Chapter 15
ADRIANA
I shoot up in the bed and whip my head around, heart thudding hard.
How the hell did I get here?
I clutch the edge of the comforter. The last thing I remember is the couch. The stupid reality show I insisted we watch. And Lochlan's shoulder, warm against my cheek.
The bedroom door is closed. I swing my legs around until my feet hit the floor. My heels are lined up neatly by the dresser. There's a glass of water on the nightstand that wasn't there before.
He carried me. Or walked me in here half-asleep and probably draped all over him. Either way, he took care of me, and I don't know what to do with that realization.
I grab my phone and check the time. Six-thirty. Early, but not an ungodly hour. Cabinets open and close, the rich scent of coffee filling the air.
He's already up.
I pull on my robe, take a breath, and push open the door. Then I walk out of the room like I didn't just spend the night using Lochlan as a pillow.
He's at the stove, his thick, muscled back to me, wearing gray sweatpants that hang low on his hips.
And nothing else.
I stop dead, my pulse shooting into my throat.
Because this can’t be real. He can’t be real. But he is and I’m here with him, and my God, gray sweatpants.
There's a tattoo across his shoulder blades.
I've never seen it before. He's always been in a shirt, his body always covered, even running. But now it's right there, staring me in the face, an intricate and dark Celtic knot. It spans the width of his upper back. And below it, there are words trailing down his spine that I can’t read because they’re in another language.
Biting down hard on my lip, my eyes sweep over every rip and cut of muscle. Sweet Jesus, it looks like he was chiseled from stone. My fingertips tingle with the urge to touch when Reaper runs over to me, barking his good morning.
Lochlan turns, flashing me a wide smile when he catches me staring. Heat floods my cheeks, and I tuck a stray strand of hair behind my ear, tearing my gaze away from his naked torso. “Good morning.”
“Morning,” he says. “Coffee's ready. I'm making eggs.”
“Oh, you don't have to—” I start to say.
“Already made them. Sit.” He nods at the kitchen island stool facing the stove. My stool, as it’s become.
I slowly climb onto the stool. Not because he told me to, but because fighting about eggs at this hour of the morning feels silly. And also because I need a moment to stop thinking about that tattoo and his jaw-droppingly delicious physique.
He slides a plate across the counter and sits across from me with his own.
We eat in silence for a minute. Reaper parks himself at my feet, looking up at me with hopeful eyes.
“Can he have eggs?” I ask.
“Sure. He'll love you forever.”
“I guess there are worse things.” I smile and pinch off a piece of egg before holding it out. Reaper inhales it the second I dangle it in front of him. His tail wags harder, tongue hanging out of his mouth.
“Now you've done it,” Lochlan says. “He'll never leave you alone.”
“He already doesn't leave me alone,” I say. “Where have you been?”
Lochlan chuckles. “Fair point.”
I shovel in a forkful of eggs, trying like hell not to stare at his chest. His massive, smooth, very distracting chest that makes my mouth water like it never has before.
I swallow and clear my throat. “The tattoo,” I say, pointing at him with my fork because apparently, I have no self-control. “I haven't seen it before.”
He takes a sip of his coffee and nods. “I got it when I was twenty-one. The knot is a family thing, a protection symbol. My grandfather had one similar to it.”
“And what do the words mean?”
“Ní neart go cur le chéile.” He says it with a perfect Gaelic accent. “There is no strength without unity. It's... a reminder.”
“Of what?”
“That I can't do everything alone. Even when I want to.” He meets my eyes, hovering his fork over the plate. “Took me a long time to learn that.”
Our gazes tangle across the kitchen island, like his words just cast a spell over us. It takes my breath for a second. I drop my fork into the plate and sit up straighter.
“About last night,” I say.
“You fell asleep. I turned off the TV. End of story.”
“Yeah, but I don't usually—”
He smirks and my God, it’s so sexy and adorable at the same time. “Fall asleep on people? Yeah, I figured.” His eyes crinkle in the corners. “It's not a big deal, Adriana. You were tired, so you took a little rest. That's a good thing.”
“It's unprofessional.”
“Good thing we're not professionals.” He takes a bite of his eggs. “We're married, remember?”
“In name only.” The words have become somewhat of a defense mechanism for me lately, and they tumble out before I can swallow them back down.
Lochlan shrugs. “Still counts.”
My lips part to speak, but my brain refuses to feed them a thought that I can actually say out loud.
Reaper puts his head on my knee. I reach down automatically to scratch behind his ear, and he lets out a deep sigh like he’s perfectly content to sit here like this forever. He probably would if I let him, too.
