Page 20
She crossed the highway and started up the road to his house, her stride slowing as she adjusted to the incline.
The knot in his chest loosened as he watched her close the rest of the distance until she stopped six feet away from him. He shouldn’t be excited to see her, shouldn’t be happy she was back.
The sunlight hurt his eyes, but looking at her in broad daylight was worth it. She had flawless skin, pale and smooth as cream, dusted with cinnamon freckles. Sweat gleamed on her neck. If he leaned closer and put his mouth on the pulse beating there, would she taste like marshmallows and orange blossoms?
The running tank might as well have been painted on. Her full breasts heaved under the fabric. Her hair had slipped loose from its ponytail, damp wisps clinging to her flushed cheeks and stubborn jawline. His pulse thudded as he fought not to reach for her.
Her eyes burned like peridot. Ancient Egyptians called it the gem of the sun. Ancient Greeks associated it with Aphrodite. Looking at her, he could see why. When she’d first stopped in front of him, he recognized the emotion in them instantly. Despite everything between them, she wanted him. He wasn’t so delusional that he couldn’t see it.
Oliver didn’t allow himself to focus on her lips, but even a cursory glance was enough. He’d never given shades of pink any thought, but hers made him want to lick and bite, to taste and savor. To ease her to her knees and sink his cock into that perfect mouth inch by inch until she took all of him, to claim her even though she could never belong to him.
She was, after all, a Yarrow.
“You had no permission to leave!” All of it—the fear, the frustration, the fucking sun exposing his scars—made that come out wrong. Too loud. He never yelled.
Instead of stumbling back, she leaned forward. “I didn’t leave—I went for a run. And permission? I’m not your prisoner.”
“What do you think this is? A hotel? I come downstairs, the fucking curtains are open again. And you’re gone. Who were you meeting?”
Maybe he was overreacting. But coming downstairs to find her missing had triggered the kind of a panic he hadn’t felt since waking up in that hospital room to nothing but darkness.
She glanced at the sweep of grasslands and hills and forest behind her. “I wasn’t meeting anyone. I jogged. There’s a friendly cow right across—”
“I don’t care about a fucking cow.”
Crossing her arms in a stance too similar to his own, she glared. “I do what I please.”
“The fuck you do. I let you squat in my house. You follow my rules, or you get the fuck out.”
Lifting her chin, she attempted to move past him. “Never use that tone with me again.”
He caught her elbow, stopping her. “Were you meeting Yarrow?”
“Of course not! If I knew where he was, I wouldn’t be wasting my time here with you.”
That hurt, but he was used to pain. “He’s in a hell lot of trouble. He has people looking for him who’re getting desperate.”
“Story of my life,” she grumbled, but made no attempt to shake off his hold.
“So you know he owes a lot of people a whole lot of money?”
“Story of his life.”
Nothing fazed her when it came to Yarrow.
Oliver didn’t know why he told her the truth. Maybe he wanted to see if she knew more than she was letting on. “Did you know that your brother is married to someone in Ireland?” All color drained from her face until nothing remained but her freckles. Okay. Maybe she didn’t know. “Guess not.”
Her mouth opened and closed twice before she spoke. “He got married again? When? To whom? Is that who put up the bounty?”
He hadn’t realized he’d been tracing soothing circles across her sweat-dewed skin until she glanced down at the movement. He dropped her elbow. “Do you not know your brother at all?”
Stepping past him into the house, she sank to the bench by the entryway. “Kyle didn’t get married again.”
“He did.”
She looked up at him. “Tell me her name.”
The wise choice was to say nothing. “You don’t get her name. But it’s her fiancé who put up the hundred grand for anyone who finds Yarrow by the end of next month.”
