With a buzz, the electronic lock engages.
“Right.” My stomach does a strange little dip. “The forbidden room.”
Is it a red room? For BDSM play? Because I would be into that.
His gaze flickers with something complicated. “I’m taking a shower,” he says, voice low and clipped, like he needs to escape before one of us asks questions we shouldn’t.
“Okay. I’m…making coffee.”
“Good.”
“Good.”
Neither of us moves.
We just stand there in this elegant hallway, two feet apart, breathing the same air.
I’m ridiculously aware of how tall he is and how enticing he smells. And the way the veins in his forearms vibrate when he’s tense. It’s something I’ve noticed in class. Like when Vienna asks him questions and spins everything into a proposition for sex.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I step closer. Just one step. Enough to tilt my chin up and press a soft kiss to the edge of his jaw.
“If I didn’t tell you yesterday, thank you, husband,” I whisper against his skin.
His breath hitches, and his hands close around my waist, but I’m not sure if he wants to pull me closer or push me away. It’s…neutral. Just a grip.
“You did. It all happened fast…wife.”
Surprised by the playfulness, I force myself to turn away before I jump him. Or completely crumble in front of him. I pretend I don’t feel his stare on my back as I wander toward the kitchen.
He heads off toward the primary bathroom for his shower. I pull at the collar of my tracksuit, telling myself it’s just the heat that kicked on and not how Cormac’s hands gripped my waist when I kissed him.
Staring at this vast kitchen with miles of cabinets, I wonder where the coffee is. I’m going to be living here, I’ll need to figure out where everything is, but I don’t have the brain space to memorize it all.
From a drawer on the island that separates the kitchen from the living room, I find a pad of yellow sticky notes and a pen.
Hmm. A woman would have put this here.
Ignoring that, I go through each cabinet, shocked at the neatness and organization. In the cabinet with pastas and soups, I grab a can, expecting to see it out of date, but nope.
Without processing that, I jot down ‘pastas and soups’ on the sticky and slap it on the cabinet door. I go through the entire row and grumble when I don’t spot coffee anywhere.
He drinks it. I’ve seen him.
I’m about to get started on the bottom row when Cormac walks in, dressed in jeans and a sweater appropriate for the fall weather cooling every inch of the city. He looks like he’s stepped off the set of a movie, and I feel like I’ve been hanging around the Craft Services table too long.
As I straighten, his eyes hit me, and something hungry flashes in his eyes. His nostrils flare. His jaw clenches.
“Hey,” I rasp, heat shooting straight to my knees. “Sorry, I didn’t find the coffee yet.”
His eyes narrow at the messy stickies all over his million-dollar kitchen. An exaggeration, of course, but that’s how the power dynamic imbalance feels right now.
His throat bobs once, and he says, “I have those pods.”
He brushes past me and opens a wide cabinet door on a hinge. Behind the door is a coffee maker and an espresso machine. Next to it is a tall cylinder filled with coffee pods in various flavors.
A buzzer spins me around. I’m not sure where it came from, but my heart spikes.
Pierce… He found me already.
I’m not afraid of the weasel, so long as I have working legs to knee him in the balls. I’m just afraid of being a hassle for Cormac. A nuisance.
Cormac puts a hand on my shoulder to settle me down. “Relax. It’s breakfast. I ordered something before I went into the shower.”
Yeah, he smells like soap and powder, and his skin is still a little damp.
“You, you bought breakfast for you…and me?” My voice cracks like he just gave me a kidney.
“You need to eat,” he mutters. “Come here, I’ll show you the security system.”
He stands next to a small monitor on the counter, then demonstrates how pressing a button activates a camera in the lobby, specifically over the guard’s desk. “Always look to see who’s in the lobby before sending the release signal.”
I nod and ask, “Do all residents have access to the lobby cameras?”
“No,” he says with a smile.
But seeing it’s not Pierce, and just an unknown delivery person, he buzzes the guy in.
A few moments later, while I finish going through the cabinets, Cormac sets down a small paper bag. The smell hits me so sinfully that I almost cry. From the bag, he hands me a warm egg sandwich and a toasted blueberry muffin.
“This is so nice of you,” I whisper.
“It’s breakfast. Not a kidney.”
I laugh. “I just said that to myself.”
“Great minds, I guess.” He hands me a napkin, and his fingers brush mine.
It’s lightning, pure and dangerous.
“Thank you. Yeah, we are great minds.”
“How do you feel?” he asks, studying me closely.
“Rested, but weird,” I answer and take another bite of the heavenly sandwich.
“Very weird,” he repeats.
We eat standing at the island, and it’s weirdly domestic and comfortable. Like we’ve done this a thousand times. Like we fit together perfectly, but we’re fighting it.
“What do you do about meals that you don’t order in?” I ask, wiping egg drool from my chin. “Groceries and such. Snacks. I can shop on my way home from classes.”
“No need.” Cormac taps on his phone and turns the screen toward me. “I have a service. Just add what you want.”
“Great, I’ll reimburse you,” I say quickly, then realize I’ll be giving him back his own money. “Habit.”
He clears his throat. “Let’s talk about rules.”
“We went over the rules last night.” My voice tilts toward nervous laughter territory. “It was clear. No touching.”
“Are we clear on why?” His voice goes cold.
I blink. “You think that you’d be taking advantage of me. My vulnerability.”
“I don’t think. I would be.” He pins me with a stare. “If I touch you again, Scarlett…” His voice drops to sinful silk over steel. “It won’t end well for either of us. Some people know the meaning of control. I don’t.”
From the outside looking in, I guess he’s right. He asked me to be his fake wife, and I said no. As soon as I was in trouble, I reached out and grabbed the proposal with two hands.
God, I guess I do look desperate. I’ll try to make sense of why it was okay to mess around in his office…
Right, I tempted him to the point his restraint cracked like thin ice.
And if there won’t be any intimacy, there will never be love. My heart thumps at that. Cormac wants the full-time teaching position. And I want to finish medical school. Like it or not, this is simply a marriage of convenience.
With no benefits.
“Are there more rules than the ones from last night?” I ask.
“Yes. There will be quiet hours if you’re studying and I’m working.”
I shrug. “Can’t argue with that.”
“No parties.” His eyes lift. “No getting drunk.”
“I wasn’t planning on having parties and getting drunk like I’m seventeen.” I cringe.
“And none of the students will know about our marriage,” he says. “That said, don’t be tempted to hang out with some dude thinking he can…”
“He can what?”
“Touch you.” He comes to my side of the island and runs a finger down my neck. “Fake or not. You are mine.”
“What about you?” I ask nervously. “Can you go out on dates? Or have hookups? Even on the down-low, since technically you’re married.”
Steam practically floats from his ears.
“I don’t plan to date.” His tone is rough, scraped. “I plan to be a husband.”