Chapter 8
After my actions toward Robyn earlier, I decided to hole up in my office and get a few meetings done with the security team as well as some of the companies I take care of.
It was better to keep myself busy and focused on work than thinking about her.
But during those quiet lulls and breaks between work, as well as setting up contracts with new clients, my thoughts always strayed back to Robyn and the innocent look on her face.
That should never have happened.
And I knew that.
Yet my control seems to waver every single time I’m in her presence. I acted on impulse, allowing myself to imagine things I shouldn’t, and the entire time I was waging a war with myself on whether I should walk away… or punish her for trying to leave the house in dangerous weather.
If she were anyone else, I’d have dragged her into the living room and spanked her for having such a smart mouth.
And I wanted to. God, I wanted to.
Except I didn’t. I took the towel from her, wrapped it around myself, and put as much distance between us as possible because even with a house the size of mine, it still didn’t feel far enough.
I have to keep the line drawn.
Because if I don’t, if I allow myself to be drawn into her any further than I already am, it would create a multitude of unnecessary issues I neither want or need. The fact she’s Jennifer’s daughter didn’t even come into play. It didn’t exist, and I didn’t give a fuck.
By the time I finally ventured out of my office in search of something to eat, it was already five o’clock.
The house was completely quiet, and I’d wondered if she had left, except when I peeked through the gap of my bedroom door to check on her, I noticed her luggage and bag still resting on top of my bed.
When I eventually found Robyn, she was asleep in the living room, curled up in the fetal position and breathing softly.
The girl clearly sleeps like the dead because as her phone started to ping with various messages from someone called Toby, she didn’t stir once.
And what did I do? I stood there, like some fucking degenerate, watching her sleep for what felt like hours…
but must’ve only been a handful of minutes.
The melodious sound of her gentle breathing put me into a hypnotic state and I couldn’t take my eyes off her.
Why does she have such an effect on me?
Robyn’s lips were ever so slightly parted, those long black eyelashes of hers dusting the space just below her eyes, twitching slightly as she dreamed, and I knew then and there I was already becoming addicted to her.
Because if I could do something as simple as watch her sleep, there’s no telling what I’d be willing to do for her… or to her.
Stay away from her, Jack.
I berated myself internally for lightly brushing back the few strands of hair that had fallen over her face while she dozed. This wasn’t me. I wasn’t like this. I had never been a tender person when it came to women, but when she was like this, it was hard not to be.
As I stood there, that incessant pinging of her phone began to irritate me further and I couldn’t stop myself from wanting to know who the fuck was so desperate to get a hold of her.
She’s sleeping, god damn it.
I picked up her phone and pressed the screen, and although I couldn’t read any of the messages popping up due to facial recognition, I could see that Toby—a boyfriend, maybe—was sending messages to her every few seconds.
About what, I didn’t care, but the little shit seemed desperate enough to bombard her.
So rather than have the little asshole wake her up, I pocketed her phone and came into the kitchen.
Where I am right now, cooking.
Which is something else I hardly do.
Not because I can’t, but because I usually eat out with clients, or Jennifer does it all… did… she did do it all.
When I do cook, however, I don’t do it for anyone other than myself.
I could’ve been a complete asshole and let Robyn starve, or at least cook for herself, but if there was one thing my mother instilled in both Ellis and I as we were growing up, it was when you cook, you feed whoever is in your home. No matter who they are.
So here I am, standing over the large range cooker, preparing my late mother’s infamous beef and vegetable stew in the hopes that the two of us are able to sit together in a room and eat without this back-and-forth game we have apparently started playing.
I hear her before I see her.
The way her feet softly pad against the dark wood flooring of the house would naturally be missed by most, but not by someone like me. She pauses in the archway leading into the kitchen and as I glance over my shoulder, I raise an eyebrow at her.
“Jack, do you know where my phone is, I could’ve sworn—”
I point to the left of me where her phone is plugged into the wall, charging. “Do you eat meat?” I don’t know why I didn’t think of this before. If she doesn’t, I’ll just have to cook her something else.
Cook her something else, really?
“I do,” she says bluntly.
