Chapter 17
Adorable
brIGIT
The relief flooding my brain right now is a level of stupid I can't believe I'm capable of.
But all I saw before Cormac's hand was over my mouth was his vague form, and for a second, I thought it was a different man who has made it known that he knows where I live.
The need to scream bubbled up and would have escaped if Cormac hadn't stopped it in its tracks and dragged me inside.
As terrifying as he can be, the smoothness with which he spun me inside was almost like a dance.
Trapped between him and the wall behind me with that playful mischief in his eyes, I felt safe.
There was nothing rough or violent about the way he held me, even with his hurry to get me inside before he got caught breaking in.
I missed you.
It's only been a couple of days.
"What are you doing here?" I ask, though unfortunately, my heart is already responding to his presence, pumping and making my stomach do painful little flips.
He pauses, searching for a reason that makes sense before finally answering, "I told you I'd be keeping an eye on you."
"If you're waiting for me to go to the police, you're wasting your time," I slide out from underneath him, heading for the kitchen.
There's no point in going for the pistol taped to the bottom of my sink; he'll catch me before I can use it.
And I think he and I both know the harm he can do to me isn't just physical. I’ve become addicted to the toxic high he brings, and it's going to take time for these destructive impulses to dissipate.
First, it starts with getting rid of him. Then, making sure he can't get back in. And lastly, no more Mingle. I have to stop wandering into his life if I expect to kick him out of mine.
"Am I?" he follows shortly behind me, sliding into a stool at my kitchen island, settling in like he belongs here.
I continue around the island, keeping it between us like a barrier, a physical manifestation of how this is going to go.
He's never stayed long before; why should this be any different? Except this time, when he leaves, he won't be coming back in so easily.
"You and I both know it wouldn't help," I shrug, pointedly not looking at him. "Your illegal activities aren't a secret to anyone, and now my secrets belong to you as well. If I try to turn you in, I may as well run my license through the shredder."
Silence sits between us, stretching into an uncomfortable, deafening yawn.
When I can't take it any longer, I glance up to see if he's going to respond at all.
Instead, I find him deathly still, eyes narrowed as he stares through me like he's searching for the truth lying beneath my avoidance.
I raise a single brow, daring him to tell me differently.
"Would you like me to pretend it hasn't occurred to me?" he asks with a taunting smile. “Threatening your job would be the least of my crimes. I've broken into your home, I've used your gun and my knife more than once to persuade you into doing what I want.”
His fucking smug grin on the word persuade— the arrogance of this man to tease me with the things he's persuaded me to do with the threat of bloodshed hanging over me.
He gestures between us with a single, snake-covered finger. "This is extortion. I know that. You know that. But it hasn't bothered you until now. So what's changed?"
"Nothing," I fold my arms over my chest. I don’t want to reveal to him that some asshole showed up here at my door and made me feel afraid in my own home. As it turns out, my capacity for having a stalker ends at one.
One dark brow glides up towards his hairline, "You're lying."
"No. I'm not."
His fingers tap impatiently against the countertop, "I- I can't explain how, but I know for a fact that you are."
Would I feel better if I just told him the truth?
Would it even matter?
What could he do?
He leans across the table, taking a small box in his hand, rolling it back and forth between them like it's a fucking baseball.
"What are these for, Brigit?" he asks softly, trying a more gentle approach.
He doesn't look at me when he asks this time, giving me the consideration of not staring through my soul when he knows I don't want to tell him.
"For keeping strangers out of my apartment," I supply, my tone riddled with sarcasm. "I seem to be having a problem with that."
He looks around, "I don't see any strangers."
When his eyes land on mine again, they're glittering with humor, begging me to take the bait and continue this back and forth with him.
When I don't, he continues, "You couldn't be talking about me. We're definitely not strangers anymore."
My cheeks warm from the salacious meaning in his words, the reminder of just how close we've gotten.
Knocking the box gently against the counter, he presses again, "What happened?"
"A cop was waiting for me when I got home from getting coffee today," I let the truth slip out.
His face drops, all humor and fun gone in a single blink.
"What was his name?"
I shrug, "Didn't ask. I was too busy lying through my teeth and trying to get rid of him. But I know I recognize him from somewhere.”
