Chapter 7
Skylar
"I’m coming!" There’s a banging on the door.
I was lucky to find this apartment above the bakery.
I rented the bakery space, and the apartment came with it.
It has its own separate entrance, so it provides a certain amount of privacy from the traffic to the bakery.
It also means, I cut down on commute time and cost. Considering I work into the night, either experimenting on new recipes or trying to balance my books, I can stumble up to my bed and fall asleep, gaining precious extra minutes of rest.
I jump out of bed, pulling a robe on over my sleep shorts and camisole. Whoever's at the door bangs on it again. "Oh, for the love of Game of Thrones, I'm coming," I yell again, then reach the door, throw it open, and freeze.
His shoulders fill the doorway, and he’s so tall, the top of his head grazes the door frame. It’s not that the entrance is narrow, either. He’s just a big man. He grips the door jamb on either side and glowers at me. "The lock on the main door leading to your apartment from the street is broken."
"Good morning to you, too," I drawl at the very irate looking Nathan.
"Did you hear what I said?" His eyebrows draw down further. His eyes flash with anger—what a surprise—and something more. Fear? On my behalf?
"I’m safe, aren’t I?" I point out.
"You were sleeping here all night with the downstairs door open?" His jaw tightens. His gaze, as usual, is fixed on my lips. Awareness crawls up my spine. My nipples bead. If I look down, will I find them outlined against my bathrobe? Not that I’m going to risk a peek.
"To be fair, I did lock this door." I slap at the door to my apartment to illustrate my point.
"One strong push and its lock could have been broken." He glowers at me.
"Surely, you exaggerate. Also, there’s nothing of value here anyway."
He raises his gaze to mine and there’s a funny look in his eyes. "You’re here."
I blink. Oh. Oh! Does he mean? Nope, surely not.
"Can I come in?" Without waiting for my answer, he brushes past me and walks into my living room. And the space immediately shrinks. It’s always been enough for me, but with him there, everything seems to be dollhouse-sized in comparison. He glances around the space. I see it through his eyes and wonder what he makes of the kitchenette on one end and my bed and closet on the other. In between, there’s a door to my bathroom.
It’s a tiny place, looking down on a fairly busy main street— which is good for traffic to my bakery.
Or so I’d thought. It's one thing to be facing a thoroughfare; another for people passing by to walk in.
At least, the window over the bed faces the tiny garden behind the building.
In the early hours, things are quiet enough, I can hear the birds.
I shut the door behind me but don’t follow him. I don’t think there's enough space for both of us in my tiny apartment; not when he seems to take up most of the space.
He does a slow turn, then comes to a stop with his gaze on my features. "You need to come with me."
"Excuse me?" I gape at him.
"You did say you were going to marry me, didn’t you?"
That was four days ago, and I haven’t heard a peep out of him since then.
I almost hoped he’d forgotten about it. But then my landlord emailed me to say if I don’t pay for the last three month’s rent by the end of the month, he's sending around the debt collector.
That's when I realized things were about to get very real, very fast. And that I have no other way out but to marry him, because I need the money.
A part of me wondered if I should message Ben and let him know about the possibility of this happening, but the last thing I want to do is bother him when he needs to focus.
So, I hunkered down and immersed myself in making desserts.
I also posted on social media, trying to drum up interest. But without another viral post there was no additional traffic to the bakery.
I also didn’t have the time to keep up with the posting schedule.
I can only focus on one thing, and that one thing is baking.
I need someone else who can post to social media.
It’ll probably take them a fraction of the time it takes me, and it will provide a higher ROI.
That’s one of the first things I’ll need to delegate once I have money.
"Well?" He widens his stance. "You haven’t changed your mind, I assume?"
"Did you expect me to?"
"I came here, ready to change your mind back, if you did."
I tighten the knot of my bathrobe, and his gaze drops there. I flush because… My midsection is not where I want anyone’s eyes to fall, and definitely not this sexy man I’ve had a crush on for as long as I can remember.
"You this desperate to marry me?" I tease.
"Yes."
My breath catches in my throat. Goosebumps scatter over my skin. I open my mouth to say something but lose my train of thought. What does he mean by that? Does he want to marry me, because—all of a sudden, he woke up and realized the feelings I have for him are not one-sided? Likely not.
