Chapter 23
23
Cat
D oing this questionnaire is worse than I imagined.
I’ve never been in love.
Of course Theo hasn’t. But I didn’t need confirmation. Not like that. I should write it on the page so I can get it through my thick head. Theo Archer never loved you.
“Let’s continue,” I say hoarsely. I don’t want to wait for Theo’s response. He’s too damn perceptive, and he won’t stop getting to know me. That way lies trouble.
“Time to drive,” Theo says abruptly. “We’re going to circle the parking lot, like this, and then you’re going to try parking. Most people don’t learn to parallel park until they’re more experienced, but it’s important in New York, so I want you to try it.”
He’s all business now, and his voice makes something twinge inside me.
“I’ll demonstrate.” He presses the ignition and puts the car in drive while I watch. He pulls up to two cars that are parked near the store, throws the car in reverse, and braces his hand on my seat. The muscles of his arm flex under his skin, and I swallow .
Until I’m so deep inside you that you can’t think.
I focus on his face. Mistake. His eyes are bright, and he looks like a model, like he always does, those high cheekbones, light stubble, and green eyes making him into a laughing sex god.
In one smooth motion, he turns the wheel one way, then the other, guiding the car into the spot.
“See what I did there?”
“Yep,” I say hoarsely. My eyes flick helplessly over his body. The soft green sweater, the dark jeans pulling over his thighs. He’s so hot. I close my eyes briefly. I am in so much trouble.
“Catherine.” His deep voice rolls over me. I can edge you, and there’s nothing you can do about it. “Are you paying attention?”
“Yep,” I say again, opening my eyes to find him watching me like I might have lost my mind.
He opens the door, and I get out, slightly dazed. “It really doesn’t seem like you’re paying attention,” Theo says as we meet in the front of the car. “If you crash this car, I’m going to be very annoyed.” He crosses his arms, making his biceps press against the fabric of his sweater.
He smells amazing , I think absently.
I am horrifically, embarrassingly attracted to my husband. At the worst possible time. He never loved me, and I was obsessed with him, and I’m so helplessly turned on by him.
“Fuck you, Theo,” I say, my voice breathy.
His hand lands on my hip. His lips brush my ear. “You wish, princess.”
I do. I very much do. Fuck.
I escape to my room later and change out of the clothes I sweated in while driving. It was worse than I thought, because the car kept leaping and jumping under me every time I touched the gas.
I need to avoid Theo for at least twenty-four hours. That shouldn’t be difficult. It’s a Saturday. He’ll go out tonight. And I’ll get to be alone in blessed silence, to read on his stupidly comfortable marshmallow couch and eat the chocolate mousse he keeps in the fridge. He’s getting ready now. Probably for a party. The shower is running. Oh god.
I bury myself in my closet and focus on unraveling the knitting project I was working on. I miscalculated how much yarn I have. I bought extra, and now I can make another sweater instead of a scarf. I hate knitting scarves. If you have one, you have a hundred. The knitting needles are my favorites, and I think wistfully back to the craft room I had at Rockwood. The bolts of fabric in every color, the dress form, the cashmere yarn. I made little wisps of garments out of silk organza in pale pink, delicate sweaters edged with lace I created myself. It didn’t even matter that I was alone a lot of the time, because I was in my happy place. I miss it.
No. I rip the yarn with a little more force than necessary. Freedom is far more important than luxury. It’s the hundredth time I’ve reminded myself. I hate that I still need to be told.
I wait until I hear Theo bang out of his bedroom before I creep downstairs to the living room. I find an open bottle of wine in the fridge and a pot of chocolate mousse. I’m armed with a book and my project.
Perfect. I settle into the squishy couch and lay my supplies out around me. Now this is a Saturday night.
I sigh happily and text a picture to Blair and Lane.
Lane sends back a selfie of her and Miles at dinner. I press the live photo, and it moves. Miles looks at Lane, love evident in his softly smiling mouth and his gaze on her, before he turns to the camera. She’s oblivious to his perusal, because of course she is.
I knew at the wedding we all attended that he was in love with her, and it was only a matter of time before she fell back in love with him.
