Chapter 10

ten

Tav

I smell the popcorn before I see her, and a grin I can’t fight curls my lips. I don’t know what possessed me to stop at the grocery store on my way home Thursday night. I hadn’t needed anything for the house and typically leave the unenjoyable task of shopping for food to my housekeeper, Esmeralda. Or, as she prefers to be called, Mer.

Popcorn, however, has never been on my list. Even looking at the little balls of unpopped corn, I haven’t the first clue what to do with it to make it into the fluffy white shit Olympia clearly has a liking for.

Still, I’d gone out of my way to get it for her, feeling like a fool as I stood at the register, tossing a pack of gum onto the counter just to say I’d gotten something for myself. I’d felt even more foolish as I pushed it into the cupboard, wondering what she’d look like when she found it.

Had she smiled?

Hell. Fingers dig into my forehead as I move deeper into my house, spotting the woman on my couch.

She can’t be far into the movie—a sappy romance if the collage of scenes before me is anything to go by. A couple with ice cream, hand in hand, popcorn at the movies. A kiss.

It reminds me of what it’d been like to kiss her. Something I haven’t let myself do since that first kiss. Something I’ve wanted to do every day since. I’ve woken hard as stone every morning with the taste of her lingering on the haze of my dreams.

“Hey.” She twists on the couch as I move closer. “You’re home.”

Why does it sound so good when she says that?Why does it feel good to have someone—a woman—waiting for me?

I have to get rid of her.

Fucking Ian.

“Yeah.” Tearing my eyes from her make-up free face, I head for the kitchen. Throwing open the fridge, I think about grabbing a beer, but decide to pour a rum and coke instead. I haven’t had a drink all week, but with her on my couch looking like that—fresh and sweet and like something I could devour if I decided not to give a shit about the fact I hate her—well, I need something to wash that bitter pill down. Because I do give a shit. And I do hate her. Or, if not her, I hate where she came from and the manipulative blood I know runs through her veins.

“Is it okay that I’m here?”

My gaze swings to hers. “You’ve been here all week.”

“I mean here.” Her finger with that manicured nail points down to her lap. “On your couch. Watching a movie. Eating popcorn.”

The movie is still playing in the background, but her entire focus is on me. “You’re missing your movie.”

Full lips part and a little pink tongue pokes out to wet that pouty bottom one. Well, hell, I’m going to be jerking off to thoughts of all that mouth can do in the shower tonight.

Ian needs to get his shit together. I know he can work faster than this.

“I’ve seen it at least a hundred times before.”

My brows rise. “That so?”

“Maybe a bit of an exaggeration,” she admits with an adorable pinch of her fingers. “But it’s one of my favorites.”

Casting my eyes to the screen, I take a long drink. I don’t recognize it. “What is it?”

Her eyes widen. “The Notebook.”

“That supposed to mean something to me?”

Her brows slam down. “What kind of movies do you watch?”

“Action, mostly. I like a good thriller, too.” Am I really having this conversation with her?

“You like to watch things blow up?” She makes a cute little noise as she rolls those blue eyes. “Figures.”

“And you?”

She swings a hand to the screen. “Romance. Drama. Romantic comedy. Anything to do with falling in love, I love.”

I can’t help it when my eyes narrow on her. I’d watched my fair share of romance movies with Ophelia. They’d been her favorite too, but not because she’d gotten lost in the happy endings. Ophelia had found immense enjoyment in making fun of the actors. Altering the plot in sinister ways, making comments about how the main female love interest was probably screwing the best friend.

I haven’t sat for a romantic movie since I’d been with Ophelia, but I find myself moving to the living room and dropping down on the couch beside Olympia. She tenses, every muscle in her body locking up tight as her hands grip the bowl of popcorn in her lap.

I can feel her eyes drilling questions into the side of my head as I drop my hand to her bowl, grabbing a handful. I keep my eyes firmly fixed on the screen as I shovel the fistful of salty, buttery popcorn into my mouth. It’s delicious. I can see why she’d wanted it.

I’m going to have to learn how to make this so I can make it for myself when she leaves.

“You want to watch this movie? With me?”

I let my eyes slide to her now. Up close like this, the smell of something sweet and fresh hits me under the scent of buttery popcorn. Her big blue eyes, the color of a shallow sea, are wide on me. She might be born of evil, but she’s exquisite. Maybe the most exquisite thing I’ve ever seen.

“Yeah, why not?”

She slow blinks. Thick black lashes fluttering over plump cheekbones. She tips her head to the side, her heart shaped face painted in confusion. Then she shrugs one shoulder, as though she couldn’t care either way. “Okay.”

With that, she turns her attention to the TV.

We share the bowl of popcorn, and when it’s finished, she leans forward to place it on the coffee table. Before she settles back on the couch, I shift, purposefully shifting closer. Her scent consumes me.

I can’t help myself. I ask, “What is that?”

Her eyes shift to me, that everlasting blush in her cheeks. “What’s what?”

“The smell. Your smell? What is it?”

She rolls her lips together, brows pinching in a frown.

“I’m not wearing perfume. Maybe it’s my lotion?” Her little nose crinkles, her tone pitched in a question.

“What’s the scent of your lotion?”

“Sweet Pea.”

That accounts for the something sweet I always smell when she’s near. It leaves the question of where the scent of rain comes from.

“And the rain?”

“Rain?” Her eyes are wide as she repeats the word. When she wets her lips with the tip of her tongue, it takes physical restraint to keep from leaning in to steal a taste. “You smell rain?”

