Page 19

While Sarah showers, I head toward the kitchen to whip up something for her eat.

Pissed off and annoyed Sarah is fun to mess with.

I’m surprised smoke wasn’t pluming from her ears and nose when I shut all the doors immediately after she opened them.

There is no chance in hell she’s sleeping anywhere but in my bed.

She doesn’t get a choice.

Am I being crazy?

Yes.

Do I give a fuck?

Nope.

I don’t know why she even thinks she can attempt escaping this world-bending tug we have for each other.

As I’m setting her plate onto the kitchen island, I hear the soft patter of her bare feet striding toward me.

A smile tugs at the corner of my mouth when she comes into view.

Her blonde hair is wet, dripping on the fabric of the ragged oversized tee she’s wearing.

I pause. Anger rising in my chest.

“Whose fucking shirt is that?” I sneer, rounding the island and walking toward her.

Sadness flashes in her eyes before being masked by the fire I’ve become accustomed to.

“None of your damn business,” she growls.

She moves to push past me, and I grip her arm.

“Tell me,” I demand. Rage rises in her ocean blues, her nostrils flare, lips curling in a snarl.

My grip tightens when she tries to jerk free.

“I swear to Satan, I will gut you if you don’t let me go, Rhys,” she seethes through clenched teeth.

“Take the shirt off. I’ll give you one of mine.”

The glare she sends me would level Mt. Everest.

“Eat shit,” she spits, ripping her arm from my grasp before marching down the hallway.

I scowl at her retreating form.

My gaze slides to the plate of food sitting on the counter.

A sudden pang of regret hits me in the center of the chest, abating the rage I felt seeing her in that tee.

Whose could it be?

Why was she so defensive about it?

I’m striding down the hallway before I talk myself out of it. I need to know who that shirt belongs to. She’s mine and I’ll be damned if she believes otherwise.

Pushing open the bedroom door, I spot Sarah lying in bed. The blanket is wrapped tightly around her body. Something unsettling forms in my stomach at how fucking small she looks.

The Sarah I’ve seen is larger than life, loud without reservation, completely unyielding in being who she is.

This Sarah? This Sarah is the physical manifestation of sadness and vulnerability.

“Sarah?” I gently ease my way into the room, closing the door behind me. She doesn’t answer.

Though, if I’m being honest, I wasn’t really expecting her to. Especially after she told me to eat shit.

Rounding the edge of the bed, I come to the side where she lays. Her eyes and hair are the only parts left uncovered from the blanket. She stares right through me, not even acknowledging my existence.

“Baby?” I press calmly.

Her lashes flutter, blinking away her daze. Sorrow, unlike anything I’ve ever seen hits me in the soul the moment her eyes rise to mine.

“I’m not your baby,” she mutters, her voice so quiet, I nearly miss it.

I lower myself to my haunches, so I sit at eye-level with her. She studies me, an array of different emotions flashing rapidly in her irises. Never pausing on one for more than half a second.

I’m not even sure what to say. I’m not sure how to comfort her.

I’ve never truly comforted anyone aside from Emily, and she’s basically my kid-sister, though there is no blood relation.

Declan is a hardass, but his sister? She’s likely the sweetest person I’ve ever met so of course I’ve comforted her when she needed it.

I’ve never comforted any woman I’m fucking. Sure, I do aftercare but anything that involves actual feelings ? Never.

I’m completely out of my element right now.

We silently watch each other. The energy in the room is difficult to decipher.

“Leave me alone,” she mutters, before shifting so her back is to me.

My jaw ticks.

I want to push but I’m also conflicted. Whatever is going on with her, I don’t like it.

Does the shirt belong to a past lover?

I internally growl at the thought. If it did belong to someone in her past, was she in love with him? Is she still in love with him?

It seems like a high possibility if she nearly ripped out my jugular because of it.

Pursing my lips, I stare at her back.

Possessiveness and jealousy simmer in my veins.

She’s mine.

“Go away, Rhys.” Her voice is muffled by the blankets she’s wrapped herself in.

I open my mouth, planning to tell her that that’s not happening, but the heartache in her voice gives me pause.

“I won’t ask about the shirt again,” I reply instead.

But I’ll be damned if I don’t dig into her past and find out who it belongs to.

