His Fire Inside

What?? Like seriously? “Are you serious? Wife beater guy is here to paint since your mom won’t let me do it on my own. Nice guy is also here just to paint. One, I don’t do threesomes, and two have you gotten your eyes checked recently? I have no idea how you took that as me having a man in my room. The completely empty room with paint cans everywhere and a ladder. Seriously?”

Of course he’s not embarrassed, of course he doesn’t apologize; the arrogant asshole just relaxes and nods. “See to it you keep it that way.”

Then he walks away dismissively. I’m really pissed he can just walk away while I’m standing here trying to gain control over my stupid body. “Asshole,” I mutter as I turn around to find Cheryl has just closed her door. I blush.

She just smiles. “Yes, dear, he can be. I’m not even going to ask what he did this time. I did so want to invite you to dinner, but since this is Rourke doing his checkup on you, I couldn’t get him to agree. I’ll see you in a few hours.”

I nod as I lean down for the kiss on the cheek she gives me. Since I have the house more or less to myself as both guys now seem terrified to come within ten feet of me. I’m looking through my books to find something to read when the front door practically slams closed.

Rourke’s eyes are moving around the room as if he’s expecting to see someone running to hide while naked. “Get dressed, you’re coming.”

My mouth falls open; I want to argue but the words die in the volcano heat spewing out in little clumps of molten lava. Dinner, I can do dinner, Cheryl will be right there. With a shrug I go into my room, and he follows me. I’m in the walk-in closet grabbing the dress Janice suggested for the interview and a pair of black flats that match. Cheryl had been excited about going out to dinner at his downtown hotel, talking about how the food was amazing and the restaurant exclusive. I helped her get dressed in a boring-to-look-at five-hundred-dollars-plus dress. My dress is half that; I hope I don’t embarrass Rourke or Cheryl. He’s in the doorway again. “You can change in the bathroom.”

Like I was really going to strip out of my leggings and stretchy T-shirt in the room with the two guys. He backs up and is back down the hall by the time I’m in the hallway slamming into the bathroom. I want to scream; he’s such an asshole. I wanted time alone but no, he’s forcing me into close contact with him over some insane paranoia that I’m going to get naked or be unable to contain myself around two men who were only here—wait, could he be jealous? The idea is so funny I laugh. No way, it couldn’t possibly be true. He’s just a control freak.

I undo my hair from its braid and sigh. I don’t have the time to flat iron it. With a grimace I scrape it into a bun. Ugh, not a whole lot better. Whatever, this is what happens when you don’t give a woman time to get ready. Quickly I wash my face and cheat by putting on moisturizer with a hint of color, then grab a matte powder and pat it on. I open the door to the bathroom to find Rourke in the doorway of the bedroom again.

“And I don’t want to ever f

ind out you were eyeing her like you were. Got it?”

Holy fuck, he was jealous. He turns to find me standing behind him. His eyes flare, lava is spewing every fucking where; I’m pretty sure I take a direct hit. I sway, and he grabs me by the arm. His hand is so hot it feels like he’s burning me and his grip is almost painful. “It took you long enough. What the hell are you doing with your hair up?”

Pausing in the middle of the living room, he stops and undoes the catch around my bun. My long brown hair falls around my face, down over my shoulders. Black eyes glint as they run over me. His grip tightens and I can’t fight the wince. He immediately gentles, but he doesn’t let me go. “Much better. Let’s go.”

I’m practically running to keep up with him. Um, he’s in the Veyron that only seats two people, a massive ego and a tiny penis. Cheryl hands him her keys. “My Mercedes, dear, it will hold all of us.”

He takes it, pressing a fob, and the garage goes open. A black Mercedes four door, I don’t know what is beeped open. I open Cheryl’s door for her to get out. She has a smile on her face that tells me this whole thing is her fault. “I love that dress, dear,” she says as she gets out of the car. “I’m so glad Rourke thought it best not to leave you alone with two men all evening. Who knew what might happen when you went for the evening swim you love so much?”

