Chapter 10

A gentle rapping of knuckles on my bedroom door wakes me. The tapping starts again, and it's incessant, thwarting any chance I have of managing to get more sleep. Tossing in the bed, I catch a glimpse of the alarm clock.

Fucking eight a.m.

"Cora," a deep, yet soft, voice calls from the other side of the door.

"What?" I groan. Samuel kept me up until well after midnight, and it's way too fucking early for another round.

The knob turns, and the door cracks open barely an inch. "Can I come in?"

It's your dollar, dude.

"Of course." I slide my back up the pillows, quickly smooth my hair, and try to wipe any remnants of sleep from my eyes before he steps inside.

"Good morning." Samuel steps through the threshold. He's dressed significantly more casually than I've seen him in the past couple of days. But the jeans and T-shirt he is wearing fit him way too well to be anything but designer. Bespoke designer at that. They accentuate the broad shoulders and massive muscular physique you'd expect of a professional athlete, or former in his case. Yet, they aren't loose or baggy. They fit as though they were literally made for him, and he looks good.

Nearly as good as when he's not wearing any clothes.

"May I?" He gestures to the bed beside me and waits for a nod before taking a seat. His fingers slide along my jaw, and he smiles at me as he tucks a stray tendril of hair behind my ear. "God, you're fucking gorgeous."

He continues to stare at me like I'm some sort of masterpiece. With my morning breath, splotchy skin, and—I can only assume—makeshift smoky eye from yesterday's liner I didn't bother to remove before bed, I am definitely no Mona Lisa.

"Come on." He smirks though his tone is serious as he taps my outer thigh. "Time to get up and enjoy the day."

"You're one of those." I feign dramatics and roll my eyes.

"One of those?" he chuckles.

"Yes. Those morning people."

Of which I definitely am not.

"Up. You'll have fun." He smiles as he stands from the bed. "And there will be coffee."

Shamelessly, I can't take my eyes off his rock-hard ass as he walks toward the door. Glancing over his shoulder when he reaches the threshold, as though he could feel my eyes on him, he shoots me his million-dollar smile.

"I'll give you thirty minutes to get ready." He begins to pull the door shut.

"That's not nearly enough ti—" I attempt to rebut the short length of time before he cuts me off.

"Thirty minutes, or I'll be back in here to drag you downstairs kicking and screaming."

There is a strange tinge of truth in his words, and I almost don't doubt that he would follow through. I believe it enough that I forgo washing my hair and opt to pull it into a messy bun to save time.

Samuel is waiting in the foyer by the steps; his eyes fixated on his watch as though he is literally counting down the seconds until my thirty-minute deadline is over.

"What's so important that you're pushing me out of the front door before nine a.m.?" I half-joke as he places his hand on the small of my back and leads me toward the car already parked out front.

"You'll see."

He drives fast through town, almost recklessly, before pulling to a stop outside a small, upscale boutique. He climbs from the car, opens my door, and helps me to my feet.

"I'll go grab us coffee. You head inside and get started."

"Get started?" I can't hide the confusion in my voice as he gestures toward the boutique.

Looking at the door, I notice the ‘closed' sign hanging in the window. I'm about to say something when a very well-put-together woman opens the door with a smile that screams she works for commission.

I've met her type before.

"Mr. Millington." She smiles at him a little too hard before dipping her head as she addresses me. "Cora. We've laid out a few things for you, but the store is all yours for the next couple of hours."

Jesus, this really is some Pretty Woman shit.

"I'm not taking no for an answer." Samuel stops my attempt to decline before I even get a chance to open my mouth. "Whatever you want. And I expect it to be plenty by the time I get back with your coffee. Black, two sugars, right?"

"Y...yes," I stammer, not sure whether I'm more caught off-guard by the shopping spree or the fact that he remembered how I take my coffee.

A girl could get used to being treated like this.