On His Terms(31)

After her shower she grabbed the thick, white robe that was folded with the towels, and slipped it on. She had forgotten to grab her clothes, and although Rian had already seen every part of her last night, that didn’t mean she was comfortable with walking around nude. Sorcha was curvy, thick with plenty of flaws. What exactly had he been thinking when she was naked in front of him?

Who the hell cares what he thought?

Leaving the bathroom and heading over to her bag she dressed in a tunic style blouse and a pair of black leggings. She finger-combed her hair and then twisted the long, wet strands into a messy bun. Sorcha had never been one for primping, not even when she went into the office. If she was going to be with Rian for the next week then he’d need to get used to seeing her without the business dresses and skirts, without her hair curled or straightened, and with no make-up on.

Heading out of the room and down the long, ornate hallway, she stopped in the entryway and stared into the living room. Everything was pretty still, and even with the view of the city right in front of her, the glass was thick and no sound penetrated it. Sorcha felt like this fish in a clear bowl, just waiting for someone to come up and start tapping on the glass. The kitchen was just as quiet as the living room, and a glance down the hallway again showed that there was no movement from the three open doorways. Was he gone? She would have assumed he would have told her at least. Rian didn’t have any appointments for a couple of days, and that was for a dinner gala for a charity organization.

She slipped back down the hallway, glanced in the doorways, and saw the expensively decorated bedrooms. There were three in the apartment, two bathrooms, the kitchen and living room, and then one other door at the end of the hallway that was closed. Making her way toward it, she knew she should just wait for him to come back to her. This was his home, it was early, and maybe he wanted some alone time? She thought that, but still reached out and gripped the handle, turned it, and pushed the door open. Inside was another room, but this one was broken up into two levels. She saw the banister from the stairs as they descended to the lower level. She stepped inside, glanced around, and saw the hundreds upon hundreds of books. They lined the floor to ceiling shelves on either side of her. There were a few couches on either side as well, a reading nook pressed against the window, and a desk in the corner. Clearly this was his office, and she felt very out of place, almost like she was invading his privacy.

The sound of something pounding had her moving toward the stairs and gripping the banister. The wrought iron railing was cold beneath her touch. She leaned forward, looked down at the lower level, and saw a weight bench peeking out from the corner. Should she go down there, or wait for him to come to her?

“Screw it.” Sorcha moved around the banister and stepped down the stairs. The pounding noise came through even louder, more pronounced with each step she took. When she reached the bottom the view she instantly got was of Rian on a treadmill, his back toward her, and the early morning sun casting light on his broad shoulders, narrow hips, and sweat that lined his flesh. Was it humanly possible for a man to have a back that was this attractive? He was only in a pair of loose hanging track shorts, shirtless of course, and wearing running shoes. Even though his back was toward her she saw the earbuds he wore. Watching him unobstructed, and in his element, was still unusual to her. Even after seeing him relaxed and even after they had slept together, it was still so strange.

“You’re up,” he said between panting breaths, but didn’t turn to look at her or stop running. He removed his earbuds and ran for another few minutes before slowing down to a walk, and then stopping altogether. For a few moments all he did was brace his hands on the treadmill handles, breathed in and out, and then grabbed the towel hanging beside him and wiped off his face. When turned around she took in his sweaty chest, all hard, perfect muscles. He was lean and toned, not bulky like a bodybuilder, but still very powerful. He stared at her while he dried off his chest, and she found herself watching as he moved that towel lower, took in the defined V of muscle that disappeared beneath his low hanging shorts, and then snapped her gaze up to his face again.

“You already took a shower?” His breathing was returning to normal, and even though he asked a question he turned from her and grabbed a bottle of water from the small fridge on the granite countertop. This place was set-up like a mini gym she’d find in New York. Several different pieces of workout equipment were scattered around the generous room, the same incredible view lined one wall, and he had a small kitchenette off to the side.