Chapter 14

Caspian immediately guessed who it was.

Harlow Gideon.

It was Harlow Gideon.

Hadn’t Cillian said he decided she was dead six years ago?

Was he texting a ghost?

Nope. Disaster. A complete dumpster fire. Apparently, this man had not given up on becoming somebody’s other man.

Absolutely not.

Caspian could not sit there and watch his best friend take a wrong turn into moral traffic.

He walked over to Cillian as if the thought had only just occurred to him.

“Cillian, I heard Beatrix has graduated and will be coming back soon. Is that right?”

The next morning, after Harlow dropped Calista off at kindergarten, she went to the supermarket and bought a few seasonings.

Once everything was ready, she went upstairs to Cillian Emerson’s apartment.

She had only found out yesterday that Cillian lived right above Rowan.

He had sent her the passcode in advance.

Harlow entered it and walked in.

Cillian’s apartment had almost the same layout as Rowan’s place downstairs, but the two homes could not have felt more different. Rowan’s apartment had been the place she had lived before marriage, and every small detail was warm and lived-in. Cillian’s place was done in stark black, white, and gray, a minimalist style with almost no decoration in sight. It looked wider, cleaner, more expensive.

And barely like a home.

More like somewhere a person could move into with one suitcase and leave again with the same one.

Harlow changed into the spare slippers and was heading toward the kitchen when the bathroom door clicked open.

Cillian walked out.

He had obviously just showered. A towel was tied carelessly around his waist, and his black hair was wet, droplets falling from the ends. Water slid down the line of his throat, rolled over the firm planes of his chest, then disappeared into the dangerous shadow at the edge of the towel.

He was stronger than he had been before. Not the exaggerated, sculpted kind of muscle that came from living in a gym, but lean, dense strength. The sort that hid under a suit until the suit came off.

Then it was all there.

Abs. Shoulders. Lines that had no business being legal.

Harlow’s knuckles whitened around the plastic shopping bag. Before she could stop herself, she swallowed.

“I thought you were tired of sleeping with me.” Cillian dragged a towel over his hair and looked at her. “Why do I get the feeling Miss Gideon still has an appetite for my body?”

“Who said I have an appetite for anything?”

“You were staring.”

“I didn’t know you were home.” She had seen him leave when she dropped Calista off that morning. Who knew she would walk in at exactly the wrong time and catch him fresh out of the shower? “Besides, you’re the one standing there putting on a full peacock display.”

“Peacock display?” He arched a brow. “I came back from a workout and took a shower. How did that become a mating ritual in your mouth?”

“I looked once. How did that become me lusting after your body in your mouth? Don’t flatter yourself, Mr. Emerson.” Harlow deliberately dragged her eyes over him. “That body of yours is average at best.”

“Sounds like you’ve seen plenty.”

“Enough.”

“What does Miss Gideon consider above average, then?”

“The male escorts at Diamond Room. Now those bodies are top-tier.”

“You’ve hired male escorts?”

“No, but I’ve seen videos.”

“You like watching those?”

“Of course.” Harlow lied with a solemn little face. “A woman needs something nice to look at. Otherwise, where is she supposed to find the strength to survive capitalism?”

Cillian pressed his tongue against his cheek and laughed under his breath.

Then he walked toward her.

One step.

Two.

Three.

The air seemed to thicken with the steam still clinging to him. The noise of the city beyond the window faded until there was only the silent stare between them.

Harlow caught the clean scent of soap on his skin, and her heartbeat slipped its leash.

“What are you doing?”

She had only said his body was average. He was not going to hit her over a review score, was he?

Harlow was already planning how to flee with one injured leg when Cillian leaned down and took the plastic bag from her hand.

“I told you I’d prepare the ingredients.”

That single sentence let her breathe again.

“These aren’t ingredients. They’re seasonings.”

“I have seasonings.”

“Great. I was worried you wouldn’t, and then I’d have to go back out and buy them. Too much trouble.” Harlow snatched the bag back and turned toward the kitchen. After two steps, she looked back. “Mr. Emerson, even though your body is average, you really don’t need to feel insecure. Men age. It happens.”

Cillian: “…”

Had she come here to thank him, or to kill him with her mouth?

Compared with the cavernous living room, Cillian’s kitchen at least had a hint of human life.

Just as he had said, he had every seasoning, all organized where a cook would naturally reach for them. Harlow was pleased with the kitchen. The only thing she disliked was the knives.

They were too small. Useless for efficient chopping.

She tried to hurry. One careless slip, and the blade caught her finger.

“Ow!”

The low cry brought Cillian into the kitchen at once.

Under the bright lights, Harlow stood pinching the bleeding finger, suddenly unsure what to do.

“How are you this careless?” His tone was sharp, his brows drawn tight, but his fingers were almost unbearably gentle as he took her hand.

Thankfully, the cut was shallow.

Cillian led her to the sink, turned on the faucet, and let cool water run over the thin wound. The bleeding stopped quickly.

“It’s fine,” Harlow said. “Your knife hasn’t been used in forever. It’s so dull it barely broke the skin.”

Cillian did not answer. He turned off the faucet, pulled a paper towel from the roll, and carefully blotted the water around the cut. Then he opened a drawer and took out a bandage.

“Hand up.”

Harlow lifted it obediently.

Cillian lowered his head and came closer. His fingertips were warm. When they brushed along the delicate skin beside her finger, a strange shiver ran through her.

He was too close.

She could smell his body wash.

Harlow pressed her lips together and looked up at him.

At the same moment, Cillian was looking at her too.

Their eyes met.

Time seemed to slow inside the heavy air. The kitchen went quiet until there was only their breathing, clear and tangled, falling into the same rhythm.

Cillian swallowed. His gaze dropped, heavy and dark, to her lips.

For one terrifying second, Harlow thought he was going to kiss her.

“Done,” she said quickly, pulling back her finger. “Thank you. You should go out.”

Cillian stood still for two seconds. Then he took a slow breath. The darkness in his eyes thinned, inch by inch.

“Watch your hand,” he said, and left.