“Good.” I turn back to face the large pot in front of me and continue stirring so as to keep it from sticking to the bottom.
“I’ve prepared beef stew and rice for dinner.
” I can already feel her eyes boring a hole into the back of my head, and I’m not sure if it’s the heat from the stove or her icy glare that’s making me hot.
“Uh, Jack, I—”
“Just sit at the table, Robyn,” I respond through gritted teeth, cutting off whatever she was going to say, because right now I don’t think I want to hear it.
I don’t know why I’m pissed at her. And it’s not pissed in an angry way, it’s…
something else entirely, and when I hear her mutter ‘dick,’ underneath her breath, I press my lips together to stop myself from laughing.
Let her think I’m a piece of shit. It’s better that way.
The more she hates me, the less she will want to be around me.
I’ve never been in her life, and through no fault of my own, either. Maybe if Jennifer hadn’t been such a terrible mother to her, my relationship with Robyn would’ve been much easier in a situation like this. But our connection is less than platonic.
Lifting the wooden spoon from the crock-pot, I tap it a few times against the side and place it onto the counter beside me.
When I turn around, her face is pinched with a hint of sadness on her features, and I wonder if the cause of her upset has something to do with Toby.
Scolding myself for bothering to care, I clear my throat to garner her attention. “Beer?” I ask.
“Huh?” She looks up from her phone, schooling her features almost instantly.
“Beer?” I repeat my question. “As in, do you want one?”
“Um…”
“It’s a simple enough question with a very easy-to-answer response. Yes, or no?”
She scoffs, resting her elbows on the black and gold marble countertop of the kitchen island, leaning forward just enough for me to see down the cleavage of her soft cable-knit sweater.
Don’t do it, I tell myself. But I fail miserably and look directly at her tits.
“Are you on your period or something?” she queries.
Here we go again.
I mimic her post and lean over the countertop, carding my fingers together. “No, however I am in a period of time where I have to deal with someone as irritating as you.”
Robyn leans further forward, giving me an even better view of her pert breasts that look as though they’re about to pour out of the bra she’s wearing. “Guess we’re both suffering then, and in answer to your question, Grumpy… a beer would be great, please and thank you.”
I nod in her direction, refusing to bite back at the nickname she’s called me twice now, and straighten to my full height, because if there’s one thing I’m noticing about this girl, it’s that she seems to have an answer or comeback for everything.
A mouth so big it needs to be stuffed with something larger to have a chance of shutting her up.
I open the fridge and remove two ice-cold bottles of Budweiser, twisting the cap from both before placing one in front of her. Bringing the opening of the bottle to my lips, I take a mouthful and watch as she stares directly into my eyes.
Noticing movement to the right of me, my eyes automatically flick in the direction of it, where I watch with apt devotion as she strokes her fingertips languidly up and down the neck of the bottle before wrapping one hand tightly around the base and lifting it to her own mouth.
Jesus Christ.
Incapable of tearing my eyes away from the scene in front of me, I observe her wrap those pillow-soft lips around the opening and take a long sip. I’m transfixed as her lips pop off and she uses the thumb of her left hand to swipe the stray drop of beer trailing down her chin back into her mouth.
How in God’s name is my dick this ridiculously fucking hard over something so effortless as that?
Seriously, what the fuck is wrong with me?
The affect her presence is having on me is confusing as well as frustrating. I’m not like this; I don’t watch women this way. I don’t long to touch them or imagine how my cock would feel sliding in and out of them. But apparently my brain and body didn’t get the fucking memo when it comes to Robyn.
Tossing her a gentle wink because I can’t think of anything better to do, I give her my back and continue finishing up the last part of dinner, removing two black bowls from the cupboard above my head and plating up the rice from the rice cooker ready for when I ladle the stew on top.
The rest of dinner is spent in silence, other than the few sounds of enjoyment she makes when eating.
Something I would usually find peeving as I hate that type of shit.
My doctor told me I have something called misophonia, but yet when Robyn does it…
there’s nothing irritating about it. She sits scrolling through her socials, I read my book, and oddly enough we both fall into that comfortable silence that I haven’t enjoyed in so long.