Page 47 of Arranged Obsession
Just an impression of his body and the sheets thrown back.
Relief washes over me. I really didn’t want to face my new husband this morning.
I told myself I wasn’t going to do this.Sleep on the couch like a big girl. Don’t give in!But somehow that guy wove a magic spelllast night and led me up into his stupidly comfortable room like the freaking Pied Piper of good sleep.
I groan and stretch.
Now I’m spoiled rotten.
How am I supposed to go back to the couch afterthis?
“He knows what he’s doing,” I groan to myself, shimmying my hips and really grinding down into the mattress. “God, I really hate him.” I roll onto my side and curl into a ball, smiling to myself with a long sigh. “He’s pure evil.”
Another hour of sleep and I finally drag myself up. All my clothes are stashed in the empty room so I have to sneak in there, grab what I need, and quickly get changed before my husband decides to come storming in on me while I’m in my underwear. And with his timing, he’d make sure I’m bent over or something, right in the most compromising position possible.
Lucky for me, I manage to muddle through my morning routine. It’s a little after seven when I head downstairs, thinking about coffee, maybe some toast, only to find Cormac standing in the living room with a watering can lovingly tending to his plants.
I stand and watch, fascinated. He’s in workout gear and I’m guessing that’s why he was up so early. There’s a light sweat on his body still and it glistens as the morning sun slants through the windows. He practically glows, and I feel something shifting in my guts. A strange, grinding yearning.
He’s so gentle. The way he moves the leaves aside. Some he sprays from a bottle, most he fills with the can, lightly checking the soil with his fingers. He moves from one to the next, takinghis time, lavishing each with attention. I never in a million years would’ve guessed Cormac could be so gentle.
Not with his reputation.
Those are fists for breaking things. Cracking teeth. Crushing windpipes.
I picture those hands on me. Touching my skin with the same care and obsession he’s showing his little indoors garden.
Am I seriously jealous ofplantsright now?
“There’s coffee if you want some.” He doesn’t look at me, still fully concentrating on what he’s doing.
I flinch and feel my cheeks heat up. “Sorry, I didn’t know, I mean?—”
“I heard you come down.” He looks over. “You walk like you’re trying to wake the dead.”
“I absolutely do not. I’m graceful.”
“You lumber.”
“I float.”
His lips press together. Is that a little smile? “You’re right. You’re a feather.”
I glare at him, head cocked. “You’ve called me that before. What’s it mean?”
“Nothing important.” He goes back to watering. “I’ve been told I have to drive you to work in an hour.”
That knocks me off balance. I want to press him on the wholefeatherthing, but the change of subject stops me. “I didn’t know that was happening already.”
“Seems my father and your brother want to get the business rolling.”
“Sounds like Adriano,” I mutter as I head into the kitchen. He’s got a fancy carafe and the coffee smells incredible. I fill a mug and add a little cream, which surprises me. Cormac looks like the kind of guy on a strict no-fat, no-sugar diet. With a body like that, he’s got to be holding out on himself. Maybe I’m wrong though.
“We’ll leave in about forty-five minutes.” He comes into the kitchen, empties the rest of the watering can, and turns it upside down to dry. “What do you need to get ready?”
“Nothing from you. Turns out, I’m capable of dressing myself.”
Another press of the lips. I’m really amusing him today. “I’d be happy to help.”
