On His Terms (13 page)

All
she kept thinking about was
Rian
walking in and
joining her. The idea was tempting, arousing even, but she didn’t want to fall
even harder for this man. Right now it was just about the sex and the pleasure
she wanted from him, and she was sure it was the same way for him. Her thoughts
went to when they had been together for the second time, how he had been slow,
easy, and it had seemed like he was making love to her. He had whispered things
in her ear that were endearments, how beautiful her body was, and how good she
felt. It was like a completely different person from the man she loved to hate.
If he kept showing her little glimpses of a decent man inside of the
fuckwad
he portrayed ninety-nine percent of the time,
Sorcha had a feeling she might start to look at him in a different light.

After
her shower she grabbed the thick, white robe that was folded with the towels,
and slipped it on. She had forgotten to grab her clothes, and although
Rian
had already seen every part of her last night, that
didn’t mean she was comfortable with walking around nude. Sorcha was curvy,
thick with plenty of flaws. What exactly had he been thinking when she was
naked in front of him?

Who the hell cares what he
thought?

Leaving
the bathroom and heading over to her bag she dressed in a tunic style blouse
and a pair of black leggings. She finger-combed her hair and then twisted the
long, wet strands into a messy bun. Sorcha had never been one for primping, not
even when she went into the office. If she was going to be with
Rian
for the next week then he’d need to get used to seeing
her without the business dresses and skirts, without her hair curled or
straightened, and with no make-up on.

Heading
out of the room and down the long, ornate hallway, she stopped in the entryway
and stared into the living room. Everything was pretty still, and even with the
view of the city right in front of her, the glass was thick and no sound
penetrated it. Sorcha felt like this fish in a clear bowl, just waiting for
someone to come up and start tapping on the glass. The kitchen was just as quiet
as the living room, and a glance down the hallway again showed that there was
no movement from the three open doorways. Was he gone? She would have assumed
he would have told her at least.
Rian
didn’t have any
appointments for a couple of days, and that was for a dinner gala for a charity
organization.

She
slipped back down the hallway, glanced in the doorways, and saw the expensively
decorated bedrooms. There were three in the apartment, two bathrooms, the
kitchen and living room, and then one other door at the end of the hallway that
was closed. Making her way toward it, she knew she should just wait for him to
come back to her. This was his home, it was early, and maybe he wanted some
alone time? She thought that, but still reached out and gripped the handle,
turned it, and pushed the door open. Inside was another room, but this one was
broken up into two levels. She saw the banister from the stairs as they
descended to the lower level. She stepped inside, glanced around, and saw the
hundreds upon hundreds of books. They lined the floor to ceiling shelves on
either side of her. There were a few couches on either side as well, a reading
nook pressed against the window, and a desk in the corner. Clearly this was his
office, and she felt very out of place, almost like she was invading his
privacy.

The
sound of something pounding had her moving toward the stairs and gripping the
banister. The wrought iron railing was cold beneath her touch. She leaned
forward, looked down at the lower level, and saw a weight bench peeking out
from the corner. Should she go down there, or wait for him to come to her?

“Screw
it.” Sorcha moved around the banister and stepped down the stairs. The pounding
noise came through even louder, more pronounced with each step she took. When
she reached the bottom the view she instantly got was of
Rian
on a treadmill, his back toward her, and the early morning sun casting light on
his broad shoulders, narrow hips, and sweat that lined his flesh. Was it
humanly possible for a man to have a back that was this attractive? He was only
in a pair of loose hanging track shorts, shirtless of course, and wearing
running shoes. Even though his back was toward her she saw the earbuds he wore.
Watching him unobstructed, and in his element, was still unusual to her. Even
after seeing him relaxed and even after they had slept together, it was still
so strange.

“You’re
up,” he said between panting breaths, but didn’t turn to look at her or stop
running. He removed his earbuds and ran for another few minutes before slowing
down to a walk, and then stopping altogether. For a few moments all he did was
brace his hands on the treadmill handles, breathed in and out, and then grabbed
the towel hanging beside him and wiped off his face. When turned around she
took in his sweaty chest, all hard, perfect muscles. He was lean and toned, not
bulky like a bodybuilder, but still very powerful. He stared at her while he
dried off his chest, and she found herself watching as he moved that towel
lower, took in the defined V of muscle that disappeared beneath his low hanging
shorts, and then snapped her gaze up to his face again.

“You
already took a shower?” His breathing was returning to normal, and even though
he asked a question he turned from her and grabbed a bottle of water from the
small fridge on the granite countertop. This place was set-up like a mini gym
she’d find in New York. Several different pieces of workout equipment were
scattered around the generous room, the same incredible view lined one wall,
and he had a small kitchenette off to the side.

She
nodded even though his back was to her, and then licked her lips. “Yeah, I
couldn’t sleep.”

He
looked at her over his shoulder. “Can’t sleep without me, huh?” he said with a
straight face.

She
crossed her arms over her chest and breathed out. “You’re conceited.”
Although he was right.

He
smiled widely, ran the towel one last time over his face, and then tossed it
aside.

“Yeah,
I can be, but I think deep down you’re into it.”

Sorcha
didn’t even give him a response to that.

“You hungry?”

She
shrugged. “Kind of, but I’m not really a morning person, even when you request
my presence at the office at the ass crack of dawn.”

He
chuckled deeply. “How about I take you to get some breakfast at a little
bakery, and then take you shopping for a gown for the party in a couple of
days?”

She
was a bit taken back by what he just said. “You want to take me shopping?”

“Is
it hard to believe that I want to make you look nice for when I take you out?”
He lifted an eyebrow.

