Page 70

His abrupt departure from my room unsettled me, and if I want him to set the date, I want to make sure that... Argh, hell if I know.

His door was ajar. Or did he leave it open on purpose? I didn’t expect to interruptthat. And I didn’t even interrupt. He continued.

Why? Why am I never on a level playing field with him?

I thought he didn’t see me. But something about seeing him naked—God, the man is gorgeous—making himself come, paralyzed me.

Just seeing him all-powerful and vulnerable was mesmerizing. It made him look human. That is, if a man with the body of God can be human. I couldn’t take my eyes off him. I almost fucking came myself from just seeing him come undone.

But it wasn’t justmeseeinghim. He saw me. How long did he know I was standing there? He probably got off on my spying. Disgusting. Or hot. I’m so confused.

As if my existential crisis isn’t enough, now I have to tango around this unfortunate situation. Plus my weird hateful attraction to him.

I sigh. Facing Corm today isn’t even the biggest of my issues. It’s my inability to unsee what I witnessed last night.

My libido has been so low, I haven’t used my vibrator in months. Until last night. I was wet when I returned to my room, arousal trickling between my thighs. That rarely happens.

Shit. I’m physically attracted to the man I hate. One that has been playing a power game I keep losing.

Now I have to play the dutiful fiancée if I want him to move forward with the stupid wedding. Can my life be more fucked up?

On top of everything, Vito hasn’t returned my calls in two days. Poor man probably wants to spare me more devastating details of my dire situation.

Okay, no more wallowing. I’m going to rock the shit out of this arrangement. I’m going to buy all the books about burnout, set up as many networking meetings as possible, and find my purpose by the end of this month.

And hopefully, by the end of the month, I’ll have my money and can have my freedom back. Life looks better after a few self-inflicted orgasms that made me fall asleep.

Nora’s offer flickers through my mind, but I dismiss it. It feels like too big of a venture in my current state. I need to find myself before I can do something so big.

My improved mood goes down the drain the minute I enter the kitchen.

With his back to me, my fiancé stands by the bay window, talking on the phone. He’s wearing a navy button-down with the sleeves rolled up, and black slacks that hug his ass to perfection.

His muscles bulk up as he raises a cup to his lips. He stands with his legs apart, owning the room without even trying.

I know he technically owns this room, this house, but it’s the energy of power that simply washes off him so naturally, and consumes everyone and everything in his vicinity.

I stay rooted in the entrance, momentarily startled by his physique. He truly is gorgeous. Like male-underwear-commercial quality.

Why isn’t he in a suit? Or at work already?

“Thank you.” He disconnects the call and turns.

Our gazes collide. If he is surprised to see me, he doesn’t let up. He studies me with an aloof coolness, and a shiver rakes down my body.

Cut. It. Out.

“What are you doing here?” I accuse, because apparently, fight or flight is my default setting. And my stubbornness doesn’t allow me to flee, so here I am, confronting him as if I had the right. Or as if it was in my interest. No fucking filter.

“I live here.” He smirks, taking a sip of his coffee. “Making a habit of spying on me?”

Heat rises to my cheeks, and I swallow a retort. Getting married is the goal here.

“I didn’t expect you to still be home.”

He puts the cup down and slides his hands into his pockets, observing me with an expression somewhere between annoyance and curiosity. “Let me make you breakfast.”

“What? Why?” My heart rate spikes, and now I am somewhere between annoyed and curious. What is happening?