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God, I was going to be sick.
I opened the door and came face-to-face with those dark eyes. They were the color of coffee but didn’t have the warmth of a fresh brew. His jawline was covered with a thick shadow that was almost a beard. He gave me the same look as the last time I saw him—of pure nothingness.
I was too speechless to invite him inside, so he let himself in.
He took a look around as if he expected to see the source of my call. As if there was something broken for him to fix or something too heavy for me to move with a single arm. When he saw there was nothing, he looked at me again. “What do you need?” His voice was deep like velvet, strong with confidence, innately powerful.
The sight of him made me weak because he was so damn handsome. I missed the nights when he showed up on my doorstep just to fuck me on the kitchen counter or in the shower. He wasn’t one of those guys that was insistent on leaving the second the fun was over. He slept beside me and kissed my naked body in the morning. “I just wanted to talk.”
His eyes locked on mine, a hint of anger on the surface. “I told you to call me if you needed help.”
“You told me to call if I needed something—and what I need is to talk to you.”
The anger deepened as he stood there. Several seconds of silence passed. “Fine.” He moved to the round kitchen table, sitting in the chair he used to occupy when we had dinner together. He was in his signature leather jacket and boots.
I took a seat across from him, nervous under his piercing stare.
“Let’s get this over with.”
With an attitude like that, I wasn’t going to make any progress. This conversation was pointless. “How’s your arm?”
His hardness decreased, but only slightly. “It’s fine.”
“Did they take out the stitches?”
“They dissolved.”
“So, your arm is back to normal—”
“My arm is fine, Laura.” He looked out the open window. “How’s yours?”
I hated it when he called me Laura. I missed sweetheart. “It’s really stiff. The doctor said I should use it as much as possible to get it back to normal.”
“Good advice.”
“I’m not looking forward to having a scar.”
“A scar is better than death.” He turned his head and looked at me again. His muscular arms stretched the fabric of his jacket in the sexiest way. His broad shoulders blocked out the chair that supported his back. He’d always been irresistible, but he was even more irresistible now that I couldn’t have him.
“You’re right.”
Silence spread between us, the air becoming more tense as the time passed.
He stared at me, waiting for more.
“I miss you…” I didn’t know where to start, how to begin, so I just spoke from the heart.
He didn’t react. Didn’t even blink.
“I wish…I wish I could take it all back.”
“But you can’t. Just as I can’t take back the betrayal to my men.”
“Bartholomew—”
“You’ve been estranged from your father for seven years.Seven. But you didn’t hesitate to turn your back on me for him. I killedthe men who touched you. I broke Lucas just for trying to touch you. I was loyal to you—to the death.”
“I know—”
