Chapter 32
Jamie
His hand reached out, cupping her chin to tilt her head up, so she had nowhere else to look than at him.
“I won’t leave until we talk about this. You need my help.” His tone softened, but the authority never left. “Don’t push me away. Not until I know you’re okay.”
Shannon looked away, her body stiffening in resistance. Jamie could sense the unspoken push she was sending him, trying to distance herself.
She didn’t pull away, though.
“Talk to me, love.”
Her gaze settled on his lips, and for a moment, the tension in her body eased, just a fraction. The smallest crack in the wall she’d surrounded herself with.
Fuck, she was stunning, even with the marks of violence on her body, fragile like thin ice ready to shatter into a million pieces.
She trusted him, and that trust mattered more than anything .
His body wanted her, but he wouldn’t cross that line.
Their connection is what he craved the most.
He needed to know who hurt her, and why she kept pulling away. In a short period, he’d got used to being the one she laughed with, kissed, and then, boom, she pulled away.
The abrupt silence, the end of their playful texts, was a kick in the fucking nuts.
The flight back to Ireland had been soul destroying. Every second dragged, and when he finally landed, his Mustang was waiting, ready to take him back up North and straight to Meadow Dawn.
The plan was simple. Show up unannounced and charm his way back into her life.
If he had to fight for her, he’d do it. No fucking problem.
But the moment she saw him, Shannon bolted, spurring her horse into a storm like a woman possessed.
And if that wasn’t enough to confuse him, the old man blamed Jamie for making her sick, or whatever he accused him of.
Now, here she was, vulnerable and withdrawn, far from the temptress he’d left behind. A shift had happened, and everything had gone to shit.
A dark secret clouded her pretty blue eyes, and he was determined to pull it out of her.
The scent of peppermint shampoo filled the bathroom as he massaged her scalp, trying to figure out his next move.
Once the shampoo had rinsed away, he grabbed the robe from the door hook and opened it wide for her.
“Get dried off and I’ll put the kettle on.”
She stepped out of the cubicle, slotted her arms into the sleeves and let him tie the belt at the front, tugging her closer as he did it.
“Thank you,” she muttered.
Jamie smiled and peeled off his damp trousers, leaving them in a pile on the floor. She lingered in the bedroom, blow-drying her hair, keeping her distance while he flicked on the kettle, leaning into the counter as anger simmered deep within him.
A while back, he’d helped Marcus rescue Lana from a psycho stalker. After his brother got shot, he detached himself from the blood and violence.
That was nothing new to him. Jamie had dealt with a lot of shady shit in the past. However, almost losing Marcus…fuck, that still haunted him.
He wanted Carl Reed dead and vowed to be first in line to do it.
Marcus, though, knew it would be a safer bet to have someone else pull the trigger. The end result was still the same. They got justice, and their hands stayed clean.
And now seeing Shannon so messed up…knowing some fucker beat her, that thirst for revenge burned inside him again.
Her pain was his pain. Her vengeance, his vengeance.
The kettle clicked, snapping him out of his thoughts. Tea wouldn’t cut it now—he needed something stronger .
Reaching for the first bottle he saw, a lonely bottle of vodka, he twisted off the lid and poured a double into the mug.
Without hesitation, he slammed it back, not flinching when the burn hit his throat.
Behind him, Shannon’s light footsteps approached and when he turned, his heart did a weird fluttery thing.
She’d tied her hair tied back in a messy bun, wore an oversized fleece and black leggings, her body swallowed by all the fucking fabric, and her gaze stayed low.
“Tea or coffee?” he asked, an eyebrow raised.
Shannon fiddled with the cuff of her sleeve. “I can manage, thanks. You should go now.”
She’d been through hell, and he wasn’t about to leave her alone now.
“I’m sure you can manage on your own. But I’m here now. So, what’ll it be, love?”
“Fine, chuck a green tea bag in then.” She shrugged, her tone defensive.
He poured the hot water and dropped an organic tea bag into a mug, stepping closer. Shannon’s eyes lingered on his muscles for a moment before her gaze cut to the mug in her hand.
“Thanks,” she mumbled, scooting past him towards the couch.
Jamie lingered in the kitchen, an unfamiliar pull in his chest. She looked like a caged bird, broken and hiding, and he had this overwhelming urge to protect her.
“So, Shannon,” he began, pouring another vodka, “did someone call in to see you? ”
Silence stretched while he knocked back the measure and set the mug on the counter.