I nod. Her blush deepens, and she pushes a lock of hair behind one ear with a trembling hand. She’s nervous, I realize. I make her nervous.

Why do I like that?

“That would probably be my shampoo.”

I grunt, facing the screen again. “I like it.”

She’s silent for a long beat, and then she mutters, “At least you like something about me.”

Her words cut, but I don’t let her see that. I don’t know why they cut. They shouldn’t. They are true. I don’t like her. I don’t want her here. And yet…

I can’t seem to put distance between us. I can’t make myself get up off this couch and go to my room. I can’t make myself not be around her when she’s close.

I’m gonna make Ian pay for this.He’s deliberately not finding what I need, forcing me to stay close to her. He thinks this is funny. He probably has a bet with the guys about how long I’ll last before I fucking blow.

But I’m a patient man. I can do this. I can be near her and not lose it. Except, I think I am losing it. My mind at least. My sanity.

She’s messing with my head.

We’re at least halfway through the movie, and there hasn’t been a single comment of spite from her lips. She hasn’t made one suggestion that either of the characters are cheating or disloyal to each other. She hasn’t poked fun at heartbreak, nothing.

Ophelia would have already had a novel of spite spewed, and I’d have laughed at every comment, intrigued by her view of romance. Now, I know she’s sick. Twisted. Ruined beyond fixing. Narcissistic and possibly even psychopathic.

I can’t tell if Olympia is acting or if the tears when the characters reunite are genuine.

When the movie ends, and she sniffles, pushing up from the couch to hide her emotion as she swipes the empty bowl from the table, I can’t help but swipe the remote. I search for another movie, another romance. Another test.

Or maybe I’m just not ready for this night to be over.

The tap turns on and she rinses the bowl, placing it in the dishwasher. Then her voice, soft and sweet and definitely manipulative, sounds. “You’re watching another movie?”

“Care to join?”

She hesitates, like she’s not sure. My eyes lift to her, desire instantly flooding my veins. She’s wearing tiny black spandex shorts, showing off great legs with thick thighs I imagine wrapping around my waist, and an oversized, but thin, and slightly see-through sweater that hangs off one shoulder. Her hair is long and unbrushed around her shoulders, framing a heart shaped face with big blue eyes.

The girl looks temptingly innocent. But that’s just it. She’s a girl.

I give my head a firm shake, turning my attention back to the screen.

I select another movie. One I remember watching with Ophelia. She’d had so much fun making fun of these characters. But when Olympia’s hands clap together in front of her chest, and she makes a noise of pleasure, I have a feeling her reaction to this movie is going to be very, very different.

She skips past me, dropping onto the couch. She’s put more space between us, but that’s nothing I can’t fix. I intend to fix it, in fact.

As the movie begins to play, she sighs a sound of pleasure I feel in my dick. “I love this movie.” She turns to flash me a smile that I feel in my chest. What the hell? “I love the way they fall for each other, thinking that they’re playing each other. It’s great.”

She’s giddy with excitement, and so damn innocent.

Or maybe she knows exactly the game she’s playing, and she’s even better at it than her sister was. I can’t tell. But I know I want to play her.

I want to find the fault in her game and ruin her.

“Have you heard from your family?” My question turns her body to ice, and she grips the blanket in her lap tightly. Her knuckles turn white and a small shudder rolls through her body.

I take that as a yes but wait for confirmation.

It takes a moment, but she gives it to me. “I have.”

“And?”

“And they’re not happy.”

“You gonna tell me about it?” I press, shifting closer. Her breath hitches. Her eyes lift to mine, and there’s distrust there. I don’t like it, even though I know I deserve it.

“Do you want to know?”

I dip my head in the affirmative. “Of course, I want to know.”

“Well,” she starts, uncomfortable. “Remira is fuming, as suspected. She’s demanded that I come home. I’ve ignored her.” Her pale cheeks turn red. “Actually, I blocked her. I’ve blocked them all.”

“You’ve blocked them all?”

“That’s right.” She gives me a firm nod.

“Who all have you heard from?” She can’t miss the dark pitch to my tone as I wait for her answer.

“Remira.” I don’t miss that she never calls Remira, Mom. “Ophelia.” I flinch at the name, my lip curling. “Darius.” Unpleasant jealousy heats my blood, but she continues before it can fester. “And when everyone else failed, Dad called me. But I didn’t answer.”

I feel my eyebrows dip. I don’t like knowing that my brother has called her. Clearly, that jealousy festered even though I’d been foolishly hopeful it wouldn’t.

“What did Darius have to say?”

She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth, biting down hard. I think for a moment that she’s not going to tell me.

“Olympia.” Her name is a sharp warning that has those blue eyes darting to me. The flash of fear I see pisses me off. I’m not sure why. “Tell me what he said.”

She shakes her head like she’s going to deny me. But instead, she holds my eyes with challenge in her own. “He told me he would come and get me. That I don’t get to leave him. Not for anyone. Not even for you.” I open my lips to say—I’m not even sure what, when she continues, “If you don’t believe me, the messages are on my phone. The passcode is one, three, three, two. I’ve also saved the voicemails, so you can listen to those, too. My phone is on the counter. I’m going to bed.” She stands, starting to move away from me when I catch her wrist in my hand.

It’s so small, my fingers overlap where they connect. Her eyes flare as they hit mine, and I hear myself saying low, “I believe you.”

Her lip trembles. Her eyes shift to the side, and she pulls in a breath that shakes the foundation of my very soul.

I tug on her wrist. “Stay.” When she doesn’t agree, I find myself whispering, “Please.”