6
Bristol
“You know, I’m starting to wonder if all these fittings are just a way for you to see me again,” Cormac said, his tone practically a tease compared to our last conversation.
More like all-out battle. God, I was still fuming from that argument and it had been two weeks.
“You’re flattering yourself,” I said, shaking my head as I watched Angela take his chest measurement for the sixth time. “And if you’d stop packing on the muscle, I wouldn’t have to continue to do this.”
Cormac cocked a brow at me from the platform he stood on. “I haven’t since the last time you measured me—”
“Not true,” I cut him off. “Your chest increased a quarter of an inch.”
He gave me a wtf look.
I shrugged, pushing off the wall I’d leaned against since they started. “It does matter,” I answered his unspoken question. I walked around him in a slow circle, flashing Angela a smile as she continued with her work.
I couldn’t stop the heat pulsing in my veins that landed somewhere between anger and lust. Couldn’t stop the ache that wrenched deep in my core every time I looked at him. It had been two weeks since our angry and yet mind-blowing kiss at Scythe—and the fight that followed the day after. And even though I knew it had stemmed from the tension of our argument, I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it.
His kiss had tasted better than I remembered, but he had the same effect on me as he had four years ago. Cormac Briggs was the definition of electric chaos and maddening intensity. With one brush of his lips, he’d stolen my breath. With a gentle sweep of his hand over my skin, he’d turned me liquid. He was infuriatingly addicting, and all my fantasies had never compared to getting a taste of the real thing again. But at least I was justified in my inability to forget him—he was everything I remembered and then some. No wonder I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him. Sure, I’d had other lovers since him, but none of them brought the crackling intensity that Cormac did.
None of the others ever made me feel…
Like a spark on the end of a bomb, slowly sizzling and winding up a tight fuse before exploding.
A warm shiver raced down my spine, shaking me slightly.
Cormac noticed, smirking from the platform. “Cold, Duchess?”
I huffed a breath. “Always, Rookie.”
A low growl rumbled in his chest. “I’m not a rookie.”
“You were when I met you,” I fired back. “And, to that point, I’m not a duchess.”
He tipped his chin, studying me. “You’ve yet to prove that wrong,” he argued. “I, on the other hand, have worked my ass off for the last four years to become irreplaceable to my team.”
Angela stood up, finished with her work, and tilted her head at me in a silent question.
“Thanks, Angela,” I said, giving her a confident grin to let her know I was fine. “You’re good to take off for the day.”
“Sure thing,” she said, then quickly hurried out of the studio that connected to my office.
I’d selected the building in New York for this specific room—a wide open space with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. The offices connected to it were a bonus. Much more functional than the penthouse I operated out of back in Charleston. Plus, this was my home, and it was here I felt more confident—more like myself—than any other place.
Charleston may be his territory, but here? This was my city.
“Seems like every time you’re on that platform, you want to fight. What is it? The extra height give you a little cocky boost?” I walked up to him, never taking my eyes off of him as he slipped back into the shirt he’d worn here. “You have no idea what I’ve done to get here, either, Cormac,” I said, returning to our earlier battle of words. “So stop pretending like you do.”
He blew out a whistle as he finished adjusting his button-down shirt. The sleek green color made his brown eyes more molten today, and it made my heart beat faster, but I sure as hell wasn’t going to tell him that.
“Fine,” he said, shaking his head. “You stop pretending like you know me, and I’ll stop pretending like I know you.”
My racing heart sank at the reality in his words. I may know him on a chemical level—the same response my body and soul had every single time the man was close to me—but he was right, we didn’t really know each other at all anymore.
Not that we ever did.
And maybe…maybe that was the problem. He still saw me as a traitorous, spoiled young girl, and I still saw him as the sexy hockey star who had never given me the benefit of the doubt.