Page 59 of Tangled Control

I quickly freshen up in the white marble en-suite with its double sinks and clawfoot bathtub. The t-shirt and pyjama bottoms Rian has left out for me are several sizes too large, but comfortable.

Rian doesn’t notice me when I enter the kitchen, and I enjoy watching him unguarded as he moves around the large modern units. His beautiful features are softer than normal, and nothing like the hungry wolf-like expression he wore last night while flogging me. Dressed similarly to me, the clothes do nothing to hide his ripped body.

Finally lifting his head in my direction, his defined chest expands as his gaze rakes down my body. My pulse picks up again.

His tongue traces his lower lip. “I like you in my clothes, Cat.”

My cheeks warm. “What are you making? Is it a culinary delight that you’ve picked up from your many travels?”

His lip twitches at my attempt at distracting him.

“You’re in for a treat, Miss Taylor. Homemade pancakes, taught to me by my granny Róisín when I was four.” His voice lowers and his eyes turn a shade darker. “But looking at you, I should have offered strawberries and cream instead.”

Butterflies take flight and my cheeks heat even more. I clear my throat twice, my voice traitorously weak. “Pancakes will be just fine, thank you. Can I help?”

He raises an eyebrow and keeps a half smile on his face.

“No. Secret recipe. Sit.” He motions to the granite kitchen island and keeps a watchful eye on me as I try to hide my wince when sitting down. With drawn brows, he picks up a packet of painkillers from a drawer and silently sets it and a glass of water in front of me.

“I’m fine,” I reiterate, but still take the offered pills.

Rian joins me shortly after with a stack of pancakes so high I can’t help but laugh.

He grins. “I worked up an appetite last night.”

For the third time this morning, my cheeks burn. Apparently, I worked up an appetite too. The pancakes soaked in syrup are pure pleasure, and we chat lightly while devouring the whole pile.

Although we’re trying to trip each other up, just like in the office, it’s now done playfully, with laughter and teasing. I’m at ease in his company, and I have to stop myself from tracing syrup from his lips or running my fingers through his messy hair.

I tell him the story of how I came to buy my expensive apartment, laughing at how it’s left me completely broke, but that I’ve gotalmostno regrets. His eyes narrow when I mention how stupid I’d been, spending money I expected to have from a promotion that never materialised. He, on the other hand, tells me he’s contemplating finding somewhere else to live, despite the views over the Docklands that I rave about.

“Until recently I would have said that this apartment suited you perfectly,” I tease. “Over the top, cold and impersonal.”

Rian snorts. “I’ve had similar thoughts about your apartment. I thought an uninviting, sterile one, like mine, would suit you. But your home is just perfect. Warm, inviting, tight, hot…”

I laugh and push at his shoulder. “You have a dirty, dirty mind, Mr Kearney.”

He grins widely. “You better believe it, Miss Taylor.”

“You and your mind belong in a gutter.”

“A gutter?” He huffs. “You knowRianmeanskingin Irish, right?”

I snort. “It meanslittleking.”

“There’s nothing little about me.” He narrows his eyes and I bite down on my lip. “I think I need to prove it to you one more time.”

“I think you may as I can’t remember.”

Butterflies take off in my stomach as he grabs the rolled-up waistband of my pyjamas. Without hesitation he pushes his hand down between my legs, then he whispers, “Are you too sore?”

“Only one way to find out,” I gasp then squeal as he hefts me over his shoulder, his hand still between my legs, and carries me to the bedroom.

My trousers are pulled off in one swift move as soon as I’m thrown on the bed. He straddles me and leans over to his bedside table.

“Condoms and lube.” He holds them up with a cheeky grin.

“You’re well prepared, Mr Kearney!”