She
would have been a little girly at the prospect that he wanted her to look nice,
but she knew under that saccharine intent that he didn’t want her wearing her
“rags” to his high-class and rich and elegant events. “I brought some dresses
that I can wear. No need for you to spend unnecessarily on me.”

 
He was silent for a second and then moved
closer to her. The scent of his clean sweat filled her nose when he was just a
few feet from her. He reached out and grabbed her around the nape, pulled her
forward so she stumbled right into his chest, and claimed her mouth. For
several seconds he kissed her, stroking her with his tongue, and making her
taste the saltiness of his perspiration. She grabbed his biceps, loved the heat
and wetness that covered his skin, and couldn’t stop
herself
from moaning. She moved her hands over his chest, felt the bumps and ridges of
his muscles under her palm, and continued her downward path. But before she
could let her need and strength at the moment take control he was pulling away
from her.

“I
want to dress you up, Sorcha.” He stared at her. “I’m sure what you have is
fine, perfect for the evening, too, but I want to do this.” There was this
flesh of something that moved across his face, covered his eyes, and made her
feel … special to this man. How could being with him for such a short time make
her blind to who he really was? “I want to make you look stunning, want to have
everyone else know you’re mine—”

“You
want to dress me like your doll, make me look like I have just as much money as
you do.” She stated it without question. She saw the way he clenched his jaw,
but Sorcha wasn’t about to bite her tongue with him, or take back what she had
just said. It was the truth.

He
was silent for a moment, and she knew she’d struck a nerve with him. “You don’t
have a choice, Sorcha. I’m already getting tired of you not realizing or
understanding that.”

“Oh,
I remember just fine. I signed the contract, right? But then again you like my
mouthy little attitude.”

He
turned from her, and she felt that euphoric feeling she had inside of her
leave. “I’ll be ready to go in thirty minutes.” He looked at her again over her
shoulder. “You can watch television upstairs and wait for me.”

And
just like that he dismissed her.

The asshole.

Chapter
Twelve

Sorcha
looked at herself in the mirror of the department store and cringed.
Rian
had taken her to this little bakery and coffee shop on
the outskirts of town, one that was quaint and not a place she’d think he would
frequent. And she meant that in the best way, because it resembled a mom and
pop establishment, and one that
she
would have gone to alone. The Dutch style pastries had been fresh and homemade
and the coffee bursting with flavor. They had sat at this little wooden table
with an uneven leg, and it had wobbled anytime they had leaned on it. It had
been nice though, and she had liked watching
Rian
interact with Ingrid and her elderly husband,
Petre
.
He had even greeted them in Dutch, and she wondered if he spoke the language
fluently, or if he had picked up the language from coming here a lot. She
hadn’t asked though, because the silence that had been between them had been
comfortable, and … nice.

But
now she was at the small boutique that had closed up for
Rian’s
appearance strictly. It was weird being in this ritzy part of the city, going
into a shop and seeing clothing more than her bi-weekly paycheck, and weirder
yet that she was trying them on. The dress she had on in specific was this deep
green one that was cut low, showed off her breasts, which looked huge by the
way, and was short enough that she knew that if she bent over she’d give
everyone a crotch shot.

The
knock on the dressing room door had her heart racing and her hands sweating.
“Yeah?”
She cleared her throat when her voice cracked on the
end. She was nervous and felt fat and ugly in this skin-tight dress. It was a
no-go for her, but then again
Rian
had the last say.

“Let
me see, Sorcha.” His voice was deep and filled with authority, and she found
herself closing her eyes and saying a little prayer.

“Hold
on,” she said and opened her eyes to look at herself in the mirror. Her tits
looked good, but she had too many bumps and dips that were being amplified by
the silky material for her to feel comfortable at all. She turned around and
opened the door, and used all of her reserved strength not to cover herself up.
Rian
stood on the other side, his hands in the front
pocket of his dress slacks, and his gaze raking over her body.

“Well,
what
do you
think of it?” he said and lifted his blue
gaze to her face again. The front of his slacks started to tent his pants, and
she felt her face heat. The man was insatiable.

“Does
it matter what I think of it?”

He
was silent for a moment. “Yes, it does. Stop being dramatic, Sorcha, and tell
me what you think of the dress.”

“I
hate it,” she said without hesitance. “It makes me look even fatter, and I so
don’t need that. I honestly didn’t even think they made a size sixteen in this
place, and besides, it fits like a ten.”

He
scowled and took a step forward. “You’re not fat.”

She
was the one to scowl now.
“Seriously?
Okay, take your
pick then: voluptuous, curvy, thick, chunky, chubby.” She lifted an eyebrow, an
act that she had seen him do so many times before. “I hate the damn thing,
Rian
.” Sorcha knew she was a “bigger” girl, knew that in
this society a size sixteen was flat out obese. But she had never been so
self-conscious of her looks until this moment when she was trying on these
clothes. Heck, she hadn’t even thought twice about being naked in front of him
when they had had sex.

“Okay.”
He turned and faced the sales associate. Sorcha didn’t miss the way the young,
very thin and svelte woman eyed
Rian
like he was a
fine wine she wanted to get drunk on. He took the dress the blonde handed him
and then faced Sorcha again. “I think this one will make you feel more
comfortable. I picked it out.” He handed her the dress, but before she could
close the door he stopped her by placing his hand on it. “And just for the
record, I happen to like your body.” He leaned his face in close to hers. “In
fact, I like that you’re thick, curvy,
voluptuous
,
whatever name you wish to associate yourself with.”