Chapter 9
NINE
Cormac rode the knife’s edge of his nerves for the hours that it took to talk to the police and bundle Lucy home. Rick Holden, Stirling’s only detective, was cagey with his responses to Cormac’s questions. When Cormac suggested that Aaron Phillips was behind the explosion, Rick only said, “We’re investigating all possibilities.” When he questioned what the detective’s plan was to bring Phillips in, the other man only dismissed him by saying, “We’ll call you as soon as we know more.”
It was a little too close to Cormac’s memories for comfort. Whenever the detective neglected to give him a straight answer, Cormac’s jaw locked and his muscles went hard. Suddenly, he was eleven years old again, powerless, angry, and terrified.
Except now he had Lucy to protect. It wasn’t until he was inside his apartment with all the locks and alarms engaged that he breathed a little bit easier.
Dark smudges marred the skin under Lucy’s eyes, and her movements were clumsy and sluggish. She’d seemed calm while speaking to the police, but Cormac could tell the interview had worn her down. The woman made wedding invitations; an exploding car was a shock to her system.
“Are you cold?” he asked when he noticed her rubbing her arms as she took a step into his apartment.
“A little,” she admitted. She gave him a sad smile. “My favorite sweatshirt was in my car.”
“I should have given you one of our company hoodies.” Cormac pinched his lips, annoyed at his oversight. “Hold on,” he told her, then ducked into his bedroom and grabbed the first sweatshirt he saw. When he handed it to Lucy, she pulled it on over her head and let out a happy sigh.
“Cozy,” she said, her body swallowed in the soft jersey material. She rolled the sleeves up until her hands poked through. Cormac’s tension eased slightly as she smiled at him. It was a tiny smile, but it was there. “Thank you.”
All Cormac could manage in response was a curt nod. A vise had tightened around his throat while he took in the sight of Lucy wearing his clothing. He liked the sight. A lot.
It made no sense to feel this strongly about the woman. He shouldn’t have brought her here. But how could he not? Was he supposed to leave her in her unsecured apartment, an open invitation for every criminal in the area?
Catching her frown at the sight of his lifting shutters, he arched his brows. “Is there a problem?”
“You have four locks on your door,” she informed him, glancing back at the front door. “And an alarm. Are those hurricane shutters?”
He glanced at the window shutters that were slowly rolling up to reveal the town of Stirling spreading at their feet. The clock tower was lit up in the middle of his view, with the dark line of the river snaking below it. “They’re not hurricane shutters, no,” he hedged, “but they’d probably survive one.”
“You used your fingerprint to do that alarm thingy,” she said, pointing to the control panel beside the door. “I’m surprised you didn’t have a retina scanner.”
“I considered it, but the added security benefit was minimal for a residential space.”
Lucy laughed, but she clamped her lips when Cormac didn’t join her. Then she narrowed her gaze. “Was that…a joke?”
“No. Come,” he said, leading her deeper into the home. As he entered the kitchen, he kept one eye on Lucy. She scanned the kitchen/living space with idle curiosity, touching the dark marble of his island and tracing one of the ivory veins that shot through it. Then she stroked the leather back of one of his barstools and wandered toward the huge windows.
For some reason, Lucy’s opinion of his space mattered to him, which was annoying. He tore his gaze away and opened his fridge. His pre-portioned dinner waited in its glass container, but he didn’t want to feed Lucy reheated leftovers. Instead, he set some water to boil for pasta and checked the fridge. No guanciale or pancetta, but he had bacon. He’d make carbonara. She needed energy after a day like today. She hadn’t touched the snacks he’d given her earlier and had only had half a glass of water. She needed sustenance. Decision made, he grabbed a hunk of parmesan and a few eggs.
“Hello there,” Lucy said. “Aren’t you a pretty thing?”
Cormac turned to see her kneel on the polished concrete floor of his living room, a dark, furry creature creeping toward her. His cat was fickle as anything, but apparently she was just fine making nice with Lucy. Figured.
“Don’t be offended if she runs away,” Cormac warned. “She doesn’t usually like strangers?—”
He clamped his mouth shut when his cat rubbed up against Lucy’s thighs, purring so loud it sounded like a rumbling engine. Knife poised above his cutting board, he stared in shock as his grouchy, solitary cat allowed herself to be picked up and snuggled against Lucy’s chest.
