He’d been in love with her. Maybe, by the look on his face, he still was. The news that his wife was cheating on him, regardless that he’d flagrantly cheated on her, was not going down very well.
Still, I felt for him and whispered, “Tor –”
“He visited today?” he asked in a soft, dangerous voice.
“Uh… yes.”
“He was here?”
“Um… yes,” I breathed for his expression nor tone had changed.
“With you?”
Uh-oh.
“Uh…”
“With you, Cora?” he pushed.
“Yes, of course, we… talked.”
“And you know they, as you put it… hooked up?”
“Uh…”
“How do you know this?”
Oh boy.
“Tor –”
“How do you know this?”
I wasn’t going to get out of it. So I answered, “He kind of… hugged me and, uh… kissed me.” I watched Tor’s face turn to stone and finished lamely, “Twice.”
The air in the room changed again, it got heavier. So heavy, it was hard to breathe.
“He touched you?” he whispered.
“He surprised me,” I said quickly. “I had to, uh –”
“Put his mouth on you?”
“Tor –”
His eyes narrowed. “Twice?”
“Um –”
Suddenly I was across the kitchen, my back to the wall and Tor was in my space, his hands on my neck, his thumbs in my jaw forcing it up so his eyes could lock on mine.
“He does not touch you again,” Tor growled.
“Tor, he doesn’t know what’s going on. I had to –”
His fingers tensed and his face came to within an inch of mine. “He does not touch you again.”
“Okay,” I whispered.
“Repeat it,” he commanded harshly.
“He does not touch me again.” I kept whispering.
“I will deal with him.”
What?
“What?” I asked. “How?”
“I don’t know but I will. You do not deal with this man. This man does not touch you. He does not see you –”
I wrapped my fingers around his wrists and interrupted, “Tor, he can’t see you either. You both look exactly alike!”
“Precisely,” he clipped. “You’re in love with me and I’ll not give this… other bloody me an opportunity to muddle your head.”
There it was. He wasn’t jealous and hurt about Cora cheating on him. He didn’t care about that at all.
He was thinking about me.
God, I hated it that he could still be sweet, protective and possessive, all of which I liked when I was trying to convince myself I hated him.
“Tor!” I cried. “He’s not going to –”
“Cora, we’re not discussing this.”
“This is insane! If he sees you, he’ll freak! You can’t –”
“Leave him to me,” he ordered.
“Tor, seriously –”
His fingers tensed again and he growled low, “Cora, I said, leave him to me.”
I glared at him, my mind conjuring the vision of a Noctorno to Noctorno faceoff and just how freaking weird that would be.
Then I snapped, “Oh, all right!”
He relaxed but his hands brought my face up the inch it needed so he could brush his lips against mine.
My lips tingled.
God, I liked it when he did that.
“Stop kissing me,” I whispered, staring into his eyes.
“No chance of that, love,” he whispered back then let go and walked to his plate. “Is this finished?” he asked, pointing to his sandwich.
I stood where he left me, glaring at him. Then I stomped to the bag of Cheetos.
“Not yet,” I stated, shook out some Cheetos on the plate next to the sandwich, dropped the bag on the counter, rounded him and got him a can of Coke from the fridge. Then I picked up the plate and offered it and the Coke to him. “Now it’s done.”
He was staring at the plate and before he had to ask, I answered.
“Cheetos, they’re kind of, cheese flavored snacks.”
He took the plate and can and his eyes came to me. “The only thing I recognize is the bread. The rest is clearly not natural.”
He was right about that.
“We’ll go to a grocery store tomorrow. Now you’re eating processed food because the selection isn’t all that hot at the corner store.”
“You went to the market?”
“Yes.”
His face turned slightly ominous again. “Cora, I told you to rest.”
“I know you did Tor!” I snapped impatiently. “But I couldn’t. My house was a mess. My bathroom a pit. My sheets dirty. And I had to figure out what Cora had done with two months of my life. I couldn’t lie in bed and rest. I tried. My mind wouldn’t let me. I had to get things sorted so I sorted them. I survived. I’m breathing. So now, will you do me a favor and just bloody eat?”
He stared at me. Then he grinned.
Then he noted, “My wife likes order.”
“I’m not your wife,” I shot back.
His grin turned to a smile as he turned to the door and muttered, “You will be.”
I looked at the ceiling.
Bloody hell.
Then I followed him to see he was moving to the round, four-seater dining room table I had in the corner.
“What are you doing?” I asked, he stopped and turned to me.
“Preparing to eat,” he answered.
“I don’t eat at the table,” I informed him. “No one in America eats at the table unless it’s Thanksgiving, Christmas, a birthday or they’re weird.”
He looked at the table in a way that nonverbally said he felt it was strange I owned a set of furniture that I would use only three days of the year (this, a look from a man who had three entire dining rooms) then he looked at me. “Where do you eat?”
“On the sofa in front of the TV,” I replied, walked to the sofa and, no other way to put it, collapsed mainly because I needed to. I was exhausted and my body was beginning to ache again.
He followed, sat next to me, looked about him and then lifted his bare feet up to the coffee table and put his
