Page 115 of Cerulean Truth
"Hey!" I protested, but he effortlessly hauled me over his shoulder in a fluid motion and exited my library, my legs flailing behind me while offering me an unobstructed view of his (very nice) ass.
“Put me down!” I screamed, “Now!”
He ignored me. Of course.
My threats, my pleas, my shouts—they all fell on deaf ears as he ran up several flights of stairs like I weighed no more than a feather.
It wasn’t until he lowered me back to the ground and closed the door behind us, I finally had the chance to survey my surroundings. My eyes darted around the room, taking in its simple yet elegant design. It was undoubtedly a living space, furnished with just the essentials. A modest couch, a sleek desk, and a solitary chair occupied the room, which bathed in the gentle glow of a lone lamp.
To the right, a bar with three stools marked the boundary between the living area and a compact kitchen. On the left, a closed door hinted at the presence of a private chamber orperhaps a bathroom. The space exuded a sense of spaciousness and refinement, despite its minimalistic decor.
I instantly realized where we were—this had to be James's loft. The understated style spoke volumes, mirroring his penchant for simplicity and functionality.
"Why are we here?" I grunted, as I observed James stride into the kitchen, seemingly indifferent to my presence in his personal space.
He returned with two glasses and a bottle of Scotch in hand. "I assumed single malt, neat." He swiftly opened up the bottle, filled both of the glasses and handed me one of them while he took a long sip from his own before retreating to his desk.
I was still angry at his caveman-like behavior, but the aroma of the evidently high-quality whisky forced me to take a sip.
"Bowmore?" I asked, surprised.
He nodded. "Eighteen years."
Well, that was quite the peace offering.
"Why are we here, James?" I pressed, suppressing an irritated sigh.
"If you would sit down like a civilized person instead of hovering by the door like an escaping prisoner, I could explain," he snapped.
"Civilized people invite others in; they don't haul them over their shoulders and abduct them," I retorted.
He rolled his eyes. “You and your abductions. You really need to tone down the drama.”
My jaw dropped. Did he just really say that to me?
"Are you kidding me—" I began, but he cut me off.
"Enough, Emma, please! Can we just…" His voice trailed off. He set down his glass and held my gaze with so much vigor, it almost made me feel uncomfortable.
"Can we agree to a truce, even if only for a few hours?" he asked, his tone unexpectedly soft compared to his usual demeanor.
I raised a brow. "You, resorting to caveman tactics, makes a truce seem unlikely."
"You were being stubborn."
"And you were giving me orders," I spat.
"Fuck, Emma, just stop! Okay?" he growled, the harshness of his voice causing me to take a step back.
"Please."
I blinked. Did he just say please?Holy...
"Just please, take a seat."
I sighed as I surveyed the room. "Where?"
"Wherever you like."
