Page 21 of Redeem Me

I’m not even going to pretend that was successful.

But bar these sneaky perving sessions, I’ve managed to keep my head down. I’m doing my best to provide a stable routine for two adorable kids who have clearly had little stability over the past couple of years. Owen’s still taking histime warming to me. Though, the recent swims in the pool are gaining me a few brownie points. So are the yoga poses I’ve been teaching them. Down dog is Owen’s favourite. It’s not a lot, but it’s a start. As are the regular trips to the park and the ice cream parlour. Samuel always accompanies us. Either Caelon is paranoid about the rivalry Dermot mentioned, or he’s paranoid about my abilities to take care of his children. I’m not sure which is worse, but I don’t mind Samuel’s company. He’s funny, easy to get along with, and he always drives, something I’m eternally grateful for because the SUV Caelon mentioned is actually a brand-new Mercedes. I’m almost as afraid of denting it as I am of leaving it unlocked.

I retrace my steps in search of coffee, beating down the silly disappointment swirling in my stomach. There’s always tomorrow. I step into the kitchen and almost jump out of my skin when I see Caelon already there, wearing nothing but a tiny pair of running shorts that sculpt the globes of his ass cheeks to perfection.

He stands in front of the open fridge, peering in with his head cocked thoughtfully to the side. His broad back is bare, revealing an enormous tattoo of a phoenix rising from the flames. It’s shockingly colourful, intricate, and immensely detailed. The urge to run my fingers over every line and curve sets the tips of my fingers tingling.

And don’t get me started on the smooth display of skin, the taut defined shoulder muscles, and the strong muscular biceps which shift and tense as he reaches up for a carton of orange juice.

Holy fuck. He looked hot in a suit in the club. He looks smoking in jeans and a polo shirt; he looks savage in his training gear, but fuck me, half naked, he looks fit to be devoured like an all-you-can-eat buffet.

‘Morning.’ I lick my lips.

He startles. The carton of orange slips through his fingers and hits the ground, spilling all over the tiles.

‘Shit,’ he hisses.

‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.’ I cross the floor and tear a huge wad of kitchen paper from where the mount is on the wall. ‘Let me get that.’

‘No,’ he snaps. ‘I’m perfectly capable of cleaning up my own mess.’ He grabs a tea towel and tosses it on the ground.

I stand back, watching as it soaks up most of the juice. When I look up, Caelon’s gaze is focused firmly on my nightie, a white silk slip from Victoria’s Secret. It has tiny straps, dips low in a V at the front, and stops mid-thigh. Basically, it leaves nothing to the imagination. Not that he needs to imagine much. He knows exactly what’s hiding beneath.

I lean on a kitchen unit and fold my arms across my chest in a feeble attempt to conceal my bullet-shaped nipples.

‘I was in the gym.’ He points to his torso in explanation.

‘I came down looking for…’ What did I come down looking for again?

‘Coffee?’ He heads towards the fancy machine in the corner.

‘Exactly. I need a coffee.’But I’ll take anything else that’s on offer too…

He examines the row of capsules and snatches up a white china cup. ‘How do you like it?’

Heat flushes my neck. Does he realise what he just said? Is he trying to give me heart failure? Or is he oblivious to the fact I’m more attracted to him than I’ve been to any other man in my life?

When I don’t answer, he turns his attention from the coffee pods to me. Dark, bottomless pools dart over my thighs, roving up over my chest, before meeting my gaze.

‘Strong? Steaming hot? Sweet?’ he probes, and I swear he’s biting back a smirk.

For a second, I see a glimmer of the man I met in the bar that Saturday. That surliness is still there, but there’s a hint of fun beneath his cold exterior just dying to burst out.

I shrug, forcing nonchalance even though my mouth is watering at the sight of him. ‘Strong, always. And I’m sweet enough already,’

‘Don’t I know it,’ he mutters under his breath. ‘How are you settling in? Orla adores you.’ His tone is almost begrudging.

‘Okay, I guess.’ I shrug. ‘It was quite a shock, realising you were my new boss.’

‘You don’t say.’ He loads a capsule into the machine and hits the start button. ‘I never bring women home, ever. Then suddenly you turn up with a smile the size of the sun, and your suitcase.’ He skims his hand over his stubble. ‘I thought Dermot put you up to it as payback for me coming on to you.’

‘It was just a mad coincidence.’ Though, I don’t believe in coincidence. ‘As if I’d admit to my overprotective big brother what went down seconds before he arrived.’

‘Good job. He’d probably cut my cock off and shove it where the sun doesn’t shine,’ Caelon murmurs grimly. The coffee machine begins to spurt, and a delicious aroma floats through the air.

‘Yep. Then he’d cut you into tiny pieces and feed you to the sharks.’ I’m not joking.

Dermot insisted I join him for dinner the last two Sundays, once at a fancy à la carte, and once at our parents’ house. His weekly interrogations are grating on me. Have I thought about college? What am I going to do with my life? Blah blah blah. The list goes on.

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