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“Didn’t feel right.”
“There’s always tomorrow.”
“Aye. Take me home, Calder.” Tomorrowisa new day for me, but I have a score to settle tonight.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Isabella
Itossandturn,thinking of Kieran at his club with someone else on our wedding night. I know it shouldn’t bother me. But it does. I’m confused because I thought he liked me.
The way he kissed me at the salon messed with my head. I saw in his eyes that it affected him, too. But then he backed off. The fight with my father must have reminded him that this is just a transaction.
Feeling stressed, I push away the covers and head down to the kitchen to make a pot of warm milk. The house is dark, but from the wrought-iron-framed windows that line one wall of the living room, I see amber light burning at the bottom of the hill. Smoke from the guards’ cigarettes floats in the air, comforting me. At least they’re here. Nothing will hurt me.
It feels hollow, though, because I wish Kieran was home. It’s only been a couple of weeks, but I’ve slept better, more soundly, knowing he was just down the hall. This is the first time I’ve felt truly safe in the weeks since my mother was killed.
In the kitchen, I find pots just where I suspect they’d be. I haven’t cooked anything since Patricia takes care of all my meals. Even on the weekends, she leaves prepared food in dishes for Kieran and me. In the double-wide refrigerator, there’s enough milk to make a nice amount to comfort my stomach. But Kieran won’t have any for his coffee tomorrow.
With a throaty laugh, I take the container out and pour it all into the pot. After a few clicks, the stove lights up, and I set the saucepan on the burner. A loud buzzing overhead makes me look up. Zings of panic hit me, but then I remember this house sits on a busy approach to the nearby airport.
A trail of night-lights leading down the hallway to Kieran’s office like a runway catches my attention. I think of his wedding ring sitting inside the desk. Next, I’m padding barefoot down the hall. He didn’t give me the code, but I watched him put it in. He may or may not access an entry report, but I don’t care. I haven’t been told his office is off-limits, but once I’m inside, my skin pricks from discomfort. I shouldn’t be in here. This is Kieran’s private space. I wouldn’t want him rifling through my room.
My room.
His room.
We’re just roommates, aren’t we?
Still, I want that ring. I need to make my point to him. Be strong. Stand up to him. Thanks to the moonlight, the office softly glows. I amble to the desk, the thick carpet cushioning my bare feet.
As suspected, the top drawer is locked. Seeing a letter opener, I grab it without thinking. I figured out how to break into Papa’s desk, where he hid keys to a gate in our fence. My heart beats loudly in my ears, but I grip the letter opener in my hand.
The ceiling light blazes to life.
“What the hell are you doing?” Kieran’s voice startles me, and I drop the letter opener with a sharp clang on the desk before it bounces onto the carpet.
“Shit,” I say and bend down to pick it up, but a polished shoe is there.
“You didn’t answer me. What are you doing in here?”
I glance up, expecting to see his hair all messed up, and for him to stink of cheap perfume. All I smell is whiskey.
“I couldn’t sleep.” I grip the side of the desk to stand, but surprisingly feel Kieran’s hand helping me. “Thank you.”
“Were you planning on sleeping in here?” he asks, with a touch of humor in his drunken voice.
“No.” I push a hand through my hair, noticing his eyes raking across my body under the thin nightgown. An acrid smell drifts into the room. “The milk!”
I run past Kieran, even though I already know I’ve burnt the milk and ruined the pot. Moving it off the burner, I cry out from the fiery handle that scalds my palm. “Ahhh,” I gasp in pain.
Kieran grabs my wrist and rushes me to the sink. “Stop squirming. Let the water run across your hand.”
I soak in the whirlwind mixture of sensations: the cold water splashing onto my burning palm, the feel of him holding me so gently, the vulnerability of the moment, letting him care for me.
“Why are you here?” I ask, my lips pressed into his shoulder, dealing with the pain.
“I live here.”
