Unbreak My Hart (The Notorious Harts 4)

I grip the airphone tighter and open the flap so I can see the video feed of my front door. Sure enough, Barrett is there, and he’s not empty-handed. A large brown paper bag and a bottle of wine fill his arms.

My stomach does a funny little loop the loop and my pulse speeds up, but I keep my voice cool because this I wasn’t expecting. ‘Why?’

I see him pull a face in the video feed. But I’m serious. I know I stayed over at his hotel last night and that we got kind of intimate this morning—in terms of our conversation—but that doesn’t explain why he’s here now. I look towards the mantelpiece where I’ve temporarily moved the photo of my mom—it’s weirdly sentimental for me but the discovery of a father and biological siblings makes me need to keep the memories of my mom closer than usual.

‘Are you seriously going to make me beg from the front step?’

I consider that. ‘I just...wasn’t expecting you.’

‘Avery. Open the damned door.’

My hackles rise but—given that there’s no earthly reason not to—I press the buzzer then move towards the entranceway. He’s shouldering it open right as I step out into the hall.

‘I come bearing food.’ He lifts his arms a little, showing the bag and wine.

‘I see that. But why?’

He takes a step towards me, his expression bemused but something else too. Something darker, more analytical. ‘Have you eaten?’

I shake my head. ‘No, but—’

Closer still, until his body is pressed to mine, the food between us—I don’t know what it is, but it smells delicious and my stomach rolls in unwanted reply.

‘Nor have I.’ Another movement and my back presses to the wall. His body, the smell of the food, his nearness and warmth—my senses are going into overdrive. A sensual drum begins to beat in my soul, stirring everything inside me, making me feel a thousand and one things all at once. Irritation, desire, lust, passion, annoyance, frustration. The cacophony of feelings is not one I welcome—I work in a black and white, linear fashion. My life is ordered and predictable, and I am always in charge of choosing who I spend time with, and when. His intrusion should be wholly unwelcome but it’s not.

My heart skips a beat as our eyes clash—a true battle of the wills, except I’m not really battling Barrett so much as myself and my own inner wants.

‘Barrett...’ the word is both confrontation and surrender, contradictions surround me ‘... I’m not—’

I don’t know how to finish the sentence. I’m not the kind of woman who wants to share takeout with a guy—no matter how hot he is. I’m not the kind of woman who shares her secrets with someone she’s fucking. I’m not the kind of woman who sleeps with the same guy for more than one night. I conveniently ignore the fact I’ve already broken that last rule—multiple times.

‘It’s dinner,’ he supplies when I stay quiet. ‘There’s nothing complicated about that, right? We’ll eat. Talk. Drink some wine.’

He makes it sound so easy. More than that, he makes me feel stupid for resisting this. ‘Like we’re friends or something?’

He lifts his brow, shifts his body again, this time his hips brush against me so I feel his cock and my breath shifts through my lungs with a violent force. ‘Or something.’

My heart skips another beat—how many times can that happen before it becomes a problem?

I’m glad at least that he doesn’t try to imply we’re friends. I like his honesty—I appreciate it and, more than that, it’s unthreatening.

‘What do you want to talk about?’ I query because the eating and drinking I can handle. It’s the heavy conversation that’s left me feeling as though I’ve been through the wringer. I still haven’t decided if I’m ready for more answers and yet I have a sinking suspicion he’s a flame and I’m a moth.

He studies me and I keep my face bland with effort, concealing my thoughts with great care.

‘I thought you might have questions about your brothers.’

I shoot him a look of frustration. He changes tack.

‘I thought there’d be things you want to know about them.’

‘I think maybe I know enough.’

He’s still so close. It’s hard to think like this, much less to keep hold of my anger, but I try anyway.

‘I know they grew up in unparalleled wealth and luxury while my mom struggled to keep the lights on. I know they enjoyed Ryan Hart’s money while my mom was killed trying to send me to a crummy holiday camp. I know they grew up together while I’ve been—’ All alone. I don’t say the words but I see it in his face that he understands. The air between us simmers with the strength of my feelings. I like being alone. I choose to live like this.

‘You have every right to be resentful.’