Chapter 14
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
T he scalding water pounded against my back, but it did little to calm the storm raging within me.
My mind was a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts and emotions, all centered around Jemma Donnelly.
Holy hell.
I couldn’t shake the image of her bound to that chair, eyes wide with terror, body trembling with fear. Had I known what being kidnapped would do to her, I probably would have confronted her right there in the restaurant.
Fuck.
I pressed my hands against the tiles and let the water stream over my head. As if my sins could be washed away that easily.
The sight of her in such a vulnerable state was still twisting my stomach and had awoken something deep inside me: a primal urge to protect her, to soothe her fears. A feeling I hadn’t experienced for anyone aside from my siblings.
Ever.
Holding her in my arms felt simply amazing as if she was made to be there and as if I was born to hold her.
Oh, no. I straightened and swept my hair back.
Jemma Donnelly might’ve overreacted, been weak like a baby, but then, there was the other side of her, the fierce, defiant woman who had the audacity to challenge me—had the guts to invade my privacy by following me.
As if she hadn’t done enough already.
So what if a part of me admired her boldness, both with the hacking and the way she stood up to me? I could despise her and think she was one interesting woman.
Girl. Fuck.
She was twenty-one. Barely still a teenager playing a dangerous game, one that could have severe consequences if she wasn’t careful—which she obviously wasn’t.
How did she even survive until now? And why didn’t Donnelly have tighter control over her if she was such a reckless mess?
I should give Matt a heads-up about his soon-to-be bride’s tendencies toward self-destruction.
So why did I bring her here? Why did I undress her? And why was I even thinking about her?
And yet, despite all the reasons, despite the warning bells blaring in my mind, I couldn’t deny the undeniable pull I felt towards her.
Somehow, her unpolished, raw personality was more interesting to me than any of the pretentious socialites—who usually fawned over me—could ever be.
And it wasn’t just physical attraction. Because, let’s be real. If I could choose, I wouldn’t take a woman with a bright green punk haircut who, all wet, looked like a drowned rat. And yet, her punk-rock appearance and soaked clothes did little to diminish her allure. On the contrary.
In jeans and a tee, and with her slim figure, she looked more like a boy than a girl.
A boy…with green hair.
I hadn’t thought about the incident in Dublin for a while, but suddenly, it all became painfully clear.
When we watched Fee jump out of that window to escape from her father’s house, a boy with green hair stood in that window, watching her, helping her.
Only it hadn’t been a boy. It had been Jemma—without her signature ball cap and wig.
Fuck me.
I narrowed my brows. She was like a cyclone, creating nothing but disaster and chaos wherever she appeared. She should come with her own pre-warning system.
I shook my head. And here, I thought she was just like all the other spoiled mob princesses. Shallow, boring, without color. But there was a depth to this girl, a complexity that intrigued me, that made me want to unravel all the mysteries she hid under her ridiculous wig and ball cap.
I gripped the tiled wall, letting the water cascade over me as I wrestled with these warring thoughts.
On one hand, she represented a threat, a potential weakness that could compromise everything I’d built. On the other, she was like a puzzle I couldn’t resist.
Unbidden images of her flooded my mind. How weak and scared she’s been bound to that chair; her drenched clothing clinging to her slim frame when we got out of the pool, such a contrast to her defiant glare over her shoulder; the curve of her long neck under the shower.
Her buttery-soft skin.
I cursed under my breath as I felt the familiar stirrings of desire, and my dick stirred and hardened.
Gritting my teeth, I forced myself to focus, to regain control.
She was a girl; soon enough she would be my sister-in-law. I had no business feeling anything when it came to Jemma Donnelly. I had no business even thinking about her and especially not being intrigued by her…or turned on by her personality or her body.
I should definitely not be turned on by her.
And yet. I groaned while I cupped my hand around my balls before I wrapped it around my dick.
I could try to convince myself all I wanted. But a part of me—a very physical part—knew it was already too late.
Jemma Donnelly had managed to slip right past my defenses.
I closed my eyes, leaned my forehead against the cool tiles, tightened my grip, and accelerated my strokes. An image of her in her practical underwear—no lace or silk for my little punk—staring at me with her big doe-like eyes—appeared.
What would she look like naked? Would she be shaved down there? I should’ve, at least, glimpsed.
I groaned, went harder.
Suddenly, there was a gasp.
I turned to the side and opened my eyes.
And right there—in the flesh—stood my current fantasy, frozen on the spot, her eyes fixated on my hand wrapped around my dick.
Fuck me. I froze but held my grip…waited for what she would do.
Her eyes were glued to my hand, big and round, innocent but interested.
I took a long stroke—watched her watch me.
She didn’t even blink.
My dick hardened even more, and my balls tightened. I should say something, should ask her what the fuck she thought she was doing.
I didn’t.
Instead, I continued to get myself off—the tingling in my spine a telltale sign I was close.
I growled, which seemed to snap her out of her frozen state. Her eyes flew to mine, her gaze clashing with mine.
Caught you, little girl.
She gasped as if she’d just caught what she was doing, then she spun around and fled.
