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“Nobody said anything about getting back to playing house,” I said.
This was a blunt provocation, a way to lick the Paddy Rowan wound that he split open so brutally when he visited him in Miami. It almost made me feel better, hearing his breaths picking up speed, both of us engulfed in the pitch black. He was getting restless. Annoyed. And more than likely, hot for me.
He rose from the mattress, striding in my direction. A warm shiver ran down each of my nerves like a bomb fuse. It exploded somewhere between my thighs, sending sparks of adrenaline to the rest of my body.
I was going to pick a fight tonight.
“You know, Red? It’s hard to hate you all the way when you stand toe to toe with me.” He chuckled, circling me, his arms clasped behind his back.
The room was dark, too dark, and I was disorientated by the long workday and the fact that he came here for something.
For something I wanted and waited for.
For something I feared and dreaded.
For him to take my innocence.
“Is that your version of sweet nothings?” I snorted, shaking my head. “Because you suck.”
“I’m rooting for you,” he continued, ignoring my jab. “I’m fucking your life up, and you’re still trying to claw your way out of the quicksand. It’s hard not to admire that.”
His body hovered over mine like a cloud of sweet mist, almost touching. I sucked my cheeks in, feeling my cool façade faltering. I didn’t want him to be nice to me. It made our war so much more dangerous.
“Get to the point,” I hissed.
“You refuse to be a victim. You always fight back, boots on the ground.”
“Troy…” My voice nearly broke. It was the first time I called him by his first name without having a hidden agenda. “I said get to the point.”
“When we were in Miami, I was doing you a solid.” His lips found my skull.
More hot shivers. More want. More lust. More Troy.
Idiot, I thought. You ruined me in Miami. “Oh?” I asked, fighting the need to let my arms loose, to allow my hands to touch his strong, male body. I wanted him despite everything, and worryingly, maybe even because of what he did to me.
“Paddy…” His name was like a smack in my face leaving Troy’s mouth. “I paid him a visit in Florida. Went there and got your payback for you.”
I choked on my saliva, and felt my eyes flaring, but I didn’t say a word. His lips fluttered between my shoulder blades, and he planted a kiss between my neck and shoulder, his tongue darting out briefly to remind me of what was to come.
“He’s dying from cancer, y’know. Will be dead soon. He will die a poor man. He will die a broken man. Every dime he had to his name…” He caught a loose strand of my hair, rubbing it between his fingers like he was examining fine silk. “Is now yours.”
“Mine?” I repeated.
“Yours.” He nodded into the crook of my neck, his hot lips landing on spots I didn’t even know were sensitive.
Calm washed over me. Realization, too.
This was retaliation.
Not business…but the sweetest form of comfort. Revenge.
“Six hundred thousand dollars.” His voice sounded like it was coming from far away.
I like him. I like him and I hate it.
“In the form of a check,” he continued. “Yours to cash, whenever you’re ready.”
I let it sink in, processing the meaning of it. He’d forced Rowan into signing over everything he had to me. More than half a million dollar. The kind of money I’d never even dreamed about. And it was for me to take.
“It’s dirty money,” I said on auto-pilot.
“This whole world is filthy,” Troy shot back. “You deserve it after what he’s done. Hell, the only reason I let him live is because it’s so much more fun to know every day is a Russian roulette of live or die for him.”
Deep down, I already knew I wasn’t going to turn the money down. Not out of greed, but because the check had my name on it. Literally and figuratively. I didn’t want Rowan’s money to find its way back to something or someone he cared about. He sure as hell hadn’t cared about nine-year-old me.
Six hundred thousand dollars. Fuck. Was I supposed to thank my husband?
Before I had a chance to decide, Troy’s palm found the small of my back and he pulled me into his body. Hard. “Nobody fucks with what’s mine. Even my late dad’s friend. Upstairs,” he demanded sharply. “Now.”
I couldn’t believe he flew us all the way to Miami to avenge my pain.
My legs found their way out of the guest room. I stared at my feet as I climbed up the stairs, him ascending behind me in perfect rhythm.
I felt his eyes on my ass. “When I was a kid,” he said, “my mother had lovebirds. She used to clip their wings so when she let them out of their cage, they wouldn’t fly away. The lovebirds always tried, but they never got far with their short, fucked-up wings.”
