Vicious Seduction

36

CHAPTER 26 LINA Sleep came remarkably quickly when I went to bed for the second time that night. After a deep and dreamless sleep, I felt oddly calmer when I woke the following morning. However, I wasn’t used to sharing deeply personal information with anyone, and the vulnerability left me with a lingering unease about facing Oran in the light of day. Would he act differently around me? I didn’t want his pity or for him to treat me like I was broken. I also didn’t want him to ask me questions, but I’d opened Pandora’s box and had to accept that some sort of fallout would be inevitable. What exactly would that entail? God only knew. I just hoped I had a chance to get home and shower first. It was almost noon. I’d lost half a day, and while my schedule was flexible, I did have deadlines to meet. I brushed my teeth in the en suite bathroom and looked around for the first time. The attention to detail and small touches that made the room homey were surprising. Tissue on the nightstand. A night-light in the bathroom. He even had a clock that doubled as a white noise machine. On top of all that, the decor was a blend of neutrals with enough variation that the room wasn’t monochromatic. The feel was very Zen, if I was honest. The bedroom and bath were both spacious yet cozy. I was impressed. I grabbed the sweatpants Oran had given me the night before. They still lay at the door where I’d left them. The waist bunched when I cinched the string tight enough to keep the pants up, making them bulky but functional. Good enough for me. I hadn’t worn a bra with the red dress, so I didn’t have one to put on. I was surprised at how much more exposed I felt braless in Oran’s T-shirt than I had in the tight dress. The white cotton somehow felt more personal. More intimate. I suspected my emotional reveal last night was to blame rather than what I was wearing or not wearing. I took one last deep breath, then left the bedroom in search of my fake fiancé. I’d mentally run through a slew of possible scenarios that I might encounter when I saw Oran that morning. Unfortunately, I’d been so concentrated on what I’d say that I forgot to consider whether he’d be dressed. Oran Byrne stood in his kitchen wearing dress slacks with nothing else, sipping from a coffee mug and watching a news program. His damp hair was combed back. His feet were bare. His torso and arms could have served as da Vinci’s model for the Vitruvian Man—perfectly proportioned mature muscle rippling beneath smooth, unblemished skin. The wiring in my brain popped and fizzled, rendering me temporarily dumb as a stump. I had to physically shake my head to rattle the thoughts back into motion. “It’s the dead of winter. Shouldn’t you put a shirt on?” I blurted in greeting. Oran peered over his shoulder at me, his eyes growing hooded. “I’m hot-natured. Does it bother you?” He smirked, clearly not caring if it did. “Not at all. If you’re comfortable flashing all that grotesque misshapenness, more power to you.” He tipped his head back and laughed at the absurdity of my comment. I’d known it wouldn’t offend him. There wasn’t a misshapen square inch on his glorious body. Not a tattoo or a single flaw that I could see, though I was trying hard not to stare and inflate his ego more than necessary. “You could have woken me,” I offered. “Sorry if I kept you from work.” “I got called away to handle something last night, so I slept in as well.” “In the middle of the night?” Had he gone out after we talked? I hadn’t heard him, but I’d been exhausted. “It was more like early morning. I left a note in case you woke up while I was out, but you were still dead to the world when I got back.” He’d been busy, and I hadn’t heard a thing. Wait, how had he known I was still asleep? Had he looked in my room? I hadn’t locked the door. I’d been too emotionally drained to even think of it. An image of him watching me while I slept flitted through my mind, and instead of the unease I expected, my chest filled with a tingling warmth that slowly expanded into the rest of my body. My stomach took that moment to chime in and remind me just how late it was with an embarrassingly aggressive rumble. Oran chuckled. “There’s protein bars, granola, or I can throw on some eggs.” “No Cocoa Pebbles?” I teased. It was my go-to defense mechanism. Feeling awkward or uneasy? Sarcasm and levity to the rescue. Oran rolled with my comment, however, as though I’d been serious. “Just Frosted Flakes.” “Are you serious? You have Frosted Flakes?” I asked with genuine surprise. Opening a cabinet, he took out a blue box with the familiar tiger on the front and set it by me. “Milk?” I could hardly wait. I hadn’t had a bowl of Frosted Flakes since I was a kid—before Eliza forbid Gloria from buying them because, according to her, cereal was making me fat. Oran smirked with amusement as he brought over the carton, then watched me as I savored the first bite of sugary goodness. “Anyone ever tell you staring is rude?” “Anyone ever tell you not to chew with your mouth open?” My eyes rounded. “I was not—” Instead of defending my meticulous manners, I inhaled a flake and devolved into a coughing fit. Oran brought over a glass of water, shaking his head. “You’re too easy to rile. Drink.” I did, clearing my throat. “Jerk,” I rasped, then went back to eating. I really was starving. Oran turned back to the TV. “There’s something we need to discuss,” he said casually over his shoulder. “The work stuff that came up last night has changed a few things. We’re going to have to adjust our agreement.” I stilled, spoon halfway to my mouth. “You mean … you’re changing the terms of your blackmail?” His head slowly swiveled until his scathing stare met mine. His sudden intensity shocked me. It was the first time I felt a tendril of fear unfurl in his presence. Why had my comment soured his mood so quickly?