Page 26 of Captive Audience

“Tired, and I ache worse than the time I tried to do back-to-back Pilates classes, but otherwise”—I raised my arms and stretched—“amazing. Dry spell officially over. Thank you.”

“My pleasure.”

Sweet Jesus, he was devastating when he smiled.

Wealthy, hotter than the surface of the sun, and to top it all off, an absolute demon in bed. How was this guy so perfect?

Don’t do it. Don’t even think about catching feelings for a man who’s as far out of your league as his home is from the ground.

After we ate, I’d go back to my tiny apartment and alarming bank balance and remember this for what it was: a one-off unforgettable night. Hoping for anything more went against everything I stood for. Even a man as seemingly flawless as Rook came with complications—baggage, lies, inevitable disappointment—and I wanted none of that.

I cracked eggs into a bowl while Rook heated a skillet. My heart skipped a beat or two as my gaze traveled over his tattooed back. Almost all of it was covered with a huge Celtic cross wrapped in green vines and surrounded by words in Gaelic.

“What’s with all the ink?” I asked.

“Just family stuff.”

“What do these words mean?” I traced a fingertip along one.

He tensed for a second. Barely perceptible, but I caught it.

“It’s an oath.Neart,onóir,dílseacht,fuil. Strength, honor, loyalty, blood.”

“Sounds like your family takes their oaths seriously.”

“Aye, they do.”

I continued running my fingers over the tattoo’s intricate details.

Rook stopped what he was doing to draw in a deep breath. “I like you touching me.” He angled his head toward me. “But if you keep doing that, I’ll have to fuck you again.”

I licked my lips. “I don’t see a problem with that.”

He let out a low growl, picked me up, and sat me on the cool counter. The next second, his big, warm hands were on my thighs, spreading them wide to make space for him. I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled his lips to mine. The kiss was deep and full of need. His rough palms ventured under my shirt to run up my hips, my waist, then?—

Why had he stopped?

Rook dipped his head. “I’m doing a shite job of looking after you. You’re sore, and you need food.”

“I’ve heard people can survive for weeks without eating.” However, I couldn’t deny that I was sore.

His expression turned conflicted, and when he took my face in his hands, the kiss he pressed to my lips was firm but brief. “Stay put while I cook for you, or I’ll have to chain you up.”

I grinned. “Sounds terrible.”

“Careful what you wish for, love.” He winked and left me to grab the bowl of eggs and a whisk.

While Rook moved around the kitchen, I took in the rest of the open-concept living space. There was no question it’d been decorated with a man in mind—not a feminine touch in sight. Sleek and modern with black marble floors and dark wood cabinetry.

A massive L-shaped leather couch dominated the living room, softened by a thick floor rug and scattered cushions. A wide fireplace surrounded by a slab of black granite faced the couch. Above the fireplace sat a TV bigger than any I’d seen, while a mixture of abstract art and black-and-white photos adorned the other walls.

Despite the masculinity oozing from every corner, it still gave off a warm, lived-in vibe.

“Your apartment is beautiful. How long have you lived here?”

Rook poured whisked eggs into the skillet. “In Philly? Almosttwo years. This apartment used to be…” He picked up a spatula. “It used to be my brother’s. He left it to me in his will.”

An orphan and he’d lost his brother, too? How awful.