05

CARTER 

After getting Rory to work safely—we went in our separate cars, of course—I drove down to the coffee shop where we met yesterday, entered and ordered coffee that I don't really need. 

I already drank a truck-load of coffee back at Rory's house before leaving, but coming in here without buying anything would make me feel like an asshole. 

I just need to clear my head for a bit and I can't do that at Rory's. Not when everywhere I turn, I see her things, her feminine touches around the house, I breathe her scent and my hard-on gets even harder. Plus, staying there when she's not around just feels weird.

I'm a stranger. How can she be okay having me in her house? 

If the cases were reversed, I'd be watching her like a hawk. But then again, I'm jaded as hell. It took about two months for me to trust my ex-wife before we started dating. 

Speaking of, I fish my phone out of the front pocket of my jeans and it brightens up immediately, showing me that I already have four messages from the woman I've asked to stop reaching out to me countless times. 

For some reason, my ex-wife wants to rekindle a relationship that's three years stale already. Honestly, the first few months when she started texting me again out of nowhere, telling me that she missed me, that she made a mistake and wanted me back, I was confused. 

Why the sudden change of heart? 

She was the same person that asked for a divorce in the first place and because I never had strong feelings for her in the first place—hey, getting married was her idea, not mine—I agreed. 

She said she wanted a divorce simply because she couldn't keep up with my job and how much it took me away from her. I called bullshit. She knew about my job before we even started dating, so what the fuck was that? 

Under my ex-wife's texts, is a text from Ivy asking me when I'm going to visit. Ivy is a firecracker, a mouthy little thing, and my younger sister. I'm eighteen years older than her yet she still somehow manages to scold me so thoroughly, I begin to wonder if I'm actually older than her. 

I don't reply her right away. She would only see that as an in to start a conversation and I really do not want to right now, so I keep my phone back in my pocket and take a sip of my coffee absently. 

It's going to be a long fucking day. 

***

Eight hours later, I'm driving to Rory's place of work to escort her home. 

It's a tall building with many floors. On the building is the name, Cora's, and I know that it's a designing company but I don't know what exactly they design—probably clothes—and I don't know what Rory does either. 

She pulls out of the underground garage in less than five minutes of me waiting and I wait for her Audi to get in front before I follow her. 

When we get to the house, she steps out of her car before I step out of mine and I stifle a groan as my eyes sweep over her petite frame. 

If this sort of attire is what she wears to work everyday, then I'm fucking toast because I’m going to be battling semis every single fucking time I look at her. She's wearing a tight pencil skirt that stops just above her knees and a long sleeved t-shirt that's tucked into the skirt. 

When she left this morning, there was only one button undone but right now, I can see that another one has been undone. 

Oh, great. More torture and it's just my second day here. 

I wonder just how much I can take before I snap.

Snap and do what exactly? She's eleven fucking years younger than you, you fucking perv.

Gritting my teeth, I come down from my car and slam the door close, walking over to where she's still standing by her car. She's waiting by her car...for me? I don't know. I'm not sure either. But with the way she's pointedly staring at me, I'm starting to think I'm the one she's waiting for. 

And I don't fucking understand why. 

She's also smiling. A cunning smile playing at the smile of her lips that has me thinking that she's cooking up something devious. I wonder what that is. 

I stop a safe distance from her, waiting for her to go in before I follow. I would really rather not look at her but I'm trying to get a message across to her without necessarily speaking and I literally have to look at her to make her understand.

"You're seriously just going to stand there and speak to me with your eyes?" Rory asks with a wide grin, her eyes lingering on mine for a while, before falling to my lips and staying there. "We can do this all day, Carter."

She's bold, I have to give it to her. 

A memory of this morning when she folded her arms like she was my boss and made me thank her, flashes into my mind and it's all I can do to not kiss the fuck out of that mouth to shut it up. 