Wordlessly, I stand and exit the room.

Reaching the kitchen, I wrap the plate of food with plastic wrap and place it in the refrigerator before pulling my phone from my pocket.

I quickly shoot a text to one of the P.I.s we have on our payroll, telling him to investigate Sarah’s past and report back to me as soon as possible.

Reaching into the cabinet, I take out a glass and a bottle of whiskey. Pouring myself a generous amount, I stride toward the window that overlooks the city.

Despite being late in the night, the city is buzzing with life.

Bringing the glass to my lips, I sip the amber liquid inside. The burn of the whiskey heats my chest as it flows down my throat.

I don’t know what it is about the woman currently lying in my bed, but I don’t want her just for her body.

I want everything. Mind, heart, and soul.

She challenges me, pisses me the fuck off, and I thrive on it.

She is the only woman I’ve been with who had held my attention for more than a night.

Once I figure out what the deal is with that shirt and eliminate any men she might harbor feelings for, she’ll have no choice but to embrace the fact that she belongs to me.

I stand in front of the window long enough to watch the sky change from midnight black to a light hue of blue, pink, and purple.

Rinsing my class, I set it in the sink then make my way back to the bedroom.

Sarah’s still wrapped in a cocoon when I push open the door. I chuckle at the strands of her tangled hair at the top of the bundle. The blankets steadily rise and fall with her rhythmic breathing.

A soft glow begins illuminating the room as the sun brings morning to the sky.

Releasing a deep breath, I step into the ensuite and turn on the shower. Stripping my clothes, I step under the warm spray. My muscles I wasn’t aware were tense begin to relax.

Movement catches my attention. Sarah leans against the door frame with her arms crossed.

“Morning,” I say, reaching for the bar of soap and lathering it over my body. “There’s room for two in here.”

She doesn’t reply as she makes her way to the sink. I chuckle when she reaches for my toothbrush.

“There’s an extra toothbrush in the drawer.”

She shrugs, squirting toothpaste on the bristles and shoving the toothbrush in her mouth. “I sucked your cock, and you ate my pussy, I hardly think sharing a toothbrush is a big deal.”

This woman.

My laugh echoes off the tiled shower walls.

“I guess that’s valid.”

After brushing her teeth, she quickly exits the bathroom and returns with her toiletry bag. Rummaging through it, she pulls out a brush and works on untangling her hair.

“Wanna talk abo-.”

“No.” she lifts her hand, cutting me off. “We’re sleeping together, Rhys. We’re not dating. You don’t need to know anything more than how to pleasure my body.” She tosses the brush into her bag and leaves me dumbfounded and pissed.

I hurriedly finish my shower and slam my hand down on the lever, shutting off the water. Wrapping my towel around my waist, I storm into the bedroom. Only to find it empty.

With a snarl, I march down the hallway and into the kitchen.

Sarah is perched on the counter with her legs crossed, munching down on a slice of toast. I stand in front of her, blocking her view from the window. She peers up at me and her unbothered expression sends my simmering blood to a boil.

“Yes?” she asks, taking another bite of her toast. She reaches for her glass of orange juice, keeping her eyes on mine as she takes a drink.

I open my mouth but quickly close it when I hear the chime of my phone.

“This isn’t over.” I stare pointedly at her before striding to the bedroom.

“Fuck.” I toss the phone onto the bed and move to dress as fast as possible.

The Changs are an old couple who immigrated from China in their 20’s and who helped me after I got the shit kicked out of me when I first moved to the US. I was a young teen who weighed maybe a buck-ten soaking wet and was alone while Declan, his old man, and Emily flew to Ireland to visit their ma.

No one knew I’d gone out alone. No one paid much attention to the kid Conor Moore took in from the streets after his son begged him.

I was homeless in Ireland. Living on the streets after my parents abandoned me on the side of a road. Luckily, it wasn’t long before I met Declan. We became fast friends and in no time, he became my brother and we moved to the US.

The night I got my ass kicked; the Changs took me inside their home. Mrs. Chang tended to my wounds while Mr. Chang chased the assailants away with a fucking golfclub. Since then, they’ve been protected by the Irish Mafia as a thank-you from Declan.

Very few know our connection, and those who do know not to mess with them.