Page 39 of Stolen Rebel

Her lips thin, and she crosses her arms over her chest. “If Patrick were here, he’d take your head off for talking to me like that.”

“Patrick isn’t here. But don’t worry. I’ll be sure to tell him to keep his fucking woman in line and her nose out of things that don’t concern her.”

I drop my hand from Rowan’s throat, only to grab her wrist and haul her down the corridor to my bedroom. I thrust her inside and slam the door. If Sorcha dares to burst in here, she’ll wish she hadn’t. She might think she’s lady of the fucking manor, but my business is not her business. And Rowan is very much my fucking business.

Her eyes dart to the exit, but I’m standing between her and the door. She forces her gaze back to me, her chin lifted in an attempt to hide the fear that’s blindingly obvious. “What are you going to do now? Beat me? Rape me? Kill me?”

“Is that the kind of man you think I am?” My voice is low, threatening. “You think I’m capable of those things?” I take a step forward. She takes one back.

It was the worst move she could make. See, now, all I want is for her to run, and for me to chase her, catch her, remind her with my mouth, my tongue, my hands, my dick, of what we once had. Of how desperately we used to love each other and how that desperation manifested in more torn shirts and dresses than I can count.

Rebel isn’t a lie back and think of Ireland kind of gal. She fucks like an animal, a perfect partner for me who is an animal.

Even from here, with several feet between us, I can smell her fear. And God fucking help me, it turns me on.

I have my answer, the one Patrick asked me the day I forced her back to Ireland. There isn’t a chance in the deepest bowels of hell that I could harm a single hair on this woman’s head, even if she did set me up.

Doesn’t mean I won’t make her think she’s in harm’s way.

“I don’t know what you’re capable of. Two weeks ago, I didn’t even know you existed.”

Fuck. Me. I blow out a breath loaded with irritation. “So we’re back to that bollocks.” Before she has a chance to react, I move, trapping her against the wall. I plant one hand on the wall and the other over her thumping heart. “The lies may trip off your tongue, but your heart tells the truth, Rowan. And sooner or later, you’re going to have to give up that secret you’re determined to hold on to.”

“I don’t have any secrets,” she whispers. “Please, I just want to go home. Let me go. It’s better for both of us.”

The smile I allow comes slow, but it’s menacing rather than kind, carved from old wounds I can’t allow to consume me. “But Rowan, you are home.”

She visibly blanches. “You’re… you’re never going to let me go?”

“Never is a long time. Let’s just say until you start telling me what the real fucking story is, you’re stuck here. I don’t give a fuck if it’s years. Decades.”

“Y-you can’t do that.”

“Princess, I can do whatever the fuck I want. This is my home, my domain. You have no power here, and the sooner you realize that, the better.”

Her fingers curl into fists, and her pulse hammers at the base of her throat. “You’ve no idea what you’ll unleash if you don’t let me go right fucking now.”

Ah… finally we’re getting somewhere. “And what is that?”

She bites her lip as though she realizes she’s slipped up. “Nothing,” she says dully, slipping back into her Erin persona. “You’re in charge.”

Normally hearing a woman say that would play to my ego, but on this occasion, I’m filled with disappointment. I keep seeing these flashes of Rowan, and as much as they torment me, they give me hope that all isn’t lost. That the woman I once loved is still in there somewhere, fighting to hold on to her secrets. What I can’t figure out is why?

Keeping her off balance is the way I win this war. And win it I will. She doesn’t stand a chance.

I switch tactics. “What did Sorcha want?”

She blinks, unsettled. Exactly how I want her to be. “I don’t know. I didn’t get a chance to ask her.”

Another lie. “I heard her say something about the two of you talking. What about?”

Panic leaches across her face. I see the effort it takes her to push it away and plaster on a blank mask. “She’s being kind, that’s all. She knows what I’m going through.”

I study her face. Every micro-expression, every flicker of truth she’s desperately trying to suppress. The panic she couldn’t hide when I mentioned Sorcha isn’t only about being caught in another deception.

“And what exactly does Sorcha think you’re going through?”

“Being held captive by a man who thinks I’m someone I’m not.” Her voice steadies, and there’s that flash of defiance again. The Rowan I remember never backed down easily, even when she should have.