Page 20 of Scary Suitor

I throw my body against the wall, hiding from the wide area, and shake my head at Finny’s questioning look. Mouthing an excuse about changing shoes, I shuffle down the long hall, narrowly avoiding people and their inquisitive gazes.

If that man is Cassio, then he will definitely ask Finny where I am. It’s in her nature to be meddlesome, so she will tell him I’m going to my room. I steer to a recreational part of the building, regretting the impulsive decision because I’m facing a bunch of sweaty, shirtless men playing lacrosse.

Why do I do this to myself? What good will it do when I’m forced to think about sweat-soaked armpit hairs?

Thank goodness I skipped breakfast.

I retch behind my hand, hurrying toward the more secluded area reserved for outdoor painting.

“Sit down, pretty,” Cassio’s voice says from behind me. “Motion will make you sicker.”

He grasps my arm, hauling me to the chair in the shade, and pushes me down. I groan as my stomach rolls anxiously from being close to him and the disbelief that peaceful days are gone with the wind, traded in for a destructive hurricane to my stress level.

“What are you doing here?” It’s a whine. Forget about poise; he needs to know how much I don’t want him at this resort.

He has many bigger and more well-established resorts to choose from. He said so himself: he has money. Rich people have the funds to splurge on a better view and fewer people.

For fuck’s sake, this is a business retreat. The line between vacation and work blended the moment I got onto the plane and landed in humid weather.

“Would you believe me if I say I’m an event organizer? Meeting others and conning their money, as you said?”

I drop my gaze to the ground just as his knee hits the floor, dirtying the ironed trouser and trapping me to the chair. Bowing my head would nudge his chest, but if I look up, I’ll be inches from his face. Whipping to the side is the least comforting option; my neck is too vulnerable to his unnerving interest toward the muscle.

“Me neither,” he agrees with the deadpan retort. “I’m here to see you.”

“You have seen me, now leave,” I order hastily.

I’m proud of my stance; it’s about time he understands he doesn’t have power over me. I won’t give him a chance to get it back.

Words don’t mean anything without action.

I have half a petty mind to headbutt him in the chin, but instead I use my hands to push his broad shoulders, noting the thick muscles flexing under the touch. The dark navy dress shirt is tight on his body, sticking to him with little imagination left on the swell of muscles.

Brushing off the eerie bliss of groping defined muscles, I break out of his hold to step into the sunlight.

There are many people around, none paying us attention, but it has me breathing easier. Cassio won’t risk getting thrown out, banned, or involved with the police. He doesn’t have free rein to do whatever he wants, and one scream for help will have people running to my rescue.

I’ve decided to fight back. Game or not, New York is my second home and a fresh start. The smart move is to make as many connections as possible, preferably rich ones, to counter Cassio’s influence, and have a decent number of close friends.

Someone is bound to see through his façade.

“I have to collect what you owe me,” he notes merrily, reminding me of a Setsubun festival’sonimask: golden horns, wicked smile, and sharp fangs.

“Five days.” Cassio snaps a hand around my nape, yanking my stunned body to his chest, and halts my fretting before it starts.

“I missed five days,” he murmurs to himself.

Burying his face to my cheek, he nuzzles and breathes deeply. He angles his incredibly ravishing jawline, kissing along my cheekbone and down to my jaw with more gentle attention.

He means kisses. I admit I’m sneaky when I avoid him, knowing he’s living next door. I feel like a robber, tiptoeing out of my home and pressing my ear to the thin wall for movements on his side.

“I’ll take three,” Cassio murmurs, landing a kiss on my lips. “I want them all, but it’s good to not be greedy.”

He dives in for a deeper second kiss and draws a mewl from me.

I’m processing how I got from the chair to be in his arms, getting attacked with his lips, and not fighting him. My brain knows this is wrong, mocking me for not doing what I set my determination on. My body is betraying me, slowly melting in his thick arms, drowning in his cologne, and grudgingly loving the blanket of bizarre solace from his towering frame.

The last kiss goes to the center of my throat, tearing a shocked squeal as my mouth screws into a grimace.

---