Fuck.
I should follow her, but I was too far gone. I closed my eyes, imagined her soft skin, her hand, around my dick…one, two, three strokes later, and I came with a jolt and a groan.
Damn.
Every time I thought it couldn’t get worse, it did.
But this time, it wasn’t my fault. I narrowed my eyes. This was entirely on her, and my little punk had some explaining to do.
I stepped out of the shower, my mind still reeling from the unexpected encounter. I grabbed a towel, dried off, and slipped into a pair of jeans and a white button-down—all the while replaying the image of Jemma frozen in place, her eyes locked on my dick.
The girl had guts, I’d give her that. Most women would have averted their gaze or fled immediately but not her.
No, she’d stared—drank in every inch of me with unabashed curiosity.
A thought shot through me, equally unexpected and shocking. Was she still a virgin? Had she even seen a cock before?
I grimaced, then fixed my cuffs. She was twenty-one. Of course, she’d seen a dick before. Girls like her, who looked like her…with her spunky personality…there was no chance in hell there hadn’t been some horny asshole teenage dirtbag who’d pressured her into having sex with him.
My muscles tensed as ice-cold fury ran through me like oozing tar. Thick, black, burning and sticky.
If I would ever witness anyone so much as looking at her that way, I would end the guy.
Nobody could touch her. Nobody.
And that included my brother. I should have a no-sex clause written into their marriage contract.
I definitely needed to do that.
Her big, doe-like eyes staring at me popped back into my mind, and a shiver ran down my spine at the memory. I couldn’t deny the thrill it had given me having her watch me.
Fuck. I ran my hands through my hair. I shouldn’t have touched myself, not with her in the apartment.
I shouldn’t have touched myself, not with her in the apartment.
So much for my world-renowned self-control—which, apparently, left the building as soon as she appeared.
What was it about Jemma that made me lose my grip on control?
From the moment I’d laid eyes on her in that library, she’d burrowed herself under my skin and challenged me at every turn.
Which brought me to the matter at hand. Her reaction when I’d brought her here had been…extreme, to say the least. The sheer terror in her eyes, the way her body had trembled—it was clear something had happened to trigger such a visceral response…something more than just being restrained in a dark room.
What could have caused that level of panic? Had it been the inability to move? Or had it been the kidnapping itself? Did it stem from some past trauma—one that ran deeper than I realized?
Suddenly, it all clicked.
Sophie had been abducted before Gabe kidnapped her and made her his…along with Fee and Sophie’s sisters.
Jemma was Sophie’s sister.
I tried to remember any details but couldn’t. They’d not been held long, as far as I remembered. But my memory of the incident was fuzzy because it hadn’t concerned me when it happened.
But perhaps that experience had left more scars in Jemma than anyone knew.
Fuck.
One more point on our list of things we needed to talk about.
As for the hacking…well, that was a separate issue entirely. One I intended to get to the bottom of once I’d ensured she was okay.
Because for all her bravado and defiance, Jemma was still a kid playing a dangerous game. A game that could get her in deep trouble if she wasn’t careful.
Maybe that’s why she’d done it—a cry for help, a way to act out after what had happened to her.
That, or she’d gone off the deep end entirely. Hacking, stealing money—it was such a destructive activity.
I shook my head and pushed those thoughts aside for now.
First, I needed to deal with the fallout of the current situation and make sure she was in a stable enough headspace to have a real conversation.
Squaring my shoulders, I made my way into the living room, intent on finally getting some answers.
But the sight that greeted me brought me up short.
There was Jemma, curled up on the sofa with Picca nestled in her lap—her favorite position—which I’d found out since I’d brought her home from the vet.
Jemma’s fingers idly stroked the pup’s fur as she stared into the distance, looking utterly…at peace and as if she belonged right here on my couch, in my living room.
It was such a stark contrast to the terrified girl from earlier that I almost didn’t recognize her. Almost.
Because there, right in front of her on the coffee table, sat her wig and ball cap.
A frown creased my brow as I studied her closely. What could have possessed her to shave her head and dye her hair green—because it might be growing out, but at one point, her sides must’ve been fully shaved—and then, to hide it beneath that ridiculous disguise?
And how on earth did her father not know about it?
Or was Donnelly just pretending to not know?
The more I learned about Jemma Donnelly, the more layers seemed to unfurl, each one more atypical than the last, more intriguing than the last.
She was an enigma, wrapped in contradictions—vulnerable yet fearless, innocent yet jaded.
And for some inexplicable reason, I found myself desperate to unravel every last one of her secrets.
Until now, all the information that pointed to her had been more than vague. A single trace had unveiled the Mac address of her laptop—according to Hawk’s guys. There was still a possibility of it not being her—even though that possibility was slim.
I narrowed my eyes and watched her. She didn’t look like it, but by now, I was 99% sure it was she who hacked into our system and manipulated our online gaming platform. What had she done with the money she siphoned off?
And why would she even need money when her father had more than enough?
Well, time to get to the root of it all.
Time to find out all about Jemma Donnelly’s secrets…preferably even before she became my sister-in-law.