His next words confirm that, for he says, "I need Arthur to confirm me as CEO of the Davenport Group. The fastest way to do that is by getting married."
"I still don’t understand why you decided it had to be me. You could have asked anyone else."
"There’s no one else I could find who’d do it in such a short period of time." He shrugs.
"Don’t sound too excited about it." I walk past him, and of course, his ocean breeze scent teases me as I head toward the kitchenette. I switch on the kettle, and spoon coffee grounds into the cafetière, then turn and gasp because he’s standing right behind me.
"Oh, I didn’t hear you walk over." I half laugh, then tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. "Are you sure you want to go through with this thing?" I swallow.
"If you mean the marriage, yes. Of course I do." He pulls back the sleeve of his jacket and looks at his watch. It’s a Rolex. I’ve seen enough ads of that brand to make out the distinctive pattern of the dial face.
Another change. The Nathan I met with Ben was never this stylishly dressed, nor did he wear such expensive brand-names.
He was rugged—he’s still rugged—but now, there’s a sheen of sophistication which sits easily on him.
Like he was born into money… And from what he’s telling me, it’s his right to have been brought up in such luxury.
The kettle switches off. I turn back and pour the water into the cafetière, then reach up on tiptoe to take down the mugs on the top shelf.
Before I can touch them, he’s there. The heat of his body sears my back.
His scent is intense; notes of cinnamon and pepper woven in with that ever-present ocean breeze scent of his teases my nostrils.
The lapels of his jacket graze my shoulders, and his fingers brush mine.
I freeze; so, does he. We stay there, unmoving—him looming over me, his presence all around me.
I sense him move, then he inhales deeply.
What the—! Did he sniff me? I glance at him over my shoulder, but he’s already moved away. His features are a cold hard mask, one that does not invite any questions. He steps back and places the mugs on the counter next to me. Then, as if to be certain, he puts more distance between us.
"I assume you take your coffee as dark as your soul?"
He crosses his arms across his chest and glares at me.
“I take that as a yes.” I place a teabag in my cup and pour hot water over it.
Then I slowly press down on the plunger before tipping the coffee from the cafetière into another cup.
I use the espresso machine in the bakery but at home I prefer the simplicity of the French press.
I add milk and sugar to my tea—prefer to keep the tea bag in so the brew is strong; blasphemy for a Brit, I know—and mix it. I walk over and hand his cup to him.
He takes a sip of the coffee and doesn’t wince; despite the fact it’s probably scalding. Of course, he’s used to the burning fires of hell where he normally lives, so it doesn’t affect him.
He’s back to staring at my mouth, and those embers in my lower belly flare to life again.
I can’t be in his presence without feeling this pull toward him.
He must sense some of my thoughts, for he raises his gaze to mine.
Once more, the full impact of those uneven eyes overcomes me.
The blue is not completely blue. Right now, it’s blue-grey, and the amber is almost golden.
It’s hypnotizing, like the first time I looked into them and lost my breath and my mind emptied of thoughts.
It reminded me of looking into the eyes of a storm, filled with rainclouds, heavy with the promise of the first downpour.
Like staring into the heart of a forest fire…
Dangerous, yet also, alluring, like—Stop it, right there.
I pivot and walk over to the couch, where I sit down. For a few seconds, I stare into my cup of tea. Not like I’ll find any answers there. His feet appear in my line of sight, but I ignore him. Maybe he’ll leave if I don’t talk to him?
Instead, he lowers his bulk onto the seat next to me.
He’s not touching me, but he’s so huge, he takes up most of the remaining space.
The hair on my forearms rise. My body reacts to his nearness with no confusion.
It wants him. I… want him. Oh god, this is going to get so very complicated.
I rub at my temple, where a familiar drumming makes itself known.
That’s all I need, a migraine. I’ve had them since I hit puberty at thirteen.
Normally, the headaches come at the onset of my period.
But since I began taking care of Hugo, combined with scrambling to save my fledging business, the frequency has multiplied.
I hold up a finger. "Hold on, I need to take my medication."
I reach over to where I placed my handbag near the couch, pull out my medicine, shake out a pill, and swallow it down with my tea. I then look up to find him watching me with a frown.
"What's the medication for?"