Chapter 11
LIAM
Runny eggs, my arse. Rowan hated runny eggs, and no amnesia, faked or otherwise, will change someone’s taste buds. A hint of a smile pulls at one corner of my mouth at the idea of watching her force down the runniest of yolks every damn morning.
I’ll make sure Maeve leaves enough snot in them to make my fake little nemesis balk.
Although I hate to admit it, she’s keeping up this pretense far longer than I expected.
Then again, the Rowan I knew had balls of steel and never shied away from a battle.
People can only hide their true selves for so long.
In the end, the person underneath bursts through, and the same will be true of Rowan.
All I have to do is try my best to be patient and wait it out.
Easier said than done.
She eats the bacon, half a sausage, and a slice of toast, notably leaving the eggs with the hard yolk she loves. The momentary flash of longing that crosses her face when I whip her plate away doesn’t go unnoticed.
One more nail in her bullshit coffin of lies.
She pushes back her chair and gets to her feet.
As she turns, ready to leave the kitchen, I clear my throat.
She pivots, arms folded underneath her tits.
I thought I’d forgotten how perfect they were, but one flash last night and all those memories flooded back.
Five years later, and she still has the most perfect tits of any woman I’ve been with.
A handful, no more, no less, with rosy-tipped nipples that point ever so slightly up.
Gorgeous.
“You forgot these.” I hold out the pile of clothes. There’s a test buried in the middle. Let’s see if she passes or fails.
For a heartbeat, time simply… stops. As she reaches out, her fingers brush against the back of my hand.
It’s a fleeting touch, completely accidental, but my skin hums where she made contact, a siren call I’m too weak to ignore.
The pulse jumps in the hollow of her throat, timed perfectly to the thud of my own heart.
It’s the ghost of a memory, a rhythmic call and response that proves, despite the lies, the betrayal, our bodies still speak the same language.
“Oh. Thank you.” She takes them from me and beelines for the stairs. I push back my chair and follow. She’s halfway up when my boot lands on the bottom step.
She glances over her shoulder. “Wh-what are you doing?”
Ignoring her question, I gesture for her to continue walking.
“Oh, that’s right. You’re coming to lock me in.” Her eyes narrow as she speaks before she remembers her coy little pretense and smooths her expression.
Another crack in the wall.
I don’t confirm or deny her assumption. She enters the stark bedroom with its bland walls and bars on the plastic window.
Sorcha at her most unhinged. No wonder she’s fit into this family as though she always belonged here.
Rowan, though, is a different prospect. Maybe that’s one of many reasons I never introduced her to my family.
She was too good, too pure to get caught up in mafia dynamics.
And here’s me, locking her up in the heart of the monster’s den.
Rowan carefully places the pile of clothes on the bed. I prop my shoulder against the doorframe, waiting for her to realize I’m still here. It takes a couple of seconds for her to turn around and see me there.
“You can go now.”
I smirk. “Giving me orders? That’s not how this works, Rebel.”
A muscle flickers in her cheek. Excellent. Another sign that my Rebel is bubbling to the surface.
Fuck. I’ve got to stop thinking of her as mine unless it’s “mine to punish as I see fit.” The sooner I change my inner monologue, the fucking better.
She tried to have me killed, then disappeared for five years. There are no fucking free passes from that, only retribution. Payback. Pain.
“Are you going to stand there and watch me get changed?”
I push upright and fold my arms. “Nothing I haven’t seen before.”
Her mouth opens, then shuts. Whatever she was about to say, she thought better of it. “Could you at least turn your back. Please?” The last word sounds like a snarl, but her eyes beseech me to comply.
“I will, once you’ve chosen what you’re wearing.”
“Why does that matter?” She looks at the pile of clothes like something might jump out and bite her. Unfortunately for her, it’s nothing quite that simple.
“Humor me.”
She hitches one shoulder in a physical reaction that is so like Rebel, my breath catches in my throat. I’d given up on ever seeing this woman again. The last three days have been a head fuck, that’s for sure.
Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, though…
It’s been a long time since anyone’s fooled me, and I don’t intend to let Rebel-Rowan-Erin take a repeat shot.
She begins sorting through the clothes, placing them in little piles. T-shirts in one pile, jeans and trousers in another, a couple of packs of underwear—sealed, of course.
A little gasp escapes her.
I smirk. Gotcha.
She runs her fingers over the burgundy silk dress, lost in a memory that’s her undoing.
The last time we fucked, she was wearing that dress.
After I got out of the hospital, I went to her flat.
Stupid, really, but back then I was fucking stupid.
Must have been or I wouldn’t have been taken in by her lies.
The place was untouched. When she left, she didn’t take a single personal item with her.
Something made me take the dress, and I kept it at the back of my wardrobe all these years.
Her landlord gave the rest of her stuff to charity.
“Find something familiar?”
She picks up the dress and sets it in its own pile. “No. I mean, it’s beautiful. But it’s an odd thing for you to buy considering I’m a prisoner here. No real need for a fancy dress.”
“Oh, I don’t know.” I move into the room and pick up the dress. “Put it on.”
“No.”
I arch a brow. “You’re saying no to me, Erin? Brave.”
“It’s not practical. Plus it’s chilly in here.”
I step a few inches closer, near enough that her scent envelops me. My dick hardens, proof there’s one part of me that’s still fucking stupid. She stands her ground, the merest flash of defiance in her eyes.
There you are, beautiful.
It’s gone by the time I blink, her coy expression and dipped chin making a disappointing comeback.
Still, it’s only the first day at my home. And while I wasn’t blessed with much patience, I admit, I’m having more fun taunting her than I thought I would. Peeling this onion won’t make me cry.
“Put the dress on, or walk around naked. That’s the choice.”
A swallow moves down her throat. I track its progress, drop my gaze briefly to her heaving chest, then slowly look up until our eyes collide. There isn’t a hint of defiance this time. Shame.
“I will if you leave and give me some privacy.”
“A negotiation? Cute. I’ll turn around. Final offer.
” Without waiting for her response, I turn my back.
The sound of her removing her clothes is one of the most erotic experiences I’ve had in fucking years.
I close my eyes, and the vision of her naked body appears.
The room feels too small, the air thick with the heat radiating between us.
I count the seconds between the slide of a zip and the brush of her hair against her shoulders, my body responding to her every movement with a primal, achingly deep need I can’t let her see.
Given five years have passed, she won’t look the same, but for now, it’ll do.
I’m leaking pre-cum. I glance down. There’s a damp spot on my navy joggers. I’ve been with women who’ve sucked my dick for five minutes and never spilled a drop of pre-cum. Rowan’s getting changed out of my sightline, and I’m close to coming hands free.
That’s some fucking power. A power I can’t ever let her know she has over me. God, I’m pathetic. A woman I was in love with almost gets me killed then splits. Five years later, I find her and kidnap her, and three days later, I’m fucking putty in her hands.
I push out the memory of naked Rowan and conjure one of the painful rehab sessions I undertook after getting stabbed in the kidney. My anger returns with a vengeance, the memory acting as lighter fuel to a dimming flame.
“That’s long enough.” I spin around as she’s pulling the spaghetti straps in place.
Even though the dress is still unzipped, it clings to her body.
It wasn’t easy to see in the jeans she wore at the pub, but her hips are more flared than they were when I knew her, although her waist is just as narrow and those legs… those legs that hooked around my neck.
Fuck.
“Are you going to zip me up?”
My nostrils flare, my pulse spiking. “No, I’m fucking not. Take it off.”
She blinks, confused. “But… you wanted me to put it on.”
“And now I’ve changed my mind. Get used to it.”
I whip around and storm through the door, slamming it behind me. I’m halfway down the stairs when I realize I didn’t slide the deadbolt in place.
Fuck it. Let her try to escape. Give me a reason to punish her. Because, fuck me, I’m not sure I can keep those furious fires burning on my own.