Why can’t I? What’s so wrong with me that I can’t be who he needs me to be?
“Stay by my side,” he says tersely. “You hear me?”
“Of course I hear you,” I snap.
He’s got several large parcels in his arms, the few things I want to bring back home with me right away.
“What the hell is going on with you?”
I’m hurting, I want to tell him. There’s an ache deep inside me.
But I can’t give voice to those feelings. I don’t want him to think I’m any more broken than I am. So, I only shrug. “Hard to leave when I had hopes of staying,” I finally tell him. “It’s nothing personal.”
It’s utterly fucking personal.
He opens his mouth to speak and then closes it and shakes his head as if second guessing himself.
“What?”
“Get in the car,” he snaps, jerking his head at the waiting car.
“Fuck you,” I mutter under my breath.
I want to cry, because I don’t even know what’s caused this rift between us. It seems like only minutes ago he was bringing me to climax, holding me to his chest, our heartbeats syncing with our hopes and dreams. And now I feel like there’s a wedge between us.
“Where are we going?” I ask him, and as soon as I do, I realize how metaphorical my question sounds.
Where are we going?
Where do we go from here?
“Runway. We’ll take a private jet home.”
He took a private jet here to come get me. I shouldn’t be surprised that’s how we’re getting home.
“Great. So it’ll just be the two of us for hours?”
“The two of us, the flight crew, and the pilot.”
“Just fucking great,” I mutter. I turn away from him, hoping to make him pull away even further, even though it kills me, but apparently, he’ll have none of it. I feel his hand on my arm, tight and warm, and my heart seizes. I turn to him.
“What is it?” I whisper. “What do you want from me?”
“Your bloody fucking honesty,” he says through gritted teeth. “What happened, Fiona?”
I don’t answer him.
“What are you afraid of?” he persists.
How can I tell him it’s everything? Giving myself completely to the Clan and their brutal, unapologetic ways. Men of the Clan claim for life.
All in means shared children with this man—my heart aches—this man I love so much. All in means sending him off to battle, knowing his allegiance is to the men of the Clan above all else. All in means heartache and loss. All in means he’s joined to me… and won’t ever be able to pursue anyone better.
“I’m not afraid,” I lie. “I just… things are moving very quickly.”
I can do this. I can fucking do this.
His eyes narrow on me. “Of course they are. I fucking claimed you.” He shook his head. “I knew this would happen.”
“What?” I snap. I can’t handle the condescending tone. He knew I was too young for this? He knew once we were together that I’d regret it? “What are you, a fucking mind reader?”
A muscle ticks in his jaw. “I knew it was too soon. I knew I should’ve let you go to college, and do your thing. Claiming you this early when you’re not ready… it’s a huge fucking mistake.”
And for some reason, that makes me snap. Snap. The change is so sudden and vivid, it’s like I can almost hear the twang of my heartstrings.
Snap.
Snap.
Snap.
“Fuck. You.”
He glares when our car comes to a stop, but he doesn’t say a word. I reach for my bags, but he plucks them out of my hand in silence. I fume, trying to carry something, but he takes every last bag and jerks his chin toward the jet.
“Go.”
My fists are clenched into balls of fury, but I don’t talk to him. I stalk away from him and let him carry the fucking bags.
I come to a quick halt when I enter the cabin, my eyes going wide. This is like nothing I’ve ever seen before.
Padded ivory chairs with golden accents, a plush carpet, and bright overhead lighting give way to a full table and chairs, like an in-air dinette, and behind that, a full bedroom with one large, mammoth bed.
Great. There is literally nowhere to hide from him up here. It’s luxury at its finest, and I can’t imagine what the McCarthys have paid for such an extravagance. It’s yet another reminder of how I don’t belong.
I plop into one of the seats to the far left, and after he’s secured our bags, it doesn’t surprise me at all when he sits his arse down right next to me. He doesn’t speak, though, but pulls out a magazine, crosses one ankle over his knee, and begins to read.
Good. He’s ignoring me, other than the fact that we’re so close the little hairs on my arm stand on end when he releases a breath. Two can play at this game.