Chapter 9
1614 Words
•Penelope•
Something was off.
I rolled over, eyes fluttering open. Wait, why was I in a room? And on a bed?
I pushed myself up, heart picking up speed. How did I even get here?
I could’ve sworn I was still on the plane a few minutes ago.
Then it hit me, Miguel’s lap. Oh goodness gracious. I’d actually fallen asleep on his chest.
The memory of our conversation shoved its way to the front of my brain, and I pushed it back down before I could combust from secondhand embarrassment.
What on earth had I been thinking?
Fine. I could accept that I’d slept there. But that still didn’t explain waking up here.
The door swung open, and Miguel walked in wearing a different shirt, unbuttoned enough to show the hard lines of his chest.
My pulse jumped like it had no manners.
How can a man his age be allowed to be this hot?
“You’re awake,” he said.
I blinked the dirty thoughts creeping into my mind away. “Where are we?”
“My house.” He replied like I was supposed to know that.
His house? We were in Oakridge weren't we? Did this man kidnap me?
“Cool your brain, Shell. I told you I was into real estate, I obviously own properties in every state.”
Oh. I thought we would stay in a hotel, where we won't have to spend so much time together.
I stared blanly at him, realization dawning on me. Living in a house with Miguel meant waking up with him in the house, eating breakfast with him, cooking for him, well basically performing the duties of a wife.
It was one of the greatest forms of intimacy, at least for me.
I looked back a Miguel, his lips were curved to a small smile, like he could see the scenarios I had created in my head.
God, help me.
“How did I get here?” I quickly asked before he started picking at my thoughts, the man was good at that for some reason.
“Well, you were dead asleep by the time we landed and I carried you to the car.” He responded, strolling past the bed.
“Uhm, you could have woken me up or something.”
“True, but I liked the feel of your body on mine.” His eyes flicked to mine slowly, “And you sleep beautifully.”
“Wait—” I squinted at him. “You didn’t set me down all through the flight?”
Miguel’s lips twitched like he was holding back a smirk. “Shell, I promised not to let you go. I always keep my promises.”
Oh, for crying out loud. Why did he say things like that so smooth and innocently, I could feel my face grow got like the thermostat in the room was increased.
I could practically feel the blush crawling up my neck, and the fact that he was watching me didn’t help one bit.
“I’m guessing everyone saw Miguel Ramirez carry a lady into his car,” I muttered, already imagining the headlines in my own head.
Miguel laughed low, like I’d just told him his favorite joke.
“Unfortunately for you, it was a private airport. No one saw me.” His eyes glinted with something dangerous.
“Did you want them to? You know they’d think you’re my woman.”
My mouth opened, ready with denial, but my brain froze at my woman.
The way he said it made me want to both argue and not.
Why did the thought of being his woman suddenly appeal to me?
I shook it off like a bad idea I had no business entertaining.
“I think I’ll pass on that offer, oldie.”
His brow lifted, slow and amused, like I’d just challenged him to a game he already had the trophy for.
“Offer? Shell, I wasn’t offering. I was stating a fact about public perception.”
Oh, sure. Public perception. That made my pulse slow down absolutely zero percent.
I scoffed, trying to mask the blush crawling up my neck. “Well, lucky for you, perception doesn’t equal reality.”
“Mm,” he hummed, stepping closer just enough for my brain to forget basic functions. “Sometimes it does.”
I needed a new topic, fast. I needed something boring, something that didn’t involve him looking at me like he knew I was imagining what breakfast in this house would feel like.
“Why don’t I stay at a hotel? That’d be more convenient.”
Really? Out of all possible subjects, that was the only topic change my brain could come up with?
“Why? Do you not like it here?” His brow furrowed, and the playful curve of his mouth vanished into a deep frown.
I glanced around the room, trying to buy time.
It was impeccable; soft cream walls, a sheer white curtain billowing slightly from the open window, potted greenery placed like quiet little reminders of life, and a neatly stacked pile of linen throw blankets in muted earth tones.
The whole space smelled faintly of eucalyptus and clean cotton. It was my dream room, like I had designed it myself.
But the room wasn’t my problem. Dr. Miguel was.
“That’s not it,” I said carefully. “I just think it would be proper if I stayed at a hotel.”
He growled, a low, unfiltered sound and his eyes darkened in a way that made me think of something far less civilized than polite disagreement.
“I did try to book a room for you, Shell. I love my privacy. But unfortunately, the closest motel is two hours away, and buses barely run there.”
Something in his tone lodged under my skin. It was almost like he didn’t want me here in the first place.
What was wrong with him?
“So what, I’m here because you couldn't get rid of me?” I crossed my arms, and I could feel the faint tremor in my voice.
Great. He was quickly getting under my skin and I could easily feel my dignity slowly leave my body.
Miguel’s jaw tightened. “Don’t twist my words.”
“Oh, I’m not twisting anything, Doctor.” I bit the title out like it was sour.
“You’ve made it clear you don’t want me here.”
His brows pulled together even more, like he was actually offended. “That’s not what I said.”
“That’s exactly what you said, just with more subtilty,” I shot back, tilting my chin up.
The silence between use stretched heavy and slightly dangerous.
His gaze swept over my face in a way that made me want to run away from the room but I didn't.
Then, with infuriating calm, he said, “You’re here because I want you here, if I didn't I wouldn't have brought you with me and I sure as hell would have erected a new building just so I wouldn't have to see your face.”
“I want you here Penelope, I want you to evade my space like it's yours. Me trying to book a room was for your peace not mine.”
How? How did this turn?
Christ, my stomach did this little flip and I hated that it did, I hated that Miguel was affecting me this way.
I opened my mouth to argue, or at least point out that he just tried to manipulate the situation but all that came out of my mouth was a weak, “That's ridiculous.”
Brilliant, perfectly brilliant
He smiled faintly like I’d just handed over a trophy to him.
“With how you flared up,” he said slowly, “would I be wrong to think you were just being courteous about leaving?”
My breath caught in my throat, he wasn’t entirely wrong but he wasn't right eitehr.
I wanted to leave, to stay in a hotel and never have to converse with him except work related but I also didn't want to leave, I didn't want him to let me leave.
“That’s not it,” I lied, too fast.
His lips twitched like he knew exactly how much of a lie that was.
“Sure, Shell,” he murmured, voice low, “if you say so, sweetheart.”
He was getting under my sling quicker than I’d expected and it wasn't yet a complete twenty four hours with him.
This entire trip was destined to be my doom, I could sense it.
God, I needed a breather. Preferably somewhere without six-foot-two of smug and temptation standing three feet away.
“Can you please excuse me?” I asked, already sliding off the bed. “It’s time for my prayer.”
Miguel’s brow arched slightly, but he stepped aside. “Of course.”
The rosary on my wrist felt cool against my skin as I slipped past him, my fingers curling around the familiar beads.
I found a quiet corner by the open window, letting the breeze carry in the faint scent of pine from outside.
I closed my eyes.
Thank You, Lord, for bringing me safely to Oakridge. Thank You for the roof over my head tonight, even if that roof belongs to Miguel Ramirez.
My thumb pressed against the first bead. And please please grant me the strength to keep my focus on the path You’ve set before me.
A quiet exhale escaped me, the tension in my shoulders easing a little.
Lord, I’m going to need all the help I can get.
- Writer
