When he looks up to find me sitting at the table, wearing his shirt, eating, he doesn’t change his expression, he just nods and keeps moving forward . . . with a gun in his hand.
Dear God.
“Why do you have that?” I ask, pointing at his gun.
“Why would anyone carry a gun?” he mumbles.
“Don’t be smart, Keller. Why do you need it if we’re clearly on a private island?”
“Because if anyone finds out we’re here, I need to protect you.”
“Uh-huh, and why exactly would people be looking for us? You failed to mention that. Also, you realize you kidnapped the future queen of Torskethorpe. That might mean jail time.”
“Theo knows you’re here with me,” he answers, moving past me and into the house.
“Wait, what?” I ask, getting up from my chair and leaving my croissant to follow him. “What do you mean he knows I’m here? Was he on board with the kidnapping?”
He goes into the bedroom and grabs a notebook from his nightstand drawer as well as a pen. He sits on the bed and writes something down.
“Uh, hello?”
“Can you stop for a goddamn second?” he says. “I need to write something down.”
His brow creases as his hand flies across the paper. I try to catch a glimpse, but I don’t want to be too obvious. When he’s done, he shuts the notebook and puts it back in his drawer.
Noted.
There’ll be snooping later, and before you get up in arms about it, a girl has to do what a girl has to do.
When he stands from the bed, he moves past me again. This time, he takes a seat on the couch and presses his hand to his forehead as he leans against the back of the couch. Once again, I shamelessly peruse his body, unable to comprehend how much his body has changed. The muscle surrounding his ribs is ridged, looking like a ladder leading up to his thick, pronounced pecs sprinkled with light chest hair, something he’s shaved in the past, but seeing it unshaved just makes him more rugged. Sexier. What would he do if I just walked over to him, sat on his lap, and started giving him a lap dance?
I know what he’d do. He’d grip my hips and enjoy it.
Because that’s what we’re good at. We’re good at sex. Never had a problem with that. Ever.
Even if it was angry sex.
“Are you going to answer my question?” I ask just as I see a white flash of movement to the right. I glance to the side, a startled gasp coming from my mouth, causing Keller to leap to his feet just in time for both of us to watch a seagull land on the table and pick up my croissant. “Hey!” I shout as I run out to the patio, but I only scare him away, croissant in claw. “Come back here! That was my breakfast, you fucking thief!” I wave my fist in the air, but it’s no use. It’s a freaking bird, as if it knows English.
“Forgot to tell you, your food can get stolen if you don’t pay attention,” Keller mumbles as he takes a seat back on the couch.
“No shit,” I say as I walk back into the house. “What’s your deal? Did your walk tire you out?”
“Dehydrated,” he mutters. “Massive headache.”
“Oh . . . well, then lie down or something.”
“Can’t,” he says.
“Why not? Have some gardening you have to take care of? Maybe some accounting I don’t know about? Have to report all of those fish?”
He pries one eye open to sternly look in my direction.
“Funny,” he answers dryly. “I need to make sure everything is taken care of.” He lets out a deep breath and closes his eyes. “Fuck,” he grumbles.
Okay, so it actually looks like he’s in a lot of pain, which is annoying, because I can’t just stand here and let him wallow in it.
Urgh . . .
