Page 49 of A Forgotten Promise

Or I’m just projecting shit because I’m starving for attention. Fuck.

I want to step away, but it’s like my body craves the tingling in his presence that his slightest brush with my skin caused. I feel it all the way to my core. The unacceptable attraction scares me.

It takes all my strength to hold his gaze. I’m only marginally aware that Larissa is probably watching our weird stand-off.

Corm stares back at me. It’s unnerving. And somehow rewarding. What is it about his gaze that just takes me as a prisoner?

For a brief moment, or an equally brief conjecture of my imagination, I almost believe he enjoys having me in his orbit. Which also freaks me out.

A voice is droning on in his ear, but I don’t know if he’s listening. A small bruise colors his chin slightly around his swollen lip. I’ve never realized how well-defined his jaw is. God, the man is annoyingly handsome. My fingers itch to trace the wound.

Or to squeeze some lemon into it.

He raises his eyebrow impatiently, and I remember why I marched into his office.

After he closes the door, he gestures to a sofa in the corner and shoots a rapid fire of questions at the person on the other end of the line.

I ignore the offered seat. Instead, I look around trying to shake off my body’s reaction to his accidental proximity.

I don’t know what I expected, but I didn’t expect his office to be so bright. It’s modern and full of white and beige accents, with a spectacular view of Manhattan.

It’s also welcoming. Like his personality is the only offensive thing in this space. Like he landed in this office by accident and didn’t bother to redecorate it into the dark colors of his soul.

Without thinking much about it, I move around the place. The shelves to my left house books, binders, and two lonely photographs in simple black frames.

One is of his brother, Declan, scowling in a family portrait with two small children. I recall his wife left him.

Well, if he was scowling like that and his personality is similar to his brother’s, I don’t blame her. But leaving behind two children? Not even my mother is capable of that.

The other picture is of an elegant woman. Based on her features, she must be Corm’s mother. But there is no father. Were they divorced?

Corm’s father passed away last year. According to our engagement statement, his recent public indiscretions are related to that loss.

But then why wouldn’t he have a picture here? I turn to check his desk, and my gaze meets his. Cormac is scowling at me—and wow, he mastered that look way better than his brother.

“Are you looking for something?” he growls.

“A picture of your father,” I answer honestly before I remember we’re at war. Goddammit.

“Why are you here?” he snaps.

“What a warm welcome.” I give him a saccharine smile.

He cracks his neck. “I had the day from Hell, and I don’t need you adding to it.”

What a prick. “Maybe if you kept your word and didn’t behave like an asshole, your day would have been better.”

“What do you want, Saar? I’m not interested in your attitude.” He glares at me.

I’ve never realized how much tension radiates from his body. He may stand with his hands in his pockets, the picture of casual annoyance, but he’s vibrating with energy that is about to explode.

Is it just today, or was I so concerned with my own reactions to him that I didn’t notice before? And fuck, I hope I won’t be around when the volcano erupts.

I fold my arms over my chest, and his eyes drop to my cleavage. For some stupid reason, it makes me feel self-conscious.

I move my arms behind me and shove my hands into my jeans’ back pockets. And I hate him a bit more for making me cower like this.

“You jumped the gun, announcing the engagement, so don’t blame me for having to deal with my brother.”

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