Me: Unless you want that body dropped on your doorstep.
It makes me feel good to say no. That I have the control to do so.
Yet, if I go back to my bedroom, I might do something I shouldn’t. Something just to feel good. Just to make this pain go away. I grip the rocker’s armrests.
Tonight, I’ll sleep in this chair. I need distance between Scarlett and me.
Sharing a bed with her is somethingI’ll think about tomorrow.
Just like another famous Scarlett once said…
Chapter 33
Scarlett
Iblink awake slowly, my face buried against a pillow that smells like cedar and spice. Like…something darker. Masculine. Dangerous.
Cormac. Dr. O’Rourke. My professor.
Oh wait, and now, my husband.
I shoot upright so fast the room spins. I’m in his bed, sprawled across the center because I’m a restless sleeper.
Cormac isn’t here, though. His side of the bed looks neat, still made.
Did he not sleep with me last night? At all? My heart bangs hard against my ribs.
I slide my legs out of bed and freeze, catching my reflection in the stand-up mirror next to his dresser. My nightgown is more transparent than I realized, and I have nothing on underneath, something I never cared about in the past. I have to care about it now that I’m living with a man who is forcing himself to stay out of the panties I didn’t bother to wear.
After throwing on a tracksuit, I pad softly into the hallway. Early morning light spills through the floor-to-ceiling windows into the living room.
Where is Cormac? Did he sleep on the couch to avoid touching me? Or did he go out? To find a woman? Some distraction he needs with no complications. Sleep inherbed?
My stomach twists so violently, I have to grip the wall.
Why do I care? Why does that make me feel sick? We were strangers until recently. And even then, it was a one-night stand. But I never stopped wanting him, never stopped fantasizing about our night. And over the last couple of months, he’s gotten under my skin.
The apartment is wildly quiet. The kind of dead noise that screams at you. There’s nothing. No running water, no low Irish muttering from the kitchen.
I’m ready to face a pink-washed skyline when the door across from the primary bedroom opens. It’s the door to the locked room.
The one I’ve been warned to stay out of.
Cormac steps out, hair mussed and sticking up at the crown. He looks…young. Boyish, almost. And exhausted. Plus, he’s shirtless. That hijacks a whole other part of my brain.
He startles when he sees me. “Hey, Scarlett.” His voice is rough as gravel. “You’re up.”
“Yeah. I was looking for you.” I glance past him before my eyes give me away.
The room behind him glows with the kind of filtered light that comes from sheer curtains. I catch a flash of elegant gray furniture, different from the dark masculine lines of the rest of this place.
Cormac’s jaw tenses, and he shifts to block my view as he pulls the door shut in one smooth motion. With a buzz, the electronic lock engages.
“Right.” My stomach does a strange little dip. “The forbidden room.”
Is it a red room? For BDSM play? Because I would be into that.
His gaze flickers with something complicated. “I’m taking a shower,” he says, voice low and clipped, like he needs to escape before one of us asks questions we shouldn’t.