Stevie was backing toward the door. “Oh, I can do it for you?—”
“No.” I picked up my cane. “You don’t need to do anything for me, I’ll do it.”
Was it my imagination, or did her expression fall a little at that?
“Garrak, it’s okay to accept help?—”
“I can do it,” I repeated harder, swinging past her. I’d learned that lesson years ago. “It’s my responsibility to take care ofyou.”
Stevie didn’t say anything, but I thought I could feel her disapproval, and I shook my head in irritation. Frowning, I pushed the thought aside as she followed me.
There were more important things to worry about. I hobbled to the bathroom and scooped up my leg before backing out. Just before she shut the door, I planted my palm on it, holding her gaze.
“Stevie?”
She stared up at me, her breath stuttering.
I smiled arrogantly. “I’m not driving you to Raleigh today. You’re not getting on that plane.”
Her blue eyes had widened. “I’m not?”
“You’re not going back to that bastard. I’m keeping you.”
You’re mine, whether you know it or not.
The vow echoed through my mind as I began breakfast, preparing a feast for my female. She’d had a big night, and I needed to ensure she was healthy. Eggs, sausage, fruit, and of course a donut.
When she emerged from the bathroom—warm and wet and smelling of my soap—I poured her another big glass of water and placed it beside her coffee, and nodded in approval when she drank it all. She blushed, her slight smile matching the sweet scent of her arousal.
“So…” Stevie poked at her eggs with her fork. “You’re not driving me to Raleigh?”
“You’re not going to Raleigh. You’re not going back to Hendricks—to your father.” When she looked up at me, her expression wary, I asked the question I’d been wondering. “Where do you live? Where’s your ticket taking you?”
“New Orleans,” she whispered, then dropped her gaze to her plate once more and took a deep breath. “I grew up all over the Gulf Coast, but the pickings are easiest in the big cities, so that’s where I—we’ve been living these last few years.”
Huh.
I propped my elbow on the table and watched her eat mechanically, her attention carefully on her food and not me. This was going to be uncomfortable for her, and I wondered how I could make it easier.
“When we played, Hendricks told me that he’s a professional poker player.”
She snorted softly, then finished eating her eggs. “He’s not a professionalanything. He’s never held down a real job, but he’s pretty good at poker. His mom taught me too, so he had someone to play against.”
Huh.
“Do you play on the professional circuit?”
Stevie snuck a peek at me, and when she saw me studying her, she flushed and exhaled. “A bit, yeah. Not the big-stakes games—I do a lot of other jobs. Bartender. Server. Courier. That’s what I thought Dad wanted me to do for him.” Her expression eased into a scowl as she attacked her sausage. “I’ve never whored before.”
My fingers curled into fists, my claws digging into my palms to keep from showing my anger. MyKteerraged at the pain and helplessness I heard in her tone, and I wanted to hurt her father for his actions. I wanted to fix this.
Unable to sit still any longer, I shoved away from the table and stalked around to her side. Maybe it would be easier for her to talk without looking me in the eyes?
“You’re not a whore, Stevie,” I promised her, stopping at her back. “Last night was foryourpleasure, not mine.”
Did she whimper slightly and sway toward me? I placed my hands on her shoulders. I remembered the way she’d responded when I’d called her adirty little slut, and my cock twitched as I leaned down to place my nose beside her temple and inhale.
“You don’t have to worry about him,dkaar,” I murmured. “You’re mine now.”
