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She’d never been able to go on because whatever they’d shared in Barcelona had gone too deep. That connection hadn’t died, but the scars it carried still ached with pain.
“Bastards!” she bit out, the frustration she didn’t want to deal with rising so sharp inside her that she knew ignoring it would be impossible. “Damn you, I didn’t need this. Not now. Probably not ever.”
“Talking to yourself again, baby?”
Swinging around, she stared at Sebastian as he stepped past the door her father had left open. Dark, too somber. The playfulness that had been so much a part of him was absent.
Goofy, she’d called him. Because he was always poking fun at something, joking, playing some prank, or making some totally incorrigible comment.
He wasn’t goofy anymore and Alyssa realized she hated that.
“I prefer talking to myself.” She smiled tightly, crossing her arms over her breasts as she glared back at him. “I actually pay attention, whereas the rest of you ignore good common sense.”
“I see.” The mocking thoughtfulness only pissed her off. “So what good common sense are the rest of us ignoring? I’m all ears.”
He was all ears?
He was a damned pain in the ass and none of the pleasure, she thought in disgust. He and his cousin both.
“Go away, Sebastian. I’m busy.”
Go away?
As though he were some peon irritating her royal self? Sweet, deluded little siren. Somewhere in the past eight years she’d evidently concluded that he could be ordered about as though he were the staff.
“Go away?” he repeated the order mockingly. “Siren, you’ve developed an attitude since being away from us.”
The irritated look she shot him caused his jaw to clench, his cock to harden, more. Stiff and throbbing in demand, that portion of his anatomy had always been particularly unruly around her. It was even more so now.
“Go play with Shane for a while and leave me alone,” she ordered him, turning her back on him. “I need a shower and I’m in desperate need of some peace and quiet for a change. And lock the damned door on your way out if you don’t mind.”
Striding across the living area, evidently unaware of the incredible mistake she’d just made, she stepped into her bedroom and closed the door behind her. Then she locked it.
Sebastian’s eyes narrowed on the locked door before he stalked to it. Irritation flared through his senses that she would dare to lock a door between them. To speak to him as though she commanded him.
He’d only stepped in to see how she was doing, to perhaps tease her a bit before returning to Landra’s, where he and Shane had stayed the past two nights. They’d meant to give Alyssa one more night of rest before continuing their seduction of her.
Testing the doorknob silently, he smiled at its flimsiness.
It wasn’t a seduction that was coming now.
It was time for a claiming. Time to show the siren how much more easily mere mortal men were led around by the nose when a sweet song was sung, rather than the angry tune she was singing now.
It was time to show her whom she belonged to, not just who belonged to her.
A quick, firm jerk of his wrist and the lock slipped, allowing the doorknob to move freely. He’d let her shower, let her have her peace and quiet for the moment. Tonight, though, the quiet would be filled with her pleas for release and her peace interrupted by her screams of pleasure.
And when he and Shane finished, she would know all the way to her woman’s soul who the alphas were in this particular relationship. One thing was for damned sure: she wasn’t one of them.
19
As Cook promised, dinner was absolutely fabulous, as the middle-aged chef was a magician when it came to food. Every meal he crafted was wonderful. The difference was how he came from the kitchen and babied her and made certain dessert was just how she liked it.
It was the laughter her father couldn’t hold back, Landra’s giggles, and her son Jeb’s quiet smiles. The black-haired, green-eyed
Jeb didn’t smile much, and Alyssa was certain she sometimes saw the same kind of shadows in his eyes that lurked in her own when she looked in the mirror.
Cook had been with the family since Alyssa was a teenager. She knew his name was James, knew he could make pancakes so light they nearly floated and that Thanksgiving wouldn’t be the same without his turkey. And she would kill for his tiramisu.
