Page 24 of Arranged Obsession
All I can smell are bushes, pollen, and dirt.
Which means I’ll have to get close.
I need an excuse. Some reason why I’m approaching him. Maybe I want to ask him questions about Finn? Or maybe talk to him about Kurt Vonnegut?
But all thoughts disappear from my head when he turns in my direction and stares at me like my skull’s on fire and he can’t wait to watch my face melt off.
The man’s glorious. It’s unnerving how beautiful I find him. Square jaw, full lips. Dark hair and dark eyelashes. His muscles bulge against his tight black t-shirt, and there’s the casual bump of a weapon holster at his hip. His hands are clasped behind his back, and my eyes move from his biceps, which are obscenely well built, right to his sculpted pectorals. Like I’m some creep ogling his chest.
I open my mouth to say something, but I can’t think of any words.
Cormac’s piercing stare rakes down my skin. Tingles run down my bare arms. A hunger seems to flicker across his expression, and he licks his perfect lips with a pink tongue. I imagine that tongue jammed into my mouth.
“You look lost,” he says, his head tilting slightly to the side as his eyes finally meet mine. Like he’s had enough of feasting on my body.
What the hell is with this guy?
I probably should’ve listened to Adriano and stayed far away.
But it’s too late now.
“Your dad and your brother went for a tour of the city. I thought I’d check and see if you needed anything.”
“I don’t.”
“Right. That’s good.” I stare at him, not moving. He doesn’t budge an inch either, only holding my gaze. What should’ve been excruciatingly awkward feels more like a battle of wills instead. As if he were daring me to turn and walk away. “Do you like horror movies?” I blurt out instead of giving him what he wants.
His eyebrows raise. “I’m not a movies person.” His voice is a low rumble, and I feel like an idiot.
His life is probably a horror film.
“Of course not.” I turn away, my cheeks burning. This was such a stupid idea. I start to walk away, but his voice makes me stop.
“But if I do watch something, the bloodier the better.”
I let out a choked laugh and look back. He’s still staring, his jaw flexing like he’s pissed at himself for calling me back. “That’s exactly what I say. If there are not at least a few gruesome murders, what’s the point?”
“You don’t seem like you have a dark streak.”
“And you don’t seem like the type of guy that strolls through a flower garden, but here we are.”
His lips quirk into a slight smile, which he quickly stifles. “It’s quiet. I like that.”
“What else do you like?”
“Being alone.”
“Sounds miserable.” I decide to ignore the clear meaning and press onward. “You probably like metal bands.” His eyes narrow. “No, actually, hardcore. You’re into the violent screaming, aren’t you?”
“In a manner of speaking,” he murmurs, sending another thrill into my belly.
I get closer to him, doing it as casually as I can, like I’m just joining my future brother-in-law for a friendly walk. He looksabout as suspicious as a man in his situation possibly can, but I don’t give a damn.
Just a little closer.
I’m nervous. My heart’s hammering. I try to come off as calm and casual, but I probably seem like an absolute lunatic.One little sniff…
“Have you ever picked up a frying pan in your life?”