Then I start to think of all the ways I can shut her up—there's a fucking lot. I could force my cock between those pretty, pink lips—

"Oh, come on, Mr. Whitlock,” Rory whines, pulling me out of my thoughts. I expect to find a pout on her face but all I see is her smile getting wider as she flutters her eyelashes. "Tell me what you really want to tell me. I promise I'll listen."

My cock goes from a semi into a raging hard on in five seconds flat. Fucking fuck. There is nothing sexual about what she just said, so why did it sound that way to my ears? 

Because of what I'm going through, because I hate the kind of effect she has on me, my voice turns hard and my the words come out stern. Not like I intended.

"Get inside the house." I'm just about to add her name but then second-guess it. That would be too personal. 

Her face shutters, her smile disappearing and the playful glint in her eyes obliterating into dust. Her eyes are sad for a second in which I feel guilty as all hell, then in the next second, they're hardening in anger and she's spinning on her heel and stomping away down the driveway and towards the front door. 

I'm so fucking angry at myself but it doesn't stop me from ogling her ass. They're a fucking sight in that skirt. 

This thing... this lust I feel for her is too intense, too strong. It's unlike anything I've ever felt before and I have a sinking feeling it's going to make this job harder than it should be. 

I think I'm done having to see Rory for the day. I've eaten pizza, drank a beer and watched the news on the TV. So imagine how surprised I am when she yells for me a few hours later. 

Her voice is shrill and just the right amount of panicked to have me shooting up from my bed so fast and running down the hallway towards her. When I reach her room, I don't knock; I burst the door open—thankfully, it's not locked—and hurry inside, only to find out that she's not in the room. 

My heart threatens to beat into overdrive at the thought that something has happened to her, but I make deliberate effort to calm myself. 

"Rory?" I call out because I'm sure as hell that this is where I heard her call me from. 

"In here!" She shouts and my eyes trail slowly in the direction she just spoke from. 

Her bathroom. 

My body goes tight with tension because I already know that I'm not going to like where this is going. 

"What's wrong?" 

"I... I'm stuck in the bathroom and I can't find my way out."

I frown. "What do you mean you're stuck in the bathroom and can't find your way out?"

"Well, I had my bath and I think the hot water might have messed with my contacts and now they're not working properly anymore," she tells me. "I can't see. Everything's blurry and I don't think I'll be able to walk out of here without hitting my head." A pause. "Or falling."

I can't help but note that she sounds too bloody relaxed for someone who's stuck in the bathroom especially considering that she could fall and injure herself. 

"So what do you need my help with?"

She does hesitate this time. "I-I'd appreciate it if you could help me out." When I don't reply immediately, she hurries to add, "I'm wearing a towel so you don't have to worry about me flashing you or anything. I just need to come out and take off the contacts then I'll be fine."

Oh, for fucks sake. What did I even do to deserve such torture? 

Yes, she has on a towel but it's going to leave her legs bare and it's only going to make me imagine unwrapping it, baring that luscious body to my hungry eyes. 

Fuck. 

I march over to the bathroom door like it's my enemy, glare at it like I want to rip it off the hinges, then wrench it open and...and freeze the fuck out because Jesus fucking Christ. 

Rory's towel is a little slip of a thing that covers her from her chest to the tops of her thighs and the parts of her body that aren't covered by it, are deliciously wet with drops of water running down them. 

She has her gaze fixed on a spot over my head, probably not able to tell the exact spot where I am, and a had clutching tightly at the towel where it's knotted around her. 

It's almost impossible to walk with erection but I do, walking over to her so that I can help her out and get the hell out of here as quick as possible. 

I wrap my fingers around her arm and begin to pull her gently with me out of the bathroom when suddenly, I feel something on my chest. 

I'm surprised to see that it's Rory's hand and when I look at her, I see that she's staring at me with lust-filled blue eyes and that's when I realise two things simultaneously. 

For one, Rory doesn't wear contacts. 

And two, she's feeling me the fuck up.