“You’re a darling, aren’t you?” Lucy cooed. “What’s your name, pretty kitty?”
Cormac pinched his lips as he watched Lucy reach for the cat’s collar. She read the name written on the dangling charm, then cranked her head to stare at him.
“You named your cat Princess Snowball?” She blinked, fingers stroking behind Snowball’s ears, making the cat purr even louder. “ You named your black cat … Princess Snowball ?”
“The shelter named her,” Cormac explained, then turned to the stove and started cooking. His face was oddly warm, so he turned the heat down on the pan. It didn’t seem to help much.
He heard Lucy approach but didn’t turn. She washed her hands and then leaned against the counter beside him. “Can I help?”
“No. There’s wine if you want some. Or water. Glasses are just above your head.”
She took out a glass and filled it with cold water from the cooler built into the fridge. Watching her move around his kitchen, Cormac was surprised to find he wasn’t uncomfortable having her in his space. He liked it, actually. She fit here.
“I still can’t get over the fact that you have a cat, and she’s called Princess Snowball. Make it make sense.”
The water was boiling, so he dropped the noodles and started on the sauce. The chopped bacon went into a pan so he could render the fat. “What’s so hard to believe?”
“You should have a big, growly dog or something. With spikes on its collar.”
Cormac grated the parmesan into a bowl and used a fork to mix in the eggs and an extra yolk. He frowned at Lucy’s words. “Dogs require constant attention. A cat takes care of itself for the most part.”
Lucy hummed, and Cormac stole a glance in her direction. She was watching him over her glass, and some of the old light had returned to her eyes. The sight of her witchy little smile made his shoulders relax while his ribcage tightened over his lungs. She looked like herself again. Good.
The noodles were done, so he saved some water and drained them. Then it took only a few minutes to bring the sauce together, mixing the noodles with the bacon and quickly emulsifying the egg-and-cheese mixture into a sauce. He splashed in some pasta water and got the plates out of the warm oven he’d prepped earlier.
When Cormac plated the noodles and slid a plate across the island, Lucy inhaled deeply and let out a soft grunt, almost a moan. Cormac watched the way she stared at his food, and he knew she wasn’t just any client, and this wasn’t a favor to Marlon and Camilla.
He wanted her here, with him. He wanted to be the one who fed her, cared for her, and kept her safe.
When he gestured to one of the barstools for her to sit, she slid onto the seat and gave him a strange look.
“Eat. Is everything okay?”
“You can cook,” she answered, tone slightly befuddled.
“Is that a problem?”
“No, it’s just…a surprise.”
Cormac didn’t know what to make of that. “Eat, Lucy.”
She tucked in, letting out a little mewl of contentment, and Cormac got that same feeling of easing tension in the center of his chest. He sat beside her and ate.
“Thanks again for letting me stay here,” she said after a while. “I really appreciate it. I’ll call one of the girls in the morning so I can be out of your hair tomorrow.”
He gripped his fork a little too hard then said, “You’ll stay here until we’ve figured out who’s behind the explosion.”
“Cormac—”
“Do you really want to put one of your friends at risk?”
Her eyes widened. She hadn’t thought of that. “Oh,” she said quietly, and Cormac regretted his harsh tone.
He sighed. “I have plenty of room, and you’ll be safe here.”
“Look, I appreciate it, but I can’t really afford to?—”
“I’m not charging you a fee, Lucy.” The growl was back in his voice, and he forced himself to calm down. “If you leave here and get hurt, I won’t be able to live with myself.”
She nodded, eyes wide. He’d put that fear back in her eyes with his harsh tone, and he hated himself for it—but she had to be safe. Nothing else mattered. The best place for her to be was right here, where he could watch over her. No one could get to her if she was with him.
They ate and cleared the dishes, and then Cormac showed her the guest room. He rustled up some pajama pants of his along with a T-shirt, placing them on her bed, and felt that same bone-deep satisfaction at the thought of her sleeping in his clothes.
He was losing his mind. It was exhaustion. It had been a long day. He needed sleep, and these feelings would go away.