Cheryl Vega is a sneaky, manipulative witch. I have gone swimming every night since I moved in, but late at night around ten, before I was going to bed. When I told Cheryl how much I loved swimming she encouraged me to, and it’s been the perfect way to end my night. However, I have never done it early because Cheryl thinks I hate wearing my bathing suit, and I do. Only the real reason I wait until late, when she is in bed, is because I swim naked.

I don’t have time to read her the riot act before Rourke backs up then opens the door for her, I get in before he can open my door. His eyes narrow at me. I can open my own damn door.

The drive is quiet, as Cheryl discusses her future plans for the living room and the kitchen. Rourke agrees with her, but I can feel his eyes on me. I keep my gaze out on the passing street. I’m still having a hard time with the whole Rourke being jealous thing. One half of me is all yes, oh thank god, this is amazing, while the other, saner half of me is freaked the fuck out. If Rourke doesn’t fool around with employees, as he made very clear, then where does that leave us? Sex is it with him. It’s all I would be good for, which should actually be a relief since I haven’t had it in more than five years, only I’ve been pretty good without it and I don’t want to do all the angst and tears, which is kind of a given after an encounter with Rourke Vega.

Rourke pulls up in front of the six-story historic hotel which sits on an entire city block. The limestone and brick hotel was originally built in 1896, and for decades it operated smoothly. Until the family who built it died off, and it fell into such disrepair as a slum hotel it was almost demolished. Rourke bought it, then sunk a massive amount of money into restoring it. When the former president had to move while the governor’s mansion was being repaired, he stayed at this hotel, and now every time he’s in Austin he refuses to stay anywhere else. With its downtown location and three different entrances from two major streets, it has quite a presence from the outside.

Inside there is a massive grand ballroom with vintage chandeliers so gorgeous people come from all over the country to get married in it. It’s been the setting for weddings on television and movies and for a Spanish royal family member. There is one lesser ballroom that still holds six hundred people and vintage chandeliers as well; both have also held conferences of everything from writers to politicians foreign and domestic. I’ve only been here three times, once for a wedding, and twice for dinner.

I’m out on the sidewalk, only now realizing I managed to leave my purse and cell phone at home. While I don’t need to be on my phone all the time, I feel a little naked without it. Following Cheryl into the already open door, I smile at the young guy holding the door open. Only seconds later Rourke is behind me, and his hand goes to the small of my back. The shot of electricity causes me to jump and Rourke’s hand flexes against me. After a small stumble, I rely on him to guide me through the restaurant. Blindly, I go where I’m led until we stop, and a chair is pulled out in front of me. I sit with a thump, my legs grateful they can stop worrying about standing.

When Rourke sits down directly in front of me with Cheryl to my right, the anger in his flat charcoal black eyes surprises me. What did I do now? I thank the waiter for the menu then open it, not hungry in the slightest.

“Have you been here before, Olivia? I highly recommend the rack of lamb or you could try one of the tasting menus, one is five courses, the other is seven.”

“I have been, yes. The first time I was so overwhelmed by the menu I got a salad. It was the best salad I have ever had.”

Cheryl laughs, and Rourke shakes his head. “You’ll have the tasting menu, you’ll like it.”

I make my smile saccharine sweet as I look at him. “I’ll have whatever I want to have.”

“Rourke, do allow Olivia to pick out what she would like for herself. How is the castle you’re redoing in Tours coming along?”

Without being the least bit chastised, Rourke gives me a last hard stare before turning to his mother. “It’s not a castle, it’s simply a very large chateau. It’s coming along fine. I believe it should be done within the next few weeks; I may have it open in time for summer.”

“Then why don’t you keep it as a home? The pictures are simply lovely. Now that is a place I would love to visit over that one in Monaco.”

“What’s the matter with the house in Monaco?”