I wouldn’t need to if I were married to you.
My mind trips over the thought and stumbles. What the hell? He mentions a proposal, and I immediately give up my independence?
What’s wrong with me?
Still, my tired brain wanders there, and for a moment I let myself linger with the idea. It feels so peaceful not to worry about money. I close my eyes. I could revitalize the bistro and bring it back to life.
I could probably get better care for Dad.
I could take days off.
It’s the last thought that spreads hope through my chest, as if taking a break is the only need in my life.
“Cora?” Xander whispers.
I open my eyes, and fuck… Xander holds a tray, filling up the doorway, wearing only a towel. I repeat, the man is wearing only my white towel.
I’ve seen him like this at the spa, so I shouldn’t be this spellbound, but I can’t drag my eyes away for the life of me.
All the ridges and planes of muscles still glisten with droplets of water. His torso is a perfect triangle, narrowing into lean hips. His body is firm, perfectly defined, like he spends days training instead of sitting in a boardroom.
“I’m glad you like what you see.” He smirks. “You can touch whenever you want,” he drawls, and saunters in.
I may imagine it, but he walks slower. Just to torture me with every move. God, I want those arms to toss me around.
I want that body to cover me and consume me whole.
“Your breakfast.” He places the tray on my lap.
The smell of quiche finally distracts me from the half-naked man standing beside me. Smoked salmon and avocado sit neatly on the plate, with a bowl of fruit and a small salad off to the side.
“I don’t have time for this. I really need to go to work,” I protest, but it’s more of an autopilot response. Like I know deep down I’m staying, but my sense of duty hasn’t gotten the message yet.
Xander doesn’t say anything and leaves, but before I have a chance to react, he’s back with two cups.
“I think this time I got your tea right.” He puts the mug on my nightstand, snatches a slice of salmon from my plate, and sits at the foot of my bed with his cup.
“This is really nice. Thank you.” I take a bite of the mini-quiche and moan. “Jesus, this is good.”
“Wait until you try their eggs Benny. I didn’t order them because they need to be eaten fresh, but I’ll take you.”
“So now we’re making plans?” I cock my head, teasing.
“Of course.” He shrugs.
“Because you want to marry me?”
“Look, I…”
He stands up and turns to the window. Like it’s difficult to explain to my face. It’s so out of character for a man who oozes confidence like it’s his birthright.
“I have an important business deal in the works that requires a seat on the board of a firm in San Francisco. My father can open those doors, but he wants to see me settled to help me out.”
“That’s fucked up.”
Xander turns to look at me. The sight pulls at my heart. He looks like a little boy in trouble, and my need to help him is strong. But Jesus. This really is all sorts of fucked up.
“I left the family business after I made a wrong move, a terrible one. The business I was in charge of suffered because of that. My father wanted to save the situation by pawning me off in marriage to a business associate, a potential investor. I couldn’t stomach the idea of an arranged marriage with someone I barely knew, so I left. The company I sank filed for bankruptcy afterward.”
