Page 127

“Jesus Christ, King! He’s here for––”
She’s looking at me like I’m crazy, but her actions just changed the direction of my anger.
Instinct makes me snap my fingers, once, and the loud sound is enough to stop Savannah’s tirade.
Her mouth shuts and I prowl toward her. “Don’t youeverput yourself between me and another man again.”
“That’s not…” Savannah’s breath hitches and I watch her eyes drop to my mouth, then lower.
Oh, this sneaky brat.She’s been keeping me on ice, acting unaffected by our lack of touch over these last two weeks, but she’s just as fucking hot for it as I am.
Savannah takes a slow breath. “I’m notgetting between you.”
I lift a hand, gesturing to the fact that she isliterallybetween us.
Savannah huffs, “I was just trying to stop you from going all psychopath on him, since I’m pretty sure just yelling from the sidelines wasn’t going to stop you.” She spares Duke a narrowed eye look. “Or you.”
I don’t respond to her reasoning, because it’s probably correct. “You don’t have men over when I’m not home.”
She shoves her little fists onto her hips. “This is work, not mehavingmen over. It’s not my fault that you just disappear randomly during the day.”
“Randomly?” I lean in closer. “I have never left this house without leaving you a note telling you where I’ve gone. Can you say the same?”
Her cheeks tinge red. “That was different,” she hisses.
“And this,” I point over her shoulder at the man still hiding behind a painting, “is unacceptable.”
“It’s just Orlando.”
“I don’t knowOrlando. So, I don’t trustOrlando.” I make sure to emphasize his stupid name.
“Promise I’m trustworthy,” Orlando tries to smile when I raise my gaze to him.
I keep my eyes on his. “I broke the arms of the last man who touched my wife.”
Orlando’s eyes widen as his smile falters . And I think he believes me. As he should.
“My King.” Savannah’s voice is quiet, just for me.
Her hand presses against my chest.
That point of contact is what I need. What I’ve been needing.
I lay my hand over hers, holding it in place, and the connection allows the tension to flow out of me.
Calmer, I ask her, “Is he here because of your show tomorrow?”
She blinks, like maybe she thought I forgot she had an art showing tomorrow night. “Yes. We’re picking the final layout and prices. Did you really break his arms?”
“Yes,” I answer as simply as she did. “Do you need help bringing these to the gallery?”
She shakes her head. “Orlando will bring them over tonight, after we finalize the order.”
“Are you done?”
Her head shakes again. “We just started.”
I take a long slow inhale. “Alright.”