Sadness pings inside me, and I shake it away. I’m happy doing this. Loneliness creeps up when you’re forced into being alone. I’m choosing to be alone. There’s a difference.
I focus on the book Lane lent me. It’s some monstrously entertaining alien romance, about a human and the alien warlord she’s forced to marry. It’s just getting to a juicy part when I hear “What’s that you’re reading?”
I yelp and press a hand to my racing heart. “What the hell?”
Theo is striding into the living room, looking good enough to lick in a black sweater and black jeans.
“Why are you dressed like you only recently got kicked out of hell?” I ask.
“This is my going-out outfit,” he says, looking down at his clothes.
“Lucifer lets you out to play now and then?”
He winks. “I’d rule hell, and you know it.”
I roll my eyes. “Why are you here?”
“I went to bring something to Cole’s. He’s boring and didn’t want to get drinks. Did you think you’d gotten rid of me?” His mouth tips up as he scans my supplies. “Looks like you found the chocolate mousse. And what’s that?” His gaze sharpens on my e-reader, where the cover of the book is displayed. It’s a hulking alien with muscles and horns.
“Nothing,” I say. “Just having a night in.” I flip the e-reader closed.
“Oh no.” He stalks forward. “Give it here.”
“No.” I tuck it under the blanket. “You don’t need to see that.”
“Oh, I think I do.” His eyes are glinting. “You’re eating my last mousse, sitting on my couch. This is a fair trade.”
“You’re going to make fun of it.”
He stops in front of the couch. “Why would I do that?”
“Because men always do,” I say quietly.
“I won’t.” He holds out his hand. “We’re supposed to be getting to know each other.”
I trusted Theo once. He betrayed me.
But something in his steady gaze, his deep voice, makes me pass him the e-reader, even as my pulse skips. “It’s at a spicy part. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
“I’m sure I can handle—” His voice trails off as he reads.
I know exactly what he’s reading. The alien is half in love with the human by now and terrified of hurting her. He’s too big, and he spends pages readying her with his fingers and his tongue before he pushes inside.
At the bottom of the page, he has just the tip inside her, and she’s struggling to take it.
“What do you think?” I ask. I refuse to be embarrassed by this. Reading is my escape. It has been for years.
Theo flips the e-reader closed and gives me a wild-eyed look.
“Well?”
“It’s, um, educational,” he says, tossing it back down on the couch.
“Educational?” I tilt my head. “How?”
He gestures weakly at the couch. “That’s how you do it. If you’re big and your partner is, uh, tight.”
“That’s how you—oh.”
That’s what Theo has to do. He’s big enough that he could hurt someone. I imagine him saying just the tip, baby , in that low, laughing voice. The thought of that pleasure-pain makes something pinch inside me.
“Why did you come find me?” I ask. Now it’s my turn to sound strangled.
“I thought we should, um, practice.”
Theo looks uncomfortable. He never looks uncomfortable.
“Practice?”
“Touching. Things were awkward in the car today, and I thought we should get comfortable with each other. You know, in case we need to do it in public. Can’t have you flinching every time I touch you.”
My body flushes warm. “Makes sense,” I say lightly. I can do this if he can.
“We don’t have to.” He runs a hand through his hair, until it’s deliciously fucked up.
“It’s a good idea,” I say, but I make no move toward him.
“Come sit with me,” he says. He sprawls on the couch, looking like a king. A devilish king.
My stomach lurches. I’m way too attracted to Theo. Something about his large hands and his tanned forearms and his intense green eyes…it just works. And I so badly wish it didn’t.
“Do we really have to?” I lick my lips, and his gaze tracks the movement.
“Scared?” His mouth hitches up. “I dare you, Cat. I don’t bite.”
My heart is thudding under my sweater. He can probably see how nervous I am. I feel fluttery and hot. From how warm the room is. Theo’s taking up all the space.
I scoot closer. “What do you want me to do?”
