I’ve seen him do such wicked, terrible things. I can't imagine anything he's incapable of. He'll stop at nothing when it comes to violence, and I can't imagine what he has planned for Mac. For one brief moment, with Mac’s arms all around me, in that quiet space between night and morning, I actually entertain the thought of telling him. Everything. Confiding in him. I don't know why, but I feel like I can trust him, and then if I tell him why I'm really with him maybe he'll forgive me.
Would I ever be able to forgive myself?
But no. No, I can’t do that. Not only do I risk a home to myself, but I can't bear the thought of being rejected by Mac. I mean, I'm right here where his family is. All of them. They could do anything they want to me, and I have no recourse. My bodyguard isn't here, and of course I'm totally outnumbered.
Why do things have to be this way?
So I only shake my head. “I’m fine,” I lie, because I don’t know what else to say or how else to reassure him. If he could read my mind… “I’m fine,” I repeat with a sigh.
I settle back down against the bedclothes to prove my point, feign a wide yawn, and pull the blankets back up over me. I roll away from him, pretending I’m exhausted and trying to get back to sleep. He doesn’t ask questions, just slings a heavy arm around me, holds me to his chest, and in a short while, his breathing’s slowed and I can tell he’s fallen back to sleep.
I don’t sleep, though. I stare into the darkness for long minutes that become hours. Mulling over my options. Fearing every single result. I’m deeply embedded in a game of life or death to which there are no winners.
Finally, when a sliver of light begins to peek around the drawn window shade, I fall back asleep.
Groggily, hours later, I wake slowly. My head feels stuffy, and though I know why I couldn't fall back asleep easily, I don't remember anything that happened in my dreams. All I know is that there's a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach, and the comforting weight of Mac’s arm is gone.
Though the shades are still drawn, I can tell by the bright sunlight peeking around the edges that it’s broad daylight. I sit up, rubbing my eyes, and stretch widely. I yawn, looking about the room, but Mac isn’t here.
I lay in bed, thinking about the day ahead. Is it safe for me to go home? I have work to do in town, and I can't get any more behind than I already am. I can't do anything that would endanger me, though. I'm not sure what to do about that. I check my phone, to see if there's a message from my father, or my mum. But there's nothing.
I throw off the bedclothes and get out of bed, yawning and stretching. It’s pleasantly warm in here, and well-lived in. Just seeing his t-shirt slung into a laundry hamper and a cap on the dresser with his keys and leather wallet make my heart thump a little faster. God, I’ve got it bad for him. It’s just so ruggedly masculine here. So is Mac.
I hear something clanging around in the kitchen, so I tentatively open the door.
I grin to myself before he sees me. He’s got headphones on, and he’s… dancing? I cover my hand with my mouth, quietly sneaking out to get a better view without him seeing me.
He’s wearing nothing but a pair of boxer briefs, kind of doing a little sidestep dance while he's stirring something in a frying pan on the stove. He can't hear me approach, because of the headphones. And I'm not really sure he'd be okay with me spying on him like this. But oh my God, he's so hot. I don't know if there's anything hotter than a strong, muscled alpha male, dancing half naked in his kitchen like nobody's watching, doing a domestic task. But this is definitely something I could get used to.
I make it all the way to the doorway before he sees me, and when he does, he nearly jumps out of his skin.
“Holy crap!” he shouts, whipping off his headphones and tossing them up onto the counter. He stands, his hands on his hips, staring at me. “How long have you been watching me, lass?” His brows draw together sharply in that bossy way of his I’ve come to crave, though his lips twitch at the corners.
“Oh,” I say with a shrug. “Dunno. Few minutes, anyway.”
“Is that right?” he says, his eyes glittering dangerously as he prowls toward me.
“Now, Mac…” I begin, when he pounces.
I find myself pushed up against the wall, my hair wound around his fist as he tugs my head back. “You should’ve told me you were there,” he chides, right before he spins me around and cracks his palm against my arse.