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She laughed.
Now, Alec had done a lot in his life. Seen a lot. He’d grown up in hell, figured his way out, got his brothers out and kept them alive, which was no mean feat. He was used to being in control. Everywhere. That control bled over into every aspect of his life, from sex to family to the ranch.
But with her, he didn’t feel quite in control. And he didn’t like it. She was a wildcard. At times, she seemed timid and shy. Although he was beginning to see that side of her less and less. His brothers had been running wild since they were born. She’d only been here a few weeks and she had them eating dinner in the dining room, taking their dirty boots off at the door, hell they even swore less when she was around.
Most women, hell, most men would cave in the face of his anger. Yet, she’d stood there and called him a dictator—which he was—and she’d stood up to him. He didn’t like it. But he kind of admired it.
She wasn’t his type. Yet, she filled his thoughts far more than he would have liked. And the other night, after her panic attack, when he’d held her all night . . .
Yeah, that had felt fucking good.
But girls like Mia weren’t for men like him. He didn’t deserve sweetness and light. He’d tarnish it. Turn it into something dark. Something he didn’t deserve to be around.
And that wouldn’t be fair. Mia deserved a happy ever after. To live in some cute little house in the suburbs with a puppy, three crazy kids, and a husband who lit up when she came into the room.
And that’s what she’d get. This momentary shit in her life would go. He’d see to that.
Which is why he should push her out that door now.
Only, she was laughing. And much as he loved the sound, he knew it for what it was. A dare.
And no one ever dared Alec Malone.
“You think that’s funny?” he growled when her laughter died down enough that she could gasp in some air. She was bent over at the waist, her hand pressed to her side as though laughing so hard had given her a stitch. Tears dripped down her cheeks. She wiped at them as she stared up at him.
“Oh, no, I don’t think it’s funny. I think it’s fucking hilarious. You’re going to spank me. Of course you are. Because I’ve fallen into some alternate reality where my boss and coworkers are all killed in some sort of fucking mob deal gone wrong. I should have been there, you know. That night, I should have fucking been there. But I messed up the crème brûlée. I messed up the crème brûlée and the head chef, who, by the way, was a complete fucking ass, yelled at me, then he threw the crème brûlée at me. So James, my boss, sent me home. He pretended it was a punishment to the head chef, Jacques, Jacques . . . like he was actually French. Oh, he liked to use a fake French accent, but I heard him talking on the phone one day while he was out back having a cigarette and that accent was pure southern.”
As she talked, she strode back and forth, a bundle of energy. Her arms moved around. Even her hair came to life, bouncing along her back as she moved.
“He saw me. Think that’s why he hated me. I knew his secret. Also, I can’t make fucking crème brûlée. I don’t know why. It just never seemed to work. Maybe I should have . . .”
“You were saying your boss sent you home?” He was loath to speak up because he was worried she’d shut down and she needed to get this shit out. It was eating her up. He knew she hadn’t told Molly much. And she’d refused any Skype sessions. She needed to purge. He knew all the details already, had read all the reports even seen the video footage of her telling the detectives covering the case what had happened. But she didn’t know that. And if he let her, she’d probably still be talking about damn crème brûlée twenty minutes from now.
“What? Huh, yeah, James is a nice guy.” She stopped. Took a deep breath. “Was a good guy. Or I thought he was. He knew Jacques would make the rest of my night hell. So he sent me home. He told me to go have dinner on him and then come back tomorrow early and practice making crème brûlée. I went out, had dinner, and then I was heading home when I realized I was missing my phone. The restaurant was closed, but I knew everyone would be cleaning up for the night. I snuck in the back way, not wanting to see Jacques. Or anyone else. The quiet should have been a clue, right? It should have been a big fucking clue, but I was too stupid to figure that out.”
“Enough,” he told her sharply.
“Enough what?” She turned her face to him. Fuck. He didn’t like the tears dripping down her cheeks, the way her freckles stood out against her pale cheeks or the dark marks under her eyes that spoke of too many sleepless
nights. He didn’t like that it was obvious she’d lost weight since that video footage he’d watched of her. He definitely didn’t like that she’d lost weight and more sleep since coming here.
She was under his care.
Fuck. Why had he agreed to this? He should call Jardin tell him to get down here and sort his own shit out, take the responsibility off Alec’s hands.
That was what he should do.
But he knew he wouldn’t. Because she had attitude and backbone. And she had his brothers taking their damn dirty boots off.
He was so fucked.
“Enough putting yourself down.”
“Another of your rules, oh, great one?”
“You ought to take some care, little girl,” he said in a low voice that made her eyes widen. She needed to know he wasn’t going to roll over and let her get away with whatever shit she wanted to. She may have done something to his brothers, but he was a whole different kettle of fish.
Whatever the fuck a kettle of fish was.
