She hums, eyes closed now, but there’s a smile ghosting across her lips. And for some reason, I feel like I just won something important.
“Jesus, creepy much?” I jerk when I open my eyes and find Cora sitting on the coffee table watching me.
“Why are you here?” she asks.
I sit up and put the back of my hand on her forehead. She doesn’t seem to have a fever. I’ve been watching over her for two days, and she was significantly better yesterday. But her question… is she hallucinating?
She swats my hand away. “I mean, why did you come to see me in the first place?”
“You seem better.” She has more color in her cheeks, and her eyes don’t have that glassy, sick veil.
“It must be the oat milk mint tea.” She deadpans. “You should have that patented.”
“I’m glad you feel better.” The relief is akin to an adrenaline shot. It’s not the boisterous boost I get froma workout. It seeps in quietly, injecting comfort into my veins.
“So why did you come?” It’s like her mind dealt with the sickness and rewound, and insists on filling in the blanks.
“I heard about your financial trouble.”
Perhaps not the best way to start, but in my defense, I spent two nights fighting for this couch with Pitt or Clooney, or one of the ten cats.
And then I tossed and turned, because this sunken mattress is a death trap.
She grunts and bows her head. “Of course, you did.”
Okay, definitely not the best way to start this conversation.
“Let me guess,” she drawls, her eyes skating over me like I were something stuck to her shoe. “You’ll bail me out if I sleep with you?” Her tone is pure disdain wrapped in silk.
I smirk. “That wasn’t my original proposition, but I’m not against it.”
“Maybe I can sell the fucking island to save the business.” She stands up and sways.
I’m on my feet immediately, supporting her elbow. The scent of her shampoo, and something more primal hits me, and I wrap my hand around her waist. No longer to steady her, which we both know, I’m sure.
Our eyes lock, electricity zapping between us. I can feel her nipples through our shirts. Her curves mold into me in my embrace. I can twist us around, and she’d be under me. I can dip my head and get another hit of her taste. I can bend her over the coffee table and—
“I’m fine; I just stood up too quickly.” She puts her hands on my chest like she’s going to push me away. She doesn’t. She steps back, her hands lingering on my pecs.
“You’re not fine.” I check my watch. “The breakfast is here in fifteen minutes.” I scoop her up.
“What are you doing?” She swats at me halfheartedly.
“You need to rest.” I carry her over to her bedroom and lay her gently down before I cover her.
“I’m done resting. And what do you mean breakfast is here in fifteen minutes?”
“What part of that sentence is challenging your comprehension ability?”
“Just go home, Xander,” she grumbles, glaring.
Shit, I can verbally spar with her for days and not tire of it. But I had an agenda when I came here, and since she seems better…
“I came to propose marriage.”
Chapter 17
Cora