“We’ll go away for a few days together,” he announced, strolling to the side of the couch. “Give you some space to get your head around everything that’s happened. I’ll take care of it. We’ll leave in thirty minutes, which will give you enough time to pack a bag. A chopper will pick us up.”
She whipped her head around, eyes narrowing, brows furrowing.
“No!” she spat, her voice sharp with anger.
The vodka in his belly burned, but her glare hit harder than any drink.
“Why not?” he pressed. “You need someone to talk to, love. And I’m that person. I’ll handle everything. You don’t have to do this alone.”
Her eyes hardened, a veil of irritation clouding her gaze. “Who the hell do you think you are, coming in here and telling me what I need? You don’t even know me, so don’t pretend to care. We both know I’m just another girl to fuck.”
“Shannon.” He warned. “You’re not just some random woman.”
She scoffed, her lips curling with bitterness.
“Well, what am I then—huh? I told you I don’t have time for guys, and I meant it. Didn’t you get the memo, Jamie? We said just sex. And I can’t even give you that now. I have nothing else to offer.”
Jamie hesitated, unsure whether to push or pull back. But finally, he spoke, a slight smile on his lips. “C’mon, Shannon. It could be more than just sex.”
“Get out of here, please,” she pleaded, the edge in her voice softening with vulnerability. “And out of my life. I’m sick of men like you—throwing money around like it’ll solve everything. Men who think they can control everything.”
She slammed the mug onto the corner table, spilling hot water across the surface.
He watched her straighten her back, trying to hide the tremors of anger in her hands. Her frustration and pain were all directed at him.
Jamie became the target of her breakdown, and for a moment, he almost wanted to step in, pin her to the wall and order her to breathe, but he couldn’t.
Not when he could see how much she needed to be in control.
She backed up, distancing herself. So he took a step closer and offered her his hand. “Let’s take a minute, love. Sit with me.”
“Get back. I’m warning you, Jamie,” she spat, her fists clenched, the anger burning through her. “I can’t just drop everything. I have responsibilities. I’ve worked too damn hard for everything I’ve built. No man is going to take that away from me. Now go!”
The words hit him like a punch, but he didn’t flinch. He understood her pride, her drive, but it didn’t make it any easier to hear the rejection.
“I want to help. Going away was just an idea. Forget it. We can spend time here instead, drinking tea for the next few hours. No pressure. Whatever works for you, love.”
“Sweet Jesus, you don’t get it!” she shouted, the pain spilling over. “I don’t need your help, or your charity!”
He took a breath, rounding his shoulders, trying to keep his cool, but frustration flared up inside him. “It’s not charity. Far from it.”
Her eyes locked onto his, filled with hurt and defiance, but also something that made his chest tighten.
“Stop it, Jamie,” she snapped, pacing away from him like he’d burned her. “Stop making me feel this. Stop making me want you. Just leave me alone.”
His jaw flexed. “I feel it too. And I’m right here, Shannon. I can handle it. I can handle you.”
Her shoulders stiffened. Then she spun around, tears streaming from her eyes.
“Well, I don’t want to feel it anymore,” she shouted. “Take the fucking hint and… Mercy… fucking mercy.”
The word hit him like a slap to the face.
His muscles braced.
Her voice had cracked on it, soft but resolute.
He exhaled, like the air had been knocked out of him. All his instincts warred—protect her, hold her, fix it—but that word was sacred.
It didn’t mean she was giving up.
It meant stop.
Jamie stepped back, heart pounding. Every part of him ached to reach for her, but he forced his hands to stay open, unthreatening .
“You’ve got it,” he said, voice low, steady. “I’m not going to push. I hear you.”
She wouldn’t meet his eyes now, arms crossed tight over her chest, like she was holding herself together through sheer will.
Turning toward the radiator, he yanked his shirt off the heat, then grabbed the trousers she’d hung up in the bathroom for him.
He dressed quickly, not saying another word even though her eyes tracked his every move.
Jamie paused by the front door, running a hand through his hair. He wanted to stay and take care of her. But he knew it wasn’t that simple. Not when she was pushing him away so hard.
“Jamie... I’m sorry,” she whispered. “It has to be this way. I told you from the start.”
His heart ached, and the anger inside him flared.
“Yeah, you did, love.” His words came out tight, full of tension. “And when I find out who did this to you, I’ll kill the fucking bastard.”