His Terms

“Well, then let’s get something to eat, get comfortable, and then we can discuss why I’ve asked you here.” He didn’t wait for her to reply, just turned and headed back toward his office. She followed behind, and once inside she realized he was still standing by the door off to the side. She glanced at him, made eye contact, and felt her stomach do this little flip.

He shut the door, moved past her, and right before he cleared her path she swore she heard him inhale. Rearing back slightly, she looked at him with her brows furrowed, and glanced over at the cook, who was moving toward them. The table was set for two, with dishes which were probably made of crystal and china.

“Miss Case?” Rian said in that deep voice of his, and held out the chair for her to take a seat. “You can set your,” he glanced down at her purse, “overnight bag,” he looked back at her and the corner of his mouth lifted in a smirk. “You can set it on the couch, if you’d like.”

“It’s a purse, a big purse,” she said with annoyance, but when she turned her back on him and made her way toward the couch she smiled. Once she was over by the table again she sat in the chair he offered. He leaned slightly forward to push the chair in, and she could see in the corner of her eyes that he was close to her face. She swore he inhaled again. “Did you just smell me?” She glanced over at him sideways, saw him straighten, but didn’t miss how he hardened his jaw.

Clearing his throat, he sat in the seat across from her, unfolded his linen napkin that was in the form of some kind of waterfowl, and placed it on his lap. He leaned back, placed his arm over the back of the chair, and stared at her. They didn’t say anything for several seconds, and once the cook brought over a bowl of fresh strawberries, whipped cream, and a carafe of orange juice and a bottle of champagne, Rian excused him. They were left alone, the silence stretching between them, and her discomfort and confusion were rising at what was happening right now.

“Juice, Miss Case?” He lifted up the carafe and looked pointedly at her.

“Mr. Hartford—”

“Call me Rian. I think for what I am going to propose to you the formalities can be pushed aside at this moment.”

What he was going to propose?

He grabbed her glass without waiting to see if she’d reply, and filled her glass with the orange, clearly fresh squeezed liquid.

“Mr. Hartford—”

“I’ve asked you to call me Rian, Miss Case, at least for today, and in return I’d like to call you Sorcha.” His voice had gone harder, as if her not calling him by his first name annoyed him. He set the carafe back on the table, grabbed his fork and knife, and started eating his food. For several seconds all Sorcha did was watch him. He even made eating an omelet somehow seem sexy. Damn him.

He had to work out, because under that thin dress shirt she could see the definition of his muscles, could see the power he held in his body, and not only in his mind. He was a brilliant man, even if he acted like an asshole a lot of the time. Looking down at his hands, she saw the veins running along the back of his smooth, tanned flesh, and traced his big and masculine fingers with her gaze. Something was definitely wrong with what was going on, and it was sending up major red flags in her.

She lifted her gaze and stared at him. He was already watching her, his jaw working slowly as he chewed. He swallowed, and the sound of him doing the act seemed to drown out all other noises.

“Are you not hungry?” he said after he had taken a drink from his orange juice. He took his napkin, dabbed his mouth, and then leaned back. Again, that fucking dead air filled the space between them. “Eat, Sorcha.” He didn’t say it in a loud, booming voice, but the type of power he had behind those words made it seem like he had. “I can tell you’re hungover, and some food will do you some good.” He leaned forward again, grabbed his fork, and started eating.

She did the same, and although her stomach protested with every swallow, as the time passed she started to feel marginally better. Once she had eaten and drunk as much as she could, she wiped her mouth, leaned back in her chair as he had done so many times, and waited for the ball to drop.

“So, you’re probably wondering why I called you in on a Saturday, and had this set-up when you came in?” He lifted an eyebrow, and she nodded.