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“I covered the marks,” she told him defiantly. “Dammit, Jack, it wasn’t just one little one. Or even two. You marked both sides of my neck, and the beard burn between them was almost as bad.”
“My marks.” Deep, rough, he almost, just almost, hid that undercurrent of some deeper, darker emotion than anger.
Had she somehow hurt him? Had she hurt his pride that she’d hid the marks?
“Jack, the marks were too dark, too deep. It would have offended my brothers, and my daddy would have a stroke if he saw it,” she whispered. “They know the marks are there, but I wasn’t going to rub their noses in it. Besides, to me, that was private. I loved it. The pleasure was incredible. But I can’t flash them like some brand of ownership.”
His expression tightened.
“Jack, you don’t own me,” she told him firmly, ignoring the determined look that deepened in his face. “You wouldn’t own me if we were married with a dozen children. And I don’t care what you think, I will not brandish my private sex life for the world to see.”
His hand came up, crossed her breasts, and before she knew his intent, his fingers circled her throat, exerting just enough pressure to drag her head back against his chest.
She kept her gaze on his in the mirror. She wasn’t frightened of him or of any hold he had on her. It was sexy, that dominance, and it called to some part of her that challenged her to match it, to dare him. So far, she’d kept it under control.
“I left those marks for a reason, just the way I left them,” he snapped, his gaze darkening. “Fieldman would have never put his hands on you if he’d seen them.”
“And my brothers? My father?” she snapped, anger rising inside her now. “You have no right to act this way.”
“You gave me this right,” he informed her. “When you leaned your head to the side and begged for more, you signed that little contract, sweetheart; now live with it. Because the next time I have to challenge a man over you, I’ll break his fucking bones.”
“Are you crazy?” She knew he’d carry out that threat.
“I’m fucking tired of this argument.” He dropped his hand from her neck. “Wash that crap off. I don’t want to taste makeup while I’m burying my dick inside you.”
He turned and stalked from the bathroom, leaving Poppy to stare into the mirror where he had stood.
He was lucky she wanted to wash it off, she thought in irritation. Otherwise, he could kiss her ass.
Jack stalked back into the kitchen, pulled Poppy’s bourbon from the cabinet along with a glass, and poured a healthy measure.
Damn her.
When he’d shown up at the bar she’d tensed, remaining quiet, watchful, as though she didn’t want it known who was sleeping in her bed. Hell, maybe he should have just walked away, but he’d never have been able to just walk away from her, and she was too important to the operation. She was the only reason he had for being anywhere near the two men suspected of being involved with the AI.
He was aware of it when she entered the room, quiet, watching him. Turning to her, he met her somber green gaze and he knew, just knew, he was not going to like what she was getting ready to say.
“You left my bed and walked out of the house without leaving your phone number, asking for mine, or dropping so much as a hint as to when you’d be back,” she said quietly. “Everyone knows I spend most Friday and Saturday nights with my brothers and friends at that bar. Had I known how to reach you, I would have invited you. Had you been with me, the message that we’re together would have been much clearer than any mark on my neck. Clearer to me, and to everyone there. I’m not a side piece, or a whore, Jack, and I won’t be treated as such. If you want to claim me, then do so properly.”
She stared at him silently for long moments, but hell if he knew what to say to her. “Now, I’m sore and I’m tired. I’m taking a hot bath, a couple of aspirins, and I’m going to bed.” Pulling a drawer out from the cabinet next to the door, she reached out, retrieved a key, and laid it on the counter. “So you don’t have to pick my locks again. Alarm code is my birth date. If you can’t remember that, then don’t come when I’m not home. Lock up when you leave.”
She looked tired, he thought.
He remained silent as she left the room even though everything inside him demanded that he go after her and ensure his control over her. The fact that she was right shouldn’t have mattered. He had a role to play, and she was part of that role.
He’d seen her eyes, though, heard her tone of voice. And something warned him that pushing her right now was not in his best interests. Or in the best interests of the operation.
She might not have a temper to match that red hair, but he knew for a fact she had the stubbornness. She’d cut her nose off to spite her face if she thought she was being forced into anything she didn’t want herself.
Running his fingers through his hair, he was almost about to let a curse slip past his lips when the vibration of the phone inside his vest demanded his attention.
Pulling it free, he stared at the message. Ice shot through his veins as he saw Ian’s text.
Candless has been struck! Directions to follow!
Candless’s team had left only minutes after they’d reentered the bar. They’d laid a tip on the table and hadn’t even bothered finishing their meal before they’d slipped away.
The directions Ian sent were to a deserted, private airfield about twenty minutes away.
