Chapter 22
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
NORA
I’ve spent the last several days mired in self-hatred, wondering if every decision I’ve made over the past month was driven by self-interest. Wondering if maybe Pansy really is in love with José.
Then I got another text from her this evening:
Cormac made eight figures off that tech he sold. He could definitely help you with your bathrooms, babe.
So, yeah, this isn’t just a me thing. She definitely sucks.
I dared to show the text to José, hoping it would be enough to convince him to drop her, especially after the way she acted the other night.
He didn’t seem happy about it, but he made excuses for her, repeating that she was stressed because her business isn’t popping off the way she’d hoped.
Honestly, he’s acting like a real dumbass, and it’s reminding me a lot of the way my mom reacted whenever my dad failed to come home for dinner—or, on one memorable occasion, three days.
You know what he’s like when he’s stressed. He disappears into himself.
She said the same thing when he ate the dinners she made without thanking her. Or stayed hunched over his cell phone at holiday dinners. Or forgot to attend the birthday celebration I’d arranged for her since he’d done shit for her special day.
While I understood why she’d wanted to believe he disappeared into himself—rather than into other women—it didn’t make her self-deceptions any less painful to witness.
Now, the same thing’s happening with José.
It will never happen to me. I never want to be on either side of that twisted equation—the woman who keeps hoping she’ll be loved back, or the woman who keeps taking and taking, until there’s nothing left.
Sure, I dated Jonah, the two-timing jerk. But I went into that mess knowing he was a slick, charming asshole. I figured there was no harm in dating him, because there was no danger I’d fall in love with someone like that.
Cormac’s different, though.
I trust him.
I know he’s a good person.
The safe thing for both of us would be to push him away. I don’t know what to do with a man like him, and I have it on good authority that no one knows what to do with a woman like me. But he told me he wants to be with me—any way he can.
And right now?
All I want is to be with him.
We’re both quiet in the car, but as soon as we get through the door, Cookie rushes toward us in a flurry of movement and sound.
She’s so overjoyed to see us she nearly does an accidental backflip.
Once she’s freed us from our sycophantic duties, Cormac leads me to the couch.
Neither of us says anything—he just gathers me to his side and wraps his arms around me, holding me close, as if he knows exactly what I need.
“I’ll watch the Shirtless Chef with you, if you want,” he offers, a smile in his voice.
I shift to meet his gaze. “Why are you so good to me?”
“I want to be good to you. In fact…I promised Ann I’d buy you an ice cream cone. She forced a ten-dollar bill on me. I’d hate to tell her I broke my promise, especially since I failed to get you dessert the other night.”
“But we just got here,” I say, not feeling at all like I want to be seen in public.
“I have ice cream here. Will you consent to me making you an ice cream cone instead?”
“How wholesome of you.”
The smile he gives me is different from most of the ones he’s bestowed on me. It’s full of the same hot need I saw in him last week. “No, I don’t have wholesome reasons for offering. It just so happens I like the thought of watching you eat an ice cream cone.”
“I can’t blame you. It’s sexy as hell.”
He smiles and stands, holding an unnecessary hand out to help me up.
“I’ve been thinking,” I say as he takes it, giving me a tug. “Helping women stand is as useless as holding a door open for them. Unless you’re assisting one of your elderly visitors, of course. I’m perfectly capable of standing by myself.”
“I don’t think it’s useless at all,” he says, still holding my hand as he leads the way into the kitchen. “I got to hold your hand.”
“Cormac.”
His name comes out shaky.
He peers at me over his shoulder as we reach the threshold of the kitchen. “There’s nothing inappropriate about a man making an ice cream cone for his hot stepsister so he can watch her lick it.”
I laugh, hanging back as he takes an ice cream tub out of the freezer. Next, he gets a box of cones and a container of sprinkles out of the pantry and methodically makes me an ice cream cone. Cookie, who followed us into the kitchen, watches his process with hungry eyes.
When Cormac notices, he laughs and bends down to pet her ears with an easy sweetness. “Not this one, girl.”
He hands the cone to me, then grabs a pup cup from the freezer. Cookie releases a sonorous bark before she starts nudging at his legs frantically. “I’ll be right back. I’m going to get her settled in the spare room.”
I watch him as he heads down the hall, taking in his mussed hair and the way he’s murmuring under his breath to Cookie. He talks to her as if she’s a person capable of carrying on a conversation.
The warmth in my chest feels good, and it feels awful too, so I take an exploratory lick of the ice cream to cool it. I’m taking another lick when Cormac returns a moment later.
He nods in satisfaction. “Yup, that’s exactly as good as I thought it would be.”
I roll my eyes at him but take another lick for his benefit, our eyes locked.
He swears. “I’m going to throw Ann a party for suggesting this.”
I smile at him…until he starts to put the ice cream carton way.
I wrap my hand around his bicep, stopping him. “Excuse me. You’re not making a cone for yourself?”
“Wasn’t planning on it.” He finishes pushing the carton in and closes the freezer.
“No fair. What if I want to watch you eating one?”
“You want to watch me licking ice cream?”
An immediate wave of heat crashes into me. He was so careful with me the other day, so thorough. I’ll bet he’s a man who would give careful, thorough head. He’d make an art of it.
I clear my throat, then nod. “Yeah, I think I would.”
He surprises a laugh out of me when he steals the cone from my grasp and takes a lick.
“That was mine!”
“And now it’s ours.”
He hands it back, and I take a long lick, circling my tongue around it. I can feel the heat of his eyes on me and the tension coiling between us.
God, I want him. I’ve had lots of sleepless nights this week, thinking about him.
I hand it back, and he sets it down on the counter, so forcefully I hear the cone crack.
“There’s some on your lip,” he says, his voice hoarse.
I lean in closer, knowing I shouldn’t. “So help a girl out.”
He swears under his breath, then starts to remove his horn-rimmed glasses. I grasp his hand. “Leave them on. I like them.”
Surprise registers in his eyes. Seconds later, he’s leaning in and sucking on my bottom lip.