“You might be faking that shit with William, but answer me this—do youwantit to be real?”
“Possibly.”
“You want my advice?”
“Not particularly.”
He ignores me, giving me a knowing look. “Treat her like you would a girlfriend, both in private and in public. Show her what it’s like to have your full attention. That’s enough to melt any woman.”
Then he jogs up the stairs as if he didn’t just outline the exact thing I have been doing anyway. Eleanor melting... Heat rolls down my spine at the memory of her body flushing from pleasure. I want to be the man to give her that. I want to be the guy who makes her lose control, to be the one smashing her walls and opening her eyes to the world she’s intent on ignoring.
I strategize as I walk up the stairs, jostling the keys, only to stride inside and find her… cleaning? Her hands are in the kitchen sink, overflowing with bubbles, while Charlie lies on the floor with his head on her feet like a weirdo. He eyeballs me, but doesn’t move, which is highly unusual. He must sense she needs him more right now.
Her hair is piled on the top of her head in a messy bun, and she moves her hips side to side to the beat ofYou Don’t Own Meblasting through the speakers.
I slide the bags onto the little bit of counter space left, realizing she’s emptied all the food cupboards and is scrubbing them clean.
She clearly hasn’t heard me come into the apartment, which surprises me given how jumpy she is. But then again, I’ve been accused of being unnaturally quiet.
“Hey,” I say to announce my presence.
She jumps and spins to face me. Charlie grumbles as she dislodges him and finally comes to greet me. I’m not a creep, but in her enthusiastic cleaning spree, she’s managed to get her t-shirt wet. And now I know why there are little bumps outlined against the thin cotton.
“You need to wear a bell. You are ridiculously quiet for a man of your stature.”
I force my gaze to her face, catching the heat and intrigue in her eyes at my stare. “What are you doing?”
“Cleaning.”
“I see that. Why?”
I think back to her apartment, visualizing the clinical, clean, and organized lifeless space. I’m not a slob, but my home is lived in. Eleanor has plenty of personality, but it didn’t show in her home. I think her living environment is likely a result of her moving around to various places in the country as well as how focused she gets on her work. She needs warmth, life, security, and something other than her revenge scheme to concentrate on. My mind flicks to Mark’s advice. He isn’t exactly the poster child for relationships, but I think he might be on to something with Eleanor.
“Your cupboards were dirty, and now they aren’t.”
My cupboards weren’t dirty. I have Melissa come in and deep clean once a month, and they were done this week.
“Okay. Thank you.”
She blinks. “You’re welcome?” She phrases it like a question, confused why I would thank her for anything.
“Let’s get everything put away, and I can make us some lunch.”
She nods as she starts unpacking the groceries, organizing them into matching piles on the counter. I move the pack of rice next to the tins where I always keep it. She slaps my hand away and moves the rice next to the pasta. “Carbs go here. Those tins are veggies.”
Okay—we’re organizing my cupboards according to food groups. I can cope with that. I place the two packs of pasta next to the rice and raise an eyebrow. She nods, but when I try putting the coconut milk with the other tins, she sighs. “Not a veggie,”she mutters as she moves it to the pile with soy sauce and oyster sauce. Right.
“You clearly have a system. I’ll start lunch.”
She huffs as she moves a couple of the items into their predetermined pile. What has triggered this? What did I miss?
I steal away the few items I need for lunch. She opens the cutlery drawer with a grumble and lines up the spoons so they sit inside each other rather than haphazardly chucking them in. I move behind her, and her breath catches, her body stiffening as I graze her hip, snaking in front of her to get a knife.
“What are you doing?” she whispers, goosebumps erupting down her arm as I let my breath wash against the side of her neck. Eleanor Austin is a powder keg waiting for me to ignite her fuse. Robotic, my ass. Her blood burns, and I can’t wait to see her lose control under my hands. My tongue. On my cock.
“Making lunch,” I answer.
“Does that involve you accosting me in your kitchen?”