After showing her the bathroom across from her room and finding one of the spare toothbrushes he kept in the cupboard, he gave her a curt nod. “I’ll be just on the other side of the living room. First door on the left.”
Cormac needed to get away from her. It was bad enough that he’d brought her here, in his space, under his protection. He should have left her in the safe room at the office and kept a boundary between them, preferably a boundary that included a moat, a drawbridge, and hundreds of snapping crocodiles. But the thought of Lucy anywhere but an arm’s length away from him made the back of his neck itch. He needed to know she was safe. Needed to make sure of it.
It was the same old instinct, time-worn and unwelcome. But this time, he didn’t have the energy to fight it.
He turned for the door. “Goodnight,” he said, then paused when he felt her hand on his shoulder. Turning, he was surprised when Lucy wrapped her arms around his middle.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
Hesitating a moment, Cormac finally gave in and wrapped her in his arms. It felt too good. He had to put some distance between them. He let go and took a step back. “Let me know if you need anything.”
She nodded, looking small and scared, wrapping his oversized hoodie tighter to her body. His chest ached—but he turned around and walked away before he did something he regretted.
Lucy tossed and turned in the big, unfamiliar bed. She’d showered and changed into the clothes Cormac provided and put the amazingly cozy sweater back on, but she couldn’t rid herself of the remnants of her anxiety. Huffing impatiently, she threw the covers off and padded to the kitchen to get a glass of water.
She was surprised to find she wasn’t the only one who was still awake. Cormac glanced up from the couch, a laptop propped on his knees. Lucy recognized the security footage from the Expo parking lot before he closed the lid.
“Couldn’t sleep,” she explained. “Just getting a glass of water.”
He nodded, watching her as she filled her glass and moved closer to him. A small plate sat on the coffee table, holding a fork and what looked like smears of chocolate. She grinned at the evidence of his sweet tooth.
“You were holding out on me,” she chided. “I didn’t get any chocolate tonight, and my car exploded.”
Huffing, Cormac shifted to the side to make more room for her on the couch. “With the way you hoarded your donuts, I didn’t think it was safe to show you my stash.”
A small smile tugging at her lips, Lucy took a seat beside him. She put her glass down on a coaster and nodded to the laptop. “Did you find anything?”
He shook his head. “No. But the police are going to take Phillips in for questioning as soon as they find him, so we should know more soon.”
“Find him?”
Cormac ground his jaw. “He wasn’t at home or his office. They don’t know where he’s gone.”
Worry squirmed through Lucy’s middle. All she managed was a nod.
He rested his arm on the back of the sofa behind her, and Lucy had the urge to curl into the crook of his shoulder. She resisted, choosing instead to wrap her arms around her knees for comfort. When Cormac’s hand slid onto her back, she couldn’t help the sigh that slipped through her lips. He made comforting circles on her upper back, and that simple touch soothed her more than she wanted to admit.
“I looked up Juniper and Sage,” he said in the stillness of the night.
Resting her chin on her knee to look in his direction, Lucy arched her brows. “And?”
“Pretty big opportunity for you.”
She grimaced. “Yeah.”
“Why the face?” His thumb made slow sweeps along the edge of her shoulder blade, the warmth of his palm soaking through the fabric of her—his—hoodie.
Maybe that’s why Lucy felt comfortable enough to share. She was wrapped up in clothes that smelled like him, ensconced in his fortress, with the warmth of his hand between her shoulder blades. In this cocoon of safety, it didn’t seem so bad to share the embarrassment of her past.
“I have a habit of choking under pressure,” she admitted.
A notch formed between his brows. “In what way?”
A deep sigh made her chest rise and fall. She gulped and said, “I used to work in sales. I was part of the sales team for this company that sold really specialized software that managed safety and compliance for heavy industry applications. Quality assurance, government compliance, that kind of thing. We tailored the programs to various industries and sold them. It was a male-dominated field, and I was really good at it. I was making a ton of money. It was fast-paced. I enjoyed it.”
“But?”
“But then I got promoted, and I had to pitch our biggest potential client yet. Multi-million-dollar contract that would last at least five years. The commission I’d make on the sale would be enough to triple what I’d earned in the previous year. I worked so hard to prepare for the meeting. Hours upon hours upon hours. I knew the software back to front. Nothing was going to stop me from making the sale.”
