Page 2 of Passion in Bloom

Only now did Roarke turn to me. He did so slightly, not taking his eyes off David. He was keeping himself between me and my ex, like a solid, unwavering obstacle.

“Is that true?” Roarke demanded. “This is your boyfriend?”

No.

No.

A thousand times no.

The answer was clear. David was nothing but my ex, and I wanted nothing to do with him ever again. But saying that, in front of him, was too damn difficult of a feat for me to open my mouth and say so.

Wretched memories came back to me. Those times I’d told David that I was breaking up with him. Those conversations where I suggested taking a break. Each and every time I’d opened my mouth, he’d overpowered me and argued, using his damn lawyer speak and acting like we were on trial. Then, after those instances where I’d bravely spoken up to say that I wanted to leave him, there were “punishments.” Being drugged to sleep too much and miss work, where I’d be stuck at his apartment so he could lecture me over and over again how lucky I was to have a man like him, that I owed him gratitude for taking care of me and providing for him. Then the withholding—of sex, affection, food, even communication.

The times I’d looked at David in his face and tried to stand up to him had never turned out well for me.

That was why I ran. That was why I escaped, returning to my home town because I had no idea where else to go.

“Heather?” Roarke prompted. His tone didn’t hold anger, not for me. Never toward me. He was mad though, at David and this situation, and I couldn’t blame him one bit for feeling like this.

“Who is this asshole?” he asked.

“I’m her boyfriend,” David replied, “and it’s time for her to cut out this immature behavior and come home—”

“No.” It left my lips in a rushed whisper, hot with fear and quietly brave.

“Hear that, fucker?” Roarke shook his head. “She said no.”

“I won’t accept that as an answer. I am her boyfriend and I say—”

“You’re her boyfriend?” Roarke smiled now, a mean, mischievous grin. “Then it would’ve been you licking her pussy yesterday, not me.”

Oh, fuck. My eyes opened wide and I stammered on with who-knew-what. I couldn’t argue with that claim. I couldn’t lie and tell David he was making that up and I wasn’t in the mood to scold Roarke for saying something like that. Shock pushed me to verbalize something, but I couldn’t manage a single coherent word.

“Oh, so you’re trying to make a move on my girlfriend?” David sneered.

“She’s not yours,” Roarke replied.

“Because you think she’s yours now?”

For fuck’s sake. This male posturing and trying to look like they were bigger and stronger. With every line they volleyed back and forth, they stood taller, chests puffing up, arguing with incensed furies. Like I was a damn thing to be owned.

“No. She’s not mine,” Roarke growled, staying between me and my ex, “but she’s not some fucking possession for you to order around either.”

He spoke the truth—what should be the truth, but I couldn’t muster the courage to nod and stick with what he said. There was just no hope. No hope lingered for me to think that another alternative could happen.

Roarke was stronger. He was leaner, rugged, and not afraid to face another man.

David wasn’t used to fighting with his fists, but he was no less effective when he wanted to be combative. Against me, he used mental warfare. It didn’t matter though. I’d seen too many episodes that proved how David always got his way.

He was too sneaky. Too calculating. Worst of all, he knew how to bend and trick the law. If he was foolhardy enough to try to take on Roarke and actually fight him, he’d do so knowing he’d end up immune to the law. He was a damned “good” lawyer, and he never got in trouble with the connections he’d forged.

It wouldn’t matter that he wasn’t in Chicago. It seemed that he always knew someone higher up, someone mightier to dismiss any issues.

“Let’s go,” David said, reaching out to grab my arm. “I don’t have time for this.”

Roarke sidestepped, physically blocking him again. “I don’t have time for you. Fuck off.”

My stomach tensed, cramping with anxiety. Bile rose up my throat the longer David didn’t leave. The longer he stayed, arguing and facing off with Roarke, the more scared I became.