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“It’s not a trick, Miss Skeptical,” I snarl.
She nods, biting her lip, making me want to claim her right here.
“Okay,” she says, letting out a shaky breath.
I step back with an effort.
“I need to leave soon,” I say. “Come on. I’ll show you how the safe room’s controls work.”
I just hope she doesn’t have to use them.
Chapter Thirteen
Rosie
“This is a lovely couch,” Mom says, sinking into the cream leather with a contented smile on her face.
I exchange a look with her British nurse, Harold, and he smiles. I can’t believe that mom is so at ease here, in the bunker wing of Ryland’s vast estate. I expected her to be constantly on edge, questioning everything, but Harold is doing a great job taking care of her. He’s made her completely at ease.
But just because mom is comfortable, that doesn’t mean I can stop my mind from flooding with images of Vito and Ryland.
As he showed me where the control panel was – in the ensuite, built into the shower unit – to lock us down and contact the police, I felt the urge to tackle him to the floor. I wanted to mount him right there, to draw his massive length inside of me despite my nervousness.
If it meant keeping him here, making it so there’s no chance he’d get hurt, I could overcome my anxiety and take him as he’s never been taken, as I’ve never been taken.
“Do you need anything else, Miss Smithson?”
“No, thank you, you kind boy,” Mom says, smiling up at him.
“Then I’ll go and call my boyfriend,” he says, with a slight bow. “He hates when I leave it too long.”
“Yes, go, be young and in love.”
Harold chuckles. “I’m thirty-six, but I feel about a decade older. Call me if you need me. For anything.”
He leaves the room, closing the door behind him. I settle myself into the armchair next to the couch. The room is cozy, with plush faux-fur rugs and a log-cabin feel to it.
Chopper pads over and looks up at me for a few moments and then does a cute-as-heck little run-up to jump up with me. I catch him and let my hands move over his short fur.
He rumbles as I tickle him behind the ear, tilting his head contentedly.
On the arm of the chair, I’ve placed the tablet Ryland gave me before he left. It shows security footage of the only entrances to the bunker wing, meaning I can close it down before anybody gets close.
“But that won’t happen,” he assured me. “Nobody knows you’re here. Nobody would dream of assaulting my estate. They know who I am. They know how I’d react.”
Fierceness crept into his voice when he told me this, his eyes burning like twin flames, flickering threateningly.
I wouldn’t want to be the one to cross Ryland Radley, that’s for sure.
“You seem happy,” I murmur, gazing over as mom rests on the couch, staring with a smile up at the ceiling.
“It’s all very strange,” she says. “But it’s so nice, Rosie, for you not to have to take care of me.”
“I never minded it,” I tell her fiercely.
“I know, I know,” she rushes to say. “But I did. You’re young. You’re clever. You should be out in the world, living your own life, not wasting these precious years with your silly old mom.”
“Really,” I say, passion flaring in my voice. “I’d take care of your for the next fifty years, Mom. I’d take care of you forever.”
She looks over at me, her cheeks flooded with affection. “I know, dear, I know.”
I sit back as Chopper props his forepaws on my belly, angling toward my face. His little tail wags side to side crazily, so fast it causes his hips to swish like he’s strutting down a catwalk.
“What is it, little man?” I giggle. “You want kisses?”
I lean down and he grins, lapping at my chin, painting me in warm doggy kisses.
Mom chuckles and shakes her head. “That was really something when we heard him growling when we first arrived. I thought he was going to be a ferocious beast.”
“Me too,” I laugh. “That was crazy.”
Chopper settles down and I reach for my paperback novel. I collected it from Ryland’s magical, fairytale library before he brought us here. But I can’t focus on the words.
They blur across the page, out of focus.
“Mom,” I murmur.
“Hmm?”
“You know how you’re always saying you wish I could find a nice man?”
She sits up, propping herself up on her elbows. It’s like my words have punched through the haze of her illness for a few moments.
“Yes,” she says, staring at me, her lips twitching as though she’s preparing herself to break out into an ear-to-ear smile.
“I might have found one,” I tell her.
She sits up some more, wincing a little with the effort, and then brings her hands to her chest. “Oh, really? That’s fantastic. You must tell me all about him. When did you meet? How serious is it?”