Cormac’s hand slid up to her nape, fingers tangling into her hair. He massaged gently. “What happened?”
Lucy’s eyes drifted shut. His touch felt so good. How was it possible for a man to have this effect on her? She leaned into the comfort, dredging up the worst of her memories. “I froze. The client was this brash, loud, combative man in his sixties, and I stood in front of him and turned into a stuttering mess. He asked me questions I knew the answer to, questions I’d prepared for, and I couldn’t get the words out. It’s like my brain just went blank. By the end of the pitch, he looked at me like I was pathetic, rolled his eyes, and we lost the contract.”
“You got fired for losing one contract?”
“I didn’t get fired,” Lucy admitted, “but I stopped getting big clients. And then even smaller contracts became harder to close. Within six months, I wasn’t selling anything, so I wasn’t getting any commissions. The base salary was so low I had to quit just to find a job that paid my bills. It was this slow, horrible death spiral. I just…lost it. Lost whatever confidence I had. Now every time I feel that kind of pressure, it takes me back to that boardroom, and I freeze.”
“You didn’t freeze today when people came up to your booth.”
His fingers dug into a knot at the base of her neck, and Lucy groaned. “That’s different,” she said.
“How is it any different?”
“I went back to school to study graphic design because it was something I could do on my own. It’s just me and my computer. And yeah, sometimes clients are difficult, but they’re not staring at me while I do my work. So when I’m standing at the booth, I don’t have to convince them to buy right away. I know, at the back of my mind, that I have all the time in the world to make things right for them. There’s less pressure to perform on the spot.”
A gentle tug, and Lucy was crashing into Cormac’s chest. He wrapped his arm around her back and let his hand rest on her hip, using his free hand to tilt her head up.
They stared at each other, and Lucy’s heart thrummed. He smelled clean and fresh and delicious. He was warm and strong, and he was looking at her like she mattered. She didn’t feel frozen and anxious; she felt hot . She wanted to close the distance between them and feel his lips pressed against hers. She wanted that stoic exterior to shatter because of what she did to him.
In those suspended seconds, when time ceased to exist and all she saw was the deep blue of his eyes, Lucy was sure that was where they were headed. She’d let him do whatever he wanted to her. She’d love every minute of it.
But then he went and ruined it by saying in a low rumble of a voice, “I think you’re lying to yourself.”
She stiffened. “Excuse me?”
“I said, I think you’re lying to yourself.”
Trying to push against his chest to get away had precisely zero effect as he tightened his hold on her, so she glared at him. “How do you figure?”
“If you crumpled under pressure all the time, you never would have hired me to stand up to Aaron Phillips. You wouldn’t have shown your face at the Wedding Expo at all.”
“That’s different,” she repeated.
“You charmed every person that walked up to your booth and convinced one of the biggest companies in the country to give you a shot. It’s not different, Lucy. You’ve still got it, that thing you think you lost.”
A hissing snake was writhing in her belly, protesting his words, but Cormac was warm and sure, and he was looking at her with such conviction that the feeling settled. Her fingers curled into the soft fabric of his top, and she could feel the warmth of his chest beneath it.
He believed in her.
Not the way her family and friends did; they encouraged her and made sure she knew they were there for her, but they did it in a way that reminded her of her failure. They’d catch her if—when—she fell. That’s not what Cormac was offering. He was meeting her gaze and telling her that he believed in her . He thought she could accomplish anything she set her mind to. No safety net required.
It rocked her. Held tight against his chest, her own shell cracked open for him. She wanted to live up to whatever belief he had. She wanted to prove him right.
Warmth twisted through her veins, settling between her legs. Somehow, she’d ended up wrapped up in Cormac’s arms, safe in his home, with the world far, far away.
This wasn’t real. It was some sort of fantasy world, where big, gruff, security-obsessed men told her she was stronger than she thought.
She was just about to pinch herself when he angled her chin up, his thumb stroking the edge of her jaw. Eyes steady on hers, he gave her plenty of time to pull away as he lowered his lips to hers.
But she didn’t pull away. She curled her fingers around his neck and met him halfway, trembling, desperate, on fire.