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“You called another woman?”
“To take the weight off your shoulders, yeah,” he said, dipping to slant his mouth on hers. “You’re Kindred, not a corporate flunky. I need you beside me.”
Answers were more important than amour. “She’s not Kindred?” Zara asked, ducking back from his next attempt at a kiss.
“Never made the final cut,” he said. That implied to Zara that there had been a time it was considered.
He tried to kiss her and she leaned away on a gasp as she recalled a conversation she’d once had with Art. “What is this woman’s name?”
“Mischa Corvi.”
“Cuckoo,” she exhaled the word. Instant heartache and jealousy didn’t last long, disappointment became anger, and she smacked his chest. “You called your ex-girlfriend?”
Examining her, he reeked of skepticism. “How the hell do you know about Meesh?”
Brodie didn’t hang onto her, Zara read surprise and anger in his expression before he let her go and retreated. He might doubt what she knew about the woman he’d called or maybe he was worried that she knew too much. Art or Tuck were the only ones who could’ve given her any details, it wasn’t like Brodie kept a secret diary she could’ve snooped in.
But dealing with his dubiousness was secondary to making her own point. “If I called my ex-boyfriend and invited him to stay with me while he bailed me out—”
“She won’t be staying with me,” he said. “You know the rules of the manor.”
Setting her weight on one leg, she folded her arms. Doubting his intentions, she found it a stretch that he could have a personal relationship with the woman and call her up in his time of need, but not secure her a place to sleep. “So you’ll stick your dick into her, but you won’t invite her over for dinner?”
Snide was a much more comfortable reaction for him. “Thanks for the offer, but I don’t think I will be sticking my dick in her this time.”
“You don’t think?” she said. The rumble of irrational anger let her express some of the emotion she hadn’t been able to vent in the last month. “If you’ve already figured everything out then why did you bother to come here? Is the spunk in your balls weighing you down? You need me to empty them?”
Without waiting for his retort, she spun to storm away from him, but he lunged forward to grab her upper arm and haul her back. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
A torrent of rage made her breathe in deep. But before she screamed out at him, her desire for an argument vanished and she sagged. It wasn’t his fault that she felt like shit every minute of the day. It wasn’t his fault that she didn’t know who she was anymore. Punishing him because her complicated thoughts were muddling her would drive him away. If he abandoned her now, she would have nothing left to live for.
“My mind is all over the place,” she said, touching her temple with the heel of her hand. “And my feelings… I don’t know what I feel.” Swinging wildly one way then the other, she couldn’t get a handle on thinking straight.
“You don’t know what you feel?” he asked. Yanking her to him to grab her other arm, he forced her body against his. “I’ll tell you what you fucking feel. You’re my girl. You love me and I’m not letting you go fucking anywhere, hear?”
“B—”
“Don’t you fucking turn your back,” he growled. “Don’t you even think about it for a second. If you dare try to walk away, I’ll hunt you down and make sure it won’t happen a second time. I won’t let it.”
The ferocity of his anger was fueled by his love. She knew what it was to fear losing the object of love. Opening her hands on the chest he pinned her to, she moistened her lips but lost her breath when he whipped her around and tossed her down to the bed where she bounced.
“I’m gonna remind you where we started and where we’re going, and it’s damn well not separate ways.”
Moving in to the side of the bed, he widened his stance and folded his arms, glaring down at her as he waited for her to comply.
The strange thing was, Brodie’s commands gave her direction. She didn’t need to think or make decisions. All she had to do was focus on him. Without sitting up, she unbuttoned her shirt and opened it out, then spread her arms.
“Expose them,” he said, nodding at her chest.
Arching up, she finagled herself out of her shirt, then unclipped her bra. Brodie leaned over to snatch up her clothes. When he had them, he threw them in the direction of the door.
“Close your eyes,” he said and she let her eyelids grow heavy and slide together. “Don’t open them, stay quiet, stay still, and don’t move an inch.”
Not being able to see him was arousing, her own breathing sped up, but she tried to keep each breath shallow so she could attempt to decipher where he was and what he was doing.
Tensing, she struggled to relax, and curled her hands until she had fistfuls of the comforter beneath her body. The bed moved and his hot palm stroked its way from one breast to the other. The horizontal rubbing grew more insistent until he was squeezing and pinching each soft mound in turn.
Sucking her lips in over her teeth, she fought the urge to moan or move into his caress. Being still allowed her to feel the texture of his rough palm and the weight of his hand while not being able to see him, was almost like he was violating her in her sleep. But the idea that he might be overcome by the urge to fondle her when her body was naked beside him heightened the sensations of his entitlement.
