Page 37 of A Forbidden Arrangement
He hums deep in his chest before stepping back. “You’re done here.”
It’s not a question.
My heart thumps once, hard, like it wants to argue, wants to protest that I’ll never go with him, but I need to suck it up and stay as calm as possible until I figure out a way to get out of here.
I move around him, and he shifts just enough to give me space. He’s still too close. The scent of soap, like he’s fresh out of the shower, fills my nose, and I force myself not to inhale harder. He lets me put three steps between us before following, but any sense of comfort that gave me vanishes when he closes the distance between us.
We walk the corridor in silence. His stride matches mine. If I didn’t know exactly what type of man he was, I’d be fooled into thinking he was letting me set the pace for my sake. There’s never more than three inches between us, but he never touches me, instead leading the way up the stairs.
We stop at my door, and the hairs on the back of my neck stand with the weight of his gaze.
“If you need food, you can call for Mrs. Price,” he says. “If you go out, stay on this floor. No stairs without me.”
I turn to face him, crossing my arms. “Prison rules?”
His gaze travels to the gauze wrapped around my head. “Safety rules.”
“The greenhouse,” I say before I catch myself. “I want to go back.”
He nods once. “I’ll take you.”
I put my hand on the knob and open it, ignoring the heat branding the back of my neck as I step inside, closing it behind me. Sighing, I rest my forehead against it for a count of three. Now that Xander’s no longer taking up every one of my senses, the dull ache in my head grows louder.
I cross to the bed and sit. The room looks exactly as it did this morning, but now there’s a glass of water on the nightstand with two pills beside it. I briefly debate not taking them; I want to stay as alert as possible. The ache turns into a throb, matching my pulse. Xander hasn’t stepped inside my room yet, as if declaring it my own space. Taking them is just a risk I’ll have to take.
Collapsing on the bed, exhausted by my short trip, I picture the greenhouse again. Watering cans and fresh-cut stems. The way the soil would feel as I nurtured each plant. My chest loosens on that thought, then tightens because it’s stupid to want anything that lives in his house.
Xander’s brows had pulled together as he assessed the forgotten room. The look that crossed his face was contemplative, maybe even calculative.
I slide under the blanket and pull it to my chin, the soft fabric catching on where the pot caught my skin. The heat of Xander’s tongue, soft against the tip of my finger, has my thighs pressing together and my breath hitching. Dark eyes, full lips, my body pulled toward him like gravity.
It’s only then I think I should have pulled my hand away.
Chapter 18
Dahlia
I hearvoices before I even clear the hall, then the clink of dishes. I trail the noise past a row of closed doors until the space opens wide into the kitchen.
My gaze lands on Xander first. Broad shoulders in a dark suit that probably costs more than my yearly salary. Laptop on the counter, coffee in one hand, and papers in the other. He skims lines as the room orbits around him.
A man in a gray tie steps forward to slide another sheet under his hand, retreating without a word. Another lingers a few feet away, thumb flying over his phone.
There’s a woman in white moving behind the counter. Her knife snaps against the board, and in a swift motion, she scoops up the diced pieces and tosses them into a hot pan with a hiss, filling the air with the scent of onions.
I slow, caught off guard by how alive the kitchen is this early. No one notices me, their movements practiced, automatic. The sudden sense I don’t belong has my foot shifting back a step.
“You just can’t stay where I put you.” The scrape of wood cuts through the kitchen noise. Never looking up from his screen, Xander pulls the stool beside him out with one hand. Ihover a second before sliding into the seat. It’s only now that I remember his order not to come downstairs without him.
His jacket hangs open, vest snug across his chest, fabric pressed sharp. A silver watch flashes at his cuff. Long fingers move over the keys, fast, controlled. Everything in front of him is set just so. Pen aligned, folders stacked, coffee cup within reach. The only thing out of place is me.
I place my hands in my lap, not sure where else to put them, and feel the distance between us even with barely a foot of counter separating me from his sleeve.
My fingers twine and untwine, wringing together as I sit in silence. There’s a heavy weight of awkwardness that Xander doesn’t seem to notice.
“What would you like for breakfast?” the chef asks, wiping her hands on a clean towel, polite smile fixed in place.
My first instinct is to shake my head, tell her I’m fine. I made Bradley’s protein shake every morning, but I never bothered to make anything for myself.
