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There’s no knock; my door simply swings open. Arsen’s long shadow enters a second before he does. Lifting my eyes, I stare at him in shock. I’m wearing nothing but my undergarments. The only reason he can’t see anything is because of how I’m huddled in a ball on the ground. “Excuse me!” I gasp. “I’m not decent!”
His eyes rake over me. “I’d argue otherwise.” From behind his back he reveals a small plate; on top of it is a pair of carefully stacked chocolate chip cookies. The big thick kind you need two hands to hold while eating as they crumble from their own weight. “It’s a shame you skipped out on dinner. But I figure you don’t want to miss out on dessert.”
My mouth tingles as I salivate. “I’m fine.” I’m not fine I’m not fine oh God I want those cookies!
Arsen lifts an eyebrow, then crouches in front of me. Lowering the plate, he gives it a nudge until it’s next to my foot. It reminds me of when zookeepers feed dangerous animals.
The scent wafting off the fresh cookies is agonizing. “The chef will cry if you don’t try them. He lives for feedback,” he says.
Swallowing loudly, I stare helplessly at the cookies. I know I need to eat. Starving myself is self-sabotage. “Well … I don’t want to make anyone feel sad.”
He smirks evenly. “How kind of you.”
My hand snaps out, grabbing the top cookie. I bring it to my mouth impatiently, taking a deep inhale of the sugary chocolate scent. I want to take a nibble, but my body demands a mouthful, my teeth sinking into the gooey insides of the treat. Like an exaggerated commercial meant to sell the cookies, I roll my eyes in my head. “Ohff my gahd,” I mumble around the food.
“I know,” he chuckles. “I ate three already.”
Licking the melted chocolate from my thumb, I keep a careful eye on Arsen. He’s watching me closely, but not in a lecherous way. His attention is on my face instead of my bare legs or cleavage. I don’t know how he’s resisting. He doesn’t have to, and there was a moment when he had me pressed against the table that I felt his cock stiffen. And besides, why does he care if I think he’s a perv? Maybe he doesn’t find me attractive. And I’m not sure that if the tables were turned, I’d behave as well as he is right now. “Turn around,” I say.
His smile fades. “Why?”
“Relax. I didn’t sneak any weapons in here; there’ll be no round two. I just want to put on a bathrobe.”
Arsen dwells on the situation before shifting until he’s facing the door. “Be quick about it.”
Climbing to my feet, I sprint to the attached bathroom, grabbing the lavender robe from its hook. Shoving my arms in the sleeves, I belt it into place. “Okay,” I say, sitting back on the floor. “It’s safe now.”
“I never felt like I was in danger,” he says mockingly. Facing me again, he puts his hands on his muscular thighs. He’s still wearing the outfit from dinner, though the jacket is gone. The dress shirt beneath hugs his biceps, the vest tailored to fit his wide chest and tapered middle. The golden tie would look silly on anyone else, but on Arsen, all I can notice is how it brings out the bronze undertones of his skin. “I’m glad you like the cookies.”
Finishing the first, I start to make quick work of the second. “You didn’t come up here just to bring me these, did you?”
“You’re right.” His smile is mysterious. “I had something else I wanted to talk about.”
“Is this what you were about to tell me at dinner before I tried to bleed you out?”
Arsen tenses up at that. Does he realize I’m goading him? I can’t help it; something about him brings out a desire to be difficult. What’s strange is … I think, on some level, he enjoys it almost as much as I do.
Why else would he bait me the same way I’m baiting him?
Maybe we just hate each other. It could be as basic as that. Though, what reasons he would have to hate me are a mystery. My reasons, meanwhile, are obvious.
“The dinner was supposed to be a chance for us to get to know each other.”
“Really?” I mock. “Because when I asked you questions, you thought I was doing something sneaky.”
“You were,” he replies bluntly. “I don’t blame you though. Galina, I thought about your situation?—”
“My situation,” I repeat in a tight voice.
“You’re living with me.” He lifts his head higher, studying the bedroom. “The next step seems natural.”
“I’m not following.”
“We should get married.”
The laughter that explodes out of me is so abrupt that flecks of cookies leave my mouth. Covering my lips, I struggle to control the noise. It’s impossible though; what he just said is the funniest thing I’ve ever heard.
Wiping at my eyes, I study his face, waiting for him to start laughing as well. Arsen is stoic. He doesn’t budge an inch, not in his expression or in his limbs.
