Sparrow

His touch was gentle, almost like he was extra careful not to hurt me, but it was also firm. “I never cheated on you, because we were never really together. You know that and I know that. If we ever were together, I wouldn’t even look at another woman.”

“But we’re not,” I hissed into his face, just like he loved doing to me. “So I’m sure you had fun.”

“I wasn’t with anyone else last night. It was work.”

I looked down at the hand that touched me. His knuckles were red, traces of dried blood in the creases. It seemed I wasn’t the only one giving him a hard time this week. I scanned his body through my lashes. Yes, he wasn’t with anyone else last night, and as much as I hated to admit it, that made me feel slightly better.

“I hope whoever you bloodied your knuckles on managed a few decent punches, too.”

An unsettling grin spread on his face. “Who, Brock? In order to hurt me, he’d need to be a man first. And since I can’t trust him to be one, I’ll have to warn you myself. Stay away from him.”

I felt like the blood was draining from my face. My mouth dried. How did he find out about the kiss? Did Brock tell him? No, Brock had no reason to. And even though I had no illusions about my husband’s feelings toward me, I was pretty sure Troy wouldn’t stop at punching if he knew Brock kissed me.

No, Troy was still in the dark.

He scanned my face, his hand still resting on my arm. I jerked free and hitched up one shoulder, shrugging off his order. Who was being jealous now? It felt good knowing that he cared. If he cared.

I hated him, yes, but my panties were on fire every time he was in the room. Troy stimulated something wild and aching in me in a way Brock was unable to. It didn’t matter that Brock was kinder, easier on the eyes and overall, a better candidate as a lover. No, it was Troy who made lust and fear buzz under my skin. My blood ran hot and wild for him, and only for him. Even, and especially, because I had so many mixed feelings toward him.

Worst of all, Troy knew it. How much I wanted him, how I was his.

“Or what?” I stuck out my lower lip. “I work with Brock.”

“Or…” He took a step closer, grazing his bloody knuckles against my cheek and down my neck, raising a trail of desire and excitement on my skin. “I’ll have to make sure you and he spend less time together.”

“You’re going to fire me?” I swallowed the lump of anger down my throat but stood my ground, still staring straight into his frosty arctic blues.

“I wouldn’t do that to you, wifey.” His lips floated over mine, his blues never leaving my greens. He leaned back, taking a sip from his coffee, his free hand still traveling over my body, down my ribcage.

I didn’t pull away, despite wanting to. Despite needing to.

“No. I’ll fire Brock,” Troy said. “Don’t worry, I’m sure he’ll be able to find a job that pays enough to support cute little Sammy in no time. I mean, it’s not like Catalina works, but damn, she could use getting out of the house and doing something productive with her time.”

Jesus, he played dirty. My dad had been on the Brennan payroll for years. If it weren’t for his family, we wouldn’t have had a roof over our heads. Food on our table. Presents under our Christmas tree. I couldn’t have Brock fired. He was Sam’s dad, and Sam deserved, at the very least, everything I was given as a kid.

“You’re an asshole.” My voice was hoarse. I was staring at his lips. Why the hell was I staring at his lips? Why was I still attracted to him? What kind of fuckery was that?

“I’m an asshole, and you can’t stay away from me.” He was so close his warm breath blew against my temple. “I’m the asshