Chapter 10 - Amber #3
“I’ll clean—” she began, but Cillian was already wetting paper towels and wiping the counter. She cut herself off, watching him with bewilderment. At her sudden silence, Cillian twisted to look back at her, raising an eyebrow at her bemused expression. His lip twitched upward.
“What?” he asked. “You look like you’ve never seen someone clean before.”
“Not after my own mess,” she muttered, then realized she had spoken aloud.
Crimson speckled her cheeks. She blushed and turned away for a moment, ostensibly to finish mixing the dough together but really to conceal her emotions.
Her mind kept flicking back to Eric, memories of him and his actions filling her mind, threatening to drown her.
She hurriedly righted the bag of flour and rifled through the rest of the cabinets to hunt for the rest of the ingredients.
“You all right?” Cillian asked.
She turned back to see him staring speculatively at her. Her heart began stuttering again, and heat flushed across her cheeks. It was the way he was looking at her, as if he wanted to see the real her, to pull down the walls she had spent so long building.
“I’m fine,” she murmured. She coughed and glanced away.
A hand went to her arm. She stiffened for a brief moment, then slowly turned.
Cillian was close. Too close. Her throat went dry.
“It’s just flour,” he said. “Seriously. It’s not that big of a deal. Relax.”
She wanted to burst out into laughter. “Just” was not something she was used to hearing when she made a mistake.
Most of the time, it resulted in her being called worthless or a waste.
She wanted to explain this so that he would understand why she couldn’t just relax like he’d suggested. But the words refused to come.
His grip on her arm tightened, not in a warning or a threat, but in comfort. Her breath caught, thoughts of how close he was to her cutting through some of the terror.
“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Cillian said, then he smirked. “Besides maybe needing to apologize for apologizing so much.”
She laughed, surprised that she was taking comfort in his reassurances. Unconsciously, without realizing she was doing it in the first place, she stepped toward him.
“Thanks,” she murmured.
He looked down at her, his gaze intense and filled with undisguised want.
Her heart began to hammer, and she bit her lip softly despite herself.
She could feel his body heat from here, and she had a wild urge to close that final foot of space between them and press against him.
She stayed where she was, but she wouldn’t have been surprised if he could sense that want, because she could tell he was feeling the same thing.
“There’s nothing for you to thank me for,” he said.
One of his arms slid to her waist, holding her there, his touch burning her skin through her clothes. He gripped her tight. Jolts of electricity rippled through her, emanating from everywhere he touched her.
It would be so simple to lean forward, to press her body against his.
A wild part of her wanted to close that gap.
She had been fighting against her feelings for so long that she was tired of pretending they weren’t there.
Why was she holding back? She wanted him.
She had wanted him for weeks now. What was the harm in giving in to those urges?
After a moment, she blinked, and the rest of the room came back into focus. She pulled herself away, almost in a daze. Cillian’s hand fell to his side, and he looked at her in confusion, as if he had sensed just how badly she wanted to move closer and couldn’t understand why she hadn’t.
Before she could think too hard about it, or before Cillian could ask what was wrong, she turned back to the counter and the spilled flour. She dampened a paper towel and began wiping.
She could feel him staring at her, and she didn’t have to glance over her shoulder to sense his confusion.
Both of them knew how close they had been to forgetting dinner entirely and spending the evening in bed together.
It had taken more effort than she cared to admit to tear herself away, but she wasn’t going to do that.
She couldn’t open herself up to that. Not after everything.
Besides, her yearning for him wasn’t something she should act on—not after everything he had done to her. He had still forced her to marry him. He was still controlling her life and trying to dictate what she could and couldn’t do.
He’s apologized, though, a voice pointed out. He’s gotten better, and he listens to you when you call him out for something.
She could feel Cillian’s eyes on her back as she cleaned. Pink spread across her cheeks, and she kept her head bent so he couldn’t see it.
“I’ll have that bread ready as quickly as I can,” she said, trying to keep her tone cheerful and even despite the myriad of emotions—confusion, relief, want—rippling through her.
“Yeah,” Cillian said. “Sounds good.”
She refused to turn around. After a moment, she heard Cillian turn away to tend to the chili.