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“Then who the fuck do those clothes belong to?” She gestures toward the door she’s just stormed out of. The fire in her eyes only serves to stir my cock back to life.
“Are you jealous, sweet girl?”
She stares at me incredulously. “Of course not.”
“I think you are.” I stand from the bed and tower over her with my frame. Each step she takes back, I’m taking one toward her.
“Answer me,” Emerson growls as she hits the wall.
Nowhere left to run, sweet girl.
I bring both hands up on either side of her head and bring my eyes down to meet hers. My answer is going to detonate her like an atomic bomb, and I want to watch the anger explode in the green that keeps me captivated. “Ask me again.”
“Who do the clothes belong to, Rayne?” she huffs, her brows pulling together in frustration.
“You.” The answer is simple. After my initial message to Snow to pick up some dresses for Emerson, I asked her to pick up some things for the penthouse so Emerson wouldn’t have to lug a bag backward and forward. I thought I would have more time to pack her up and move her in, but now Russo is sending men to retrieve my woman. She doesn’t have any say in the matter.
She isn’t getting time.
She’s being told what’s happening and she’ll need to learn to live with that because she doesn’t have a choice in the matter. Not when it’s her life at risk.
She stares at me for long moments, her mouth dropping open as if out of all my possible answers that was the most shocking one. Some of the anger her eyes held a moment ago has dimmed as she works to process what I’ve just said. “I don’t understand.”
“Snow got carried away when I asked her to shop for you,” I explain, choosing my next words carefully before I let them slip from my lips. “I always knew you would move in here eventually, but in the meantime thought you should have clothes, skincare, those kinds of things here so you wouldn’t have to pack a bag every time you stayed over.”
Her shoulders seem to relax slightly, but it’s clear she’s missed the underlying message of what I’ve just said. “Oh.”
“Sweet girl,” I whisper, moving one of my hands to her hip to hold her in place. She’s going to run any moment, and I want to catch her before she can. “I’m sure you realize that what happened last night changes things.”
Emerson stares at me with confusion. “How so?”
“There are movers at your apartment at the moment. Your stuff will be here in a couple of hours.”
Confusion morphs into anger, which morphs into blinding rage, only serving to make my cock hard again. I’d always been able to go again quickly, but not this fucking quick. Emerson takes a deep breath, closing her eyes to center herself from my proximity.
If I were a better man, I would give her some space to breathe, give her room to let what I’m saying to her sink in.
But I’ve never claimed to be a good man. I’m the fucking devil.
“I’m going to need you to back up a little bit so I understand.”
“Russo sent someone to collect you last night, sweet girl. He’s only going to send others, and the only way I can ensure your safety is for you to be here, with me, and with the best security system in the damn city.”
Emerson closes her eyes, the conflict in her body obvious in the way she tenses under my hold of her hip. “You basically told me you’re the boogeyman of Chicago last night, doesn’t that translate to me being off-limits to scum like Russo?”
I chuckle. “The boogeyman of Chicago?”
“Serial killer doesn’t really have the same ring to it,” she snaps.
I sigh. “Russo is our rival. The fact you’re mine probably only makes the chase more exciting for him. If he can get his grubby hands on you, he gets the pretty girl, and he gets to hurt the Saint James family. It’s a two for one.”
Emerson blanches, all the color disappears from her cheeks as realization washes over her. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying the only place you’re safe is with me. I’m saying that you’re moving in, effective immediately, and will not leave this building without me or a member of security. This is about your safety, and therefore it isn’t up for negotiation.”
31
Emerson