“Give me your hand.” He holds my gaze as I slip my palm into his. His thumb rubs circles over my skin. His fingers are strong and warm. “Pretend we’re at dinner,” he says. “You’re telling me something funny. I’m looking at you like I love you.” His eyes go soft. I sway forward. He’s too good at acting. Because he does look like he loves me, and oh god, my traitorous heart likes it.
He skims his fingers over my wrist, and my stomach tugs in response. “Relax, Cat,” he murmurs.
“I am relaxed,” I grumble.
“Smile, princess.”
I try for a smile, and he laughs.
“What?”
He’s stroking over the skin of my inner arm now, and I’m leaning in, my stupid body hoping for more.
“You look so irritated with me,” he says.
“Keep going.” I swallow. “I’m sufficiently desensitized, I swear.”
“Sufficiently desensitized? You sure?” He smiles crookedly at me. “Come here, then.”
The sooner I do whatever silly thing he wants, the sooner I can leave. He’s too much. There’s no air, no space, and all I see is him.
I stand in front of him. He looks at me with laughing eyes.
“On my lap, princess.”
“Why?”
“You want to sell this or not?” He raises a brow.
“When would I need to sit on your lap in public?” I cross my arms as I look down at him .
“Scared you’re going to like it too much, I know.”
His cocky look makes me grind my teeth. I huff and perch gingerly on his leg.
“That won’t do.” He laughs and pulls me back into his chest.
If I thought he was overwhelming before, it’s nothing compared to now. I close my eyes and I breathe in Theo. He’s warm, and his chest is broad and firm.
“Relax,” he whispers again. I force my shoulders down, and I let myself melt into him. My shoulder blades to his pecs. My head on his shoulder. He breathes, deep and even, and somehow, instead of feeling awkward and weird, it feels good. He smells delicious, just like he did in the car earlier.
I could get used to this.
“Like that, yes.” His voice is a rumble at my back. “I’m going to touch you.” I expect a hand on my arm, or around my stomach, but instead, his fingers sift through my hair.
I relax further with each gentle stroke. His heartbeat thuds against my back.
“Not so bad, right?”
“I hate it,” I say, but my breathy voice betrays me.
He laughs softly. “Bet you’ll hate this too.”
Before I can ask, Theo’s lips make contact with my neck. They’re soft, and his stubble is prickly and rough.
His tongue tastes my skin.
I arch.
He freezes.
“Cat?” he asks hoarsely.
I don’t respond. I can’t. I’m torn. The word please is on my lips, but I don’t know whether I want him to stop or continue.
He brushes his lips over my pulse again, nips softly at my skin. Pleasure zips up my spine, pools low in my stomach.
“That’s so good,” he says. “Just like that.” Another nip, and an embarrassingly breathy sound comes from my throat.
“You might be a terrible actress, but you’re good at this,” he says.
I still .
I’m not acting. But Theo is. I scramble off his lap. I can’t do this. In front of people, sure, but alone…he’s too tempting. It’s too much.
“What’s wrong?” He’s sprawled on the couch, confusion written on his face. He looks relaxed, but his cheekbones are red and he’s hard. Oh no. He’s hard. He wants this. Wants me the way I want him.
It’s biology. He had a woman on his lap, so of course he’s hard. He’s probably had a million women on his lap. I’ve seen him with women on his lap. I’m not special.
I never have been.
“We’ve practiced enough,” I say shortly.
“Are you upset with me?”
“Upset? No.” I shake my head. I don’t sound convincing. “Just tired. And hungry.”
“You’ve been eating my last chocolate mousse,” he points out.
I grab it and shove a bite into my mouth to keep myself from asking him for more of whatever the hell that was.
He pushes off the couch, eyes alight. “Give me a bite.”
“Definitely not,” I say through a mouthful of chocolate.
He frowns at me. “You’re not a very loving wife, Catherine.”
“I don’t have to be loving. I’m a warm body.”
“I don’t know, princess. You felt pretty loving on my lap.” He wags his brows.
“I was practicing.”
“You sure about that?” He looks so smug, so cocky. I want to punch him. Or kiss him.
“I hate you,” I mutter.
He laughs and saunters out of the living room. “Keep telling yourself that. Because that didn’t feel like hate.”