One Night, Six Days & A Date Later

7. Sentimental Nonsense

It had been a mistake.

An irreparable mistake, seeing as he couldn’t get the delightfully shaped lass off his mind. Cian growled, tossing the kerchief Rosalind had handed him for his bloodied nose into the trashcan.

Aye.

He’d deserved that one.

And heavens damn him, the lass punching him, had been the hottest thing he had seen. Her amber eyes had been pure fire and her chest rose and fell as she had stared at him, furious. It had taken all of his might to keep his eyes away from the swell of her breasts.

The lass made him feel like a creep. Especially with the hard-on currently forming in his pants as he thought about her full lips. That red lipstick should be banned. That color on her was sinful.

Going to Seattle had been a stupid mistake. He should never have listened to his grandfather and his pleas. The old man had told Cian to visit the emerald city, and he just might find love there. His clan, the Gregors, were big on family and litters of children playing about the clan home.

Cian didn’t share the sentiment.

He hated children, and was pretty sure love was a fictitious term.

Still, he had obeyed his old man, only because he had plans in Seattle.

A particular business rival of his was starting to rattle him. He'd wanted to find the woman, seduce her and get the merger ruined.

That was the plan, until he'd actually met the woman.

The very first night in, he had gotten in bed with his rival. He had tried to resist the lure of her hips against his, her warm breath on his skin, her seductive scent that was still glued to his memory. He might have succeeded, had she not pressed those godsdamned beautiful lips to his. That had been his undoing.

And now, he couldn’t sleep one night without dreaming of the lass who had been a wild cat in his bed.

Burning hell.

“Cian?” Rosalind called out, interrupting his train of thoughts. She held up the ice pack, jiggling it in his face. “Got the ice pack.”

“Leave it on the table,” He gritted out, and the pain in his nose intensified with each word he spoke. The lass punched hard. Very hard.

“Let me attend to that for you, Cian,” Rosalind said softly, turning toward the first aid kit she brought in from only God knows where. He wouldn’t be surprised if she carried it around with her all day. Women were such strange creatures.

He took out another kerchief from the pack and pressed it against his hurting nose. “I can tend to myself, Rosalind.”

Her blonde brows knitted together , forming a frown, and her grey orbs darkened. “I’m Rosalind now? Not Rosa?”

Ah. That.

He had called her Rosa, knowing the lass would take note of it. And she had. If her displeasure and ire had been any indication. His fingers dove into his hair and he turned from her, not nearly in the mood for an argument. “'Tis late. I will speak to you on the morrow.”

He heard her hurried footsteps, following him across the hall to the master suite several feet away from her room. She gripped his wrist, causing him to pause.

“You are shutting me out again, Cian.”

He studied Rosalind. Her pleading eyes, her lowered eyelashes that had been batting at him all night long, her lips that were redder than they were thirty minutes ago, the two top buttons of her shirt that had come undone in just a matter of seconds in which he had approached the door.

Then he said, "I never let you in, Rosalind."

Her thin lips quivered slightly, and her clammy hold on his wrist faltered. "I know where you went that night. Who you were with. You have changed since that night." She paused, and her eyes narrowed. "Do you harbor feelings for the spoiled King heiress?"

Cian hated nosy women.

Most women were.

It was why he chose to keep them at arm's length, only taking lovers when necessary.

Rosalind had been a moment of weakness. He had been young and she had been available. He had been vulnerable, having lost his parents to a ghastly accident. Rosalind had been there, his grandfather's help at the time.

She had consoled him with her words and her body, over and over again, until he'd had enough presence to take up the mantle of his household.

But he did not love her.

Love didn't exist in his books.

She didn't seem to think so, though. She'd never given up on seducing him and walking in on him dressing up.

"You should know better, Rosalind."

Her lips curved slightly and a new light brightened her eyes. "Good. Because I will not hesitate for a second before releasing this to the press. Surely, your plan was to ruin the merger. It is why you did that, right?"

Cian didn't bother correcting the woman's delusions. He'd tried. It never seemed to take root in her thick skull. He dislodged his wrist from her grip and leaned into her space until their noses were nearly touching. "You leave Ivette King alone until I tell you otherwise. My decisions do not concern you. What I do and with whom I do it is none of your business."

He retreated a few steps back and turned to his room. "Do your job and calm Dada the f**k down. Tell him I'm alright and the bleeding has stopped. I do not wish to be disturbed."

He was in his room before she could reply and he shut the door, leaning against it.

The hate in Ivette King's eyes had left him perturbed. It shouldn't have. He broke hearts with half a thought and never cared about them afterward. His ex could confirm this--not that he could remember her name. Something along the lines of Jessica. Or was it Lisa?

He shook his head and shrugged out of his bloody shirt.

He didn't like what he was starting to feel for the crazy woman who had rocked his world weeks ago.

When the blonde had touched her, a string of emotions had plagued him. Jealousy. Rage. Helplessness. And a sinking feeling he couldn't place.

He'd said those things to hurt her and ruin the engagement. Sure enough, the plan would work, but why did it feel like something in him was breaking? He felt...hurt.

*********

Ivette turned off her cell phone and the TV as well. The tabloids were blowing up and her face was over the internet.

King Corp's Heir Engaged in Violent Fight. Victim might sue.

The moment where Ivette King goes mojo on the famous billionaire, Cian MacGregor, at the awards event.

Hysterical woman clawing at an unrequited love's face.

She couldn't hear or take any more of it. That too and she was cold. She'd walked back to the nearest hotel in the rain and she'd been soaked by the time she'd gotten to her booked room.

Even the near-scalding water she had soaked herself in wasn't enough to get to warm her freezing bones.

She could use her mother's herbal tea right now, but she doubted it would be of any help. She was running a fever.

And she was alone.