Heat washes over me at the rough and intimate way he looks at me, but no matter how sexy he is, I can’t let him think he gets to control everything.
“You won’tletthem. How could you stop it?”
“The way I always do. I’ll drive them away.”
“How? By ruining my reputation the way Declan did in high school?”
“Of course not.” He lowers his window, so he can reach the keypad.
“I don’t understand.”
“I make people assume you belong to me. Most guys won’t risk a confrontation with me.”
The memory of how tightly he held me while making the toast at the frat house comes rushing back. He wanted everyone to see us together and believe I was his girlfriend.
“I’ll say we broke up. I’ll just—”
“Try,” he says calmly.
An uncomfortable flush washes over me. I stare at him silently, trying to decide what else to say.
“For you to convince them, I’d have to let you go. Which I won’t.” His voice isn’t gentle. It’s terse, as if he hates that he doesn’t want us to end. “So, as I’ve told you before, no one touches you except me.”
Our relationship is a spiderweb, deceptively fragile in appearance, but actually an inescapable trap. Maybe I’ve been naive to think I have control over what happens. Shane said he’s a dominant personality. Clearly he wasn’t exaggerating.
He punches in a security code. “We’re here, so let’s drop this for now. If you need to, we can talk about it later.”
IfI need to? I’m speechless. He’s called himself a beast who’s holding me captive, and suddenly I realize just how honest a statement that was on his part. So yes, of course, we’re going to need to talk more about this.
The gate slides open, and we roll forward, curving around the tall hedges. The long driveway’s clogged with cars, most of them expensive.
“Hell,” he murmurs. “When I texted him, Pops didn't tell me he had people over.” Shane parks the Porsche at the end of the row. “Wait in the car. I won’t be long.”
I tilt my head but say nothing. I’m not exactly anxious to fraternize with strangers at the moment anyway.
Shane gets out, and I watch him walk toward the door. He's only halfway there when he takes out his phone and stops to look at it. After he does, he turns around and comes back to the car. He opens the passenger door.
“What?” I ask.
With a small smile, Shane points at a security camera perched atop a metal post. “He saw you and texted me a message that said, ‘Do not leave that girl in the car. I want to see her.’”
This makes me smile, too.
I take Shane’s offered hand to climb out. He leads me to the front door where his grandfather waits on the landing for us. Mr. Sullivan shakes Shane’s hand and cocks his head toward the hall, indicating Shane should walk on.
Mr. Sullivan gives me a side hugs and draws me in the other direction, toward the kitchen. As we go, I catch a glimpse of the formal dining room where a whole group of men sit around a table. Gangsters? Some of them wear dress shirts and trousers, others are in jeans and sweatshirts. None looks especially sinister, but I suppose criminals don’t always look shady in the light of day.
Shane steps into the dining room, and most of them stand to greet him, reaching across the table to shake his hand. He says a few words, and I hear their laughter. Then he steps back and closes the door.
“Do you want lunch, darlin’?”
“Oh, no. We just ate.”
Mr. Sullivan pours himself a cup of coffee and offers me one. I nod and take the cup when he’s filled it. Shane joins us in the kitchen a few moments later.
“Avery, sit down for a minute. I need to talk to my grandfather alone.”
I nod as Mr. Sullivan gives Shane an appraising look that doesn’t seem especially pleased.