“He's getting attached,” Lochlan says.
“How do you know?” I ask. “I mean, maybe it’s because he was hungry and I just gave him some eggs.”
Lochlan shakes his head. “I know you’re not a dog person, but this is how they connect.
They can always tell the good from the bad.
He knows you have a good heart and that you’re kind.
Dogs sense that stuff.” He pauses. “And I happen to think he’s damn insightful because I sense the same things about you. ”
I shake my head, a smile tugging at my lips. “You know, some guys might use that as a line.”
“Why would I bother with a bullshit line when I really believe what I say is the truth?”
My jaw drops the slightest bit. For a moment, I find myself being whisked away into those swirling pools of blue, completely captivated as tingles assault my skin under his heated stare.
“I have meetings all day,” I finally blurt out once my mouth decides to work again. “I'll be at the office until at least six.”
“Want me to drive you?”
I shake my head. “I'll take a car.”
“Adriana—”
“It’s my time to process,” I say. “There’s a lot going on right now and I just need quiet to work through it all.” I pause, standing up from the stool. “I know you’re just trying to be helpful, and I appreciate it. But it’s just… a lot. Not you. My life in general.”
He's quiet for a bit. Then he nods.
“I get it. You need your own time and space. Just do me a favor and text me when you get there and when you leave.”
My spine stiffens. “I'm not a child.”
“No. You're a target. And I’m trying to give you space while keeping you safe.”
He's right. I hate that he's right.
“Fine,” I say. “I'll text. But security will let you know anyway. They’re always watching.”
“Maybe I want to hear from you. Have a great day, and kick some ass.” He winks and holds up his coffee mug. “Until tonight, wife.”
This time, I don’t comment on his use of the word. I let it hang there between us.
And it feels… okay.
Maybe more than okay.
When the elevator door opens on my floor, Jayne is waiting with my coffee.
“Good morning." She eyes me over the cup with a knowing smile. “You look... rested.”
I lift an eyebrow at her and take the coffee from her outstretched hand. “Is that code for what you really want to say?”
“Nope. Just an observation.” I take the cup from her, and she follows me into my office.
“I think you know me well enough to expect I’ll ask the real questions.” She clasps her hands together, a knowing smile stretching her lips. “So. The husband. How's that going?”
I put down my bag with a sigh and take a sip of coffee before settling into my chair. “It's going fine.”
“Fine.” She draws the word out. “That's very convincing. Really. Like, Oscar-worthy reaction.”
“Jayne.”
She chuckles. “What? I saw him, Adriana. In the flesh. The man looks like he was carved out of freaking marble. You're telling me you're living with that and everything is just ‘fine’?”
Sweet Jesus. And she hasn’t even seen him without a shirt. A tiny shiver licks down my spine as my mind trips back to those heated seconds in the kitchen when the eggs weren’t the only things cooking. “We have a professional arrangement. Nothing more.”
“Uh-huh.” She waves a hand around, not even pretending to believe me. “And the fact that you're glowing this morning has nothing to do with him?”
I gasp and my hands fly up to my cheeks. “I'm not glowing.”
“Yeah.” Jayne tilts her head to the side and nods. “You're a little glowy.”
“You’re making things up.” I open my laptop and type in my password. “There's no such thing as glowy.”
“There absolutely is, and you are it.” She grins. “But fine. Keep your secrets. I'll just be over here, speculating wildly.”
“Please don't.”
“Too late. Already started.” She heads for the door, then pauses. “Your nine o'clock is in the conference room. And your ten o'clock moved to ten-thirty. And if you want to talk about the hot husband at any point, I will clear a timeslot on your schedule.”
“Goodbye, Jayne.” I shake my head. Always too damn observant for her own good. I used to love it, and now I hate it about her.
“Bye, boss. Say hi to Marble Man for me.” She winks as she pulls the door closed.
The morning passes in a blur. Meeting after meeting where I make strategic decisions that will guide the next phase of my company’s growth. This is the kind of work I'm actually good at, the kind that doesn't involve capos or Russian gangsters or complicated feelings about my fake husband.
By noon, I've restructured a vendor contract, approved a new hire, and talked a nervous client off a ledge. This is my world. This is where I make sense.
My phone pings with a text. My heart jumps when I see it’s from Lochlan.
Reaper misses you.
I grin at the photo of Reaper lying dramatically across the couch, his head on his paws, eyes drawn. He looks like he just lost his best friend.
Poor baby.
That thought jolts me as soon as I give it airtime. When did I start caring about the dog’s feelings? I type a response.