His fingers tap against the counter again, "What did he want?"
"He was looking for you. Thought I'd know where you are," I lean my elbows onto the counter, laying my forehead between them, feeling a sense of relief from telling someone what happened, even if that someone is the person responsible for it all.
Realistically, he's the only person who might be able to help anyway.
A beat of silence, then, "What did you tell him?"
Speaking into the cool marble, I mutter, "Nothing. Told him I have no idea where you are. Haven't spoken since before you got arrested."
"And?"
"And he didn't believe a word of it. He said you're dangerous, which," I sigh. "Duh. But he also said that people like you bring it home and I'm likely to get caught up in your mess."
"He threatened you," Cormac's voice creeps across the counter, cold and bitter. "He came here looking for me and he threatened you."
I hum in acknowledgment.
"What else did he say?"
The other part of our conversation doesn't need to be repeated.
I don't care that he was sleeping with his last lawyer. I don't.
"Brigit."
A groan of annoyance slips out of me, "Nothing important."
"Seems important."
"It's not," I insist.
Silence.
I can't even hear him breathing.
One second.
Two.
Three.
I lift my head to see if he's going to say anything, but he's gone. He slid out of the chair without making a sound.
What the fuck?
Standing to my full height to find him, he appears in my peripherals.
Wrapping his arms around me, he pulls me into his chest, leaving me frozen.
"What are you doing?"
His fresh, drenched in masculinity scent surrounds me as he holds me closer, "Shhh. Just relax for a second."
Resting his cheek against my head, he scratches gently up and down my back, lulling me into his warm embrace.
When's the last time I had someone hug me? A real one like this with someone giving me comfort just because I needed it?
I genuinely have no idea.
It's probably been years.
Some of the tension in my spine bleeds out, my shoulders relaxing into his hold, and I begrudgingly let my eyes fall closed. I can’t bring myself to wrap my arms around him, can’t surrender that easily, but that doesn’t mean I can’t lean against him and let him be my strength for a little while.
For a few seconds, we just stand there in my kitchen, bodies pressed together with nothing but a need for comfort holding us together.
I don't think there's ever a moment when we're together that I'm not, against my better judgment, attracted to him, but just for a minute, our physical closeness isn't defined by that, which is all the more daunting.
One of his hands dips under my chin, bringing my gaze up to his.
The amber depths, framed with dark lashes, seem so sincere it's almost impossible to believe this is someone capable of the harm he's done.
And even harder to believe he would need to manipulate women into sleeping with him or working for him. They were probably falling at his feet to do both before he went through all this.
His eyes trace every inch of my face, full of wonder like he's taking in something of great magnificence and needs to soak in every second of it.
"What else did he say, Brig?" he asks again.
My cheeks warm, and I stammer out the uncomfortable truth, "He just implied you have a type."
That's definitely not all he said.
Cormac's eyes narrow with suspicion, but his lip lifts to one side in a smirk, "Try again."
I close my eyes and breathe in heavily, despising the words about to come out of my mouth, "He told me you were sleeping with the lawyer from before you tried to hire me."
Cormac's brows raise in surprise, but he doesn't deny it.
That unwelcoming, slimy feeling creeps under my skin again, and I itch to extract myself from his hold, to pull away from the comfort turned instantly cold.
"Wait, wait, wait, hold on," he chuckles, tugging me tighter into his grip. "Is that all? That's the part you didn't want to tell me? That he revealed I'm not a virgin?"
"Cormac," I tsk, trying to shove him away before abandoning the fruitless endeavor. "Don't be ridiculous. You're a grown man. No one was under the impression you were a virgin."
He gasps, tilting my chin up again, "Are you... are you jealous?"
"No." I'm not.
"Baby," he croons, "Believe me, you don't need to be."
A heavy, exasperated breath whooshed out my nostrils, "I'm not."
"No? Then why was that so hard to admit?"
I want to slap the smugness right off of his face.
"Because it solidified for me what I already knew," I finally escape from his iron grip, creating some much-needed space to think. "You put me in a situation where I'm powerless. You apparently put your last lawyer in a similar one."
He holds up his palms, "Okay, slow down."