I square my shoulders, taking deep breaths.I am in control of my emotions.But the moment I open the door, they flood me.
His midnight eyes, with bags spreading beneath them, create a storm that ravages my insides. His hands brace the door frame, his muscles tensing behind his shirt. Pinning me with a frustrated yet cautious stare, his chest heaves with ragged breathing.
I make the mistake of inhaling, and his scent envelops my senses, awakening memories of sensual times and homey feelings.
I squeeze my eyes shut and, through gritted teeth, I say, “Have fun?” Great, everything I set myself not to appear spills out—a jealous girlfriend.
I cross my arms over my chest to create a shield. I doubt I could ever keep him out, though. He’s embedded in my heartstrings.
Ian pushes himself off the frame, shifting on his feet.
“Let’s go back to our place.”
It hits me right in the chest, arrows dipped in dreams that make me bleed from my forlorn heart.
“That’s your place.”
He arches a brow. “Stubborn still?”
Oh, he did not just say that. He wants a fight, I’ll give him a fight.
“I’m not stubborn. You looked pretty cozy with those women. Got back to your usual type?” My voice breaks at the end, betraying me.
There’s a tic in his jaw. One second, his jaw clenches, closing his eyes for a moment, the next he comes for me. Scooping me up by my ass, he throws me over his shoulder. Yelping in surprise, I hang over his back, pinching his ass.
“Put me down, you caveman.”
He doesn’t listen as he opens his door and places me down, blocking my exit.
I feel too safe with him to ever be scared, but I still huff. My indignation is more for show, though. “This is kidnapping.”
“No, this is me putting my foot down.” There’s finality in his voice.
I stick my nose in the air, apparently going for difficult. “I’m not staying.”
“We’ll see about that. Now, let’s go back to you being jealous over nothing.” He scrubs a hand down his face. “I was drunk.”
“Yes, what every woman wants to hear. I was drunk,” I mutter.
“Let me finish. I was mad at you for being this fucking stubborn. I went to the sports bar, and I got drunk. I’m not proud of that, but I needed an outlet…”
Guilt spoon-feeds me, I might choke on the bitter taste. I am a bad influence. Even if he doesn’t want to see it. That knowledge hurts more than my jealousy ever could.
“I met with Roman. He knows about us, by the way,” he says nonchalantly while I am freaking out.
“That’s two people already,” I screech.
“People I trust, and I don’t give a fuck if your father finds out.” He inhales a lungful of air as he walks toward the kitchen. I watch the door, yet my feet stay planted.
He sends me an intense stare over his shoulder, “Dare to leave and I’ll bring you right back—willing or not. I’m past that. I dare you to challenge me right now.”
I believe him.
Groaning, I march after him to the kitchen.
He takes a bottle of water from the fridge, gulping it down before he continues his story, “He had the brilliant idea to take his yacht out. There was a party I didn’t know about. Nothing happened, I swear. He got rid of them and we sailed down the coast for the following days.”
His stance carries no trace of deceit. His eyes seek mine—open and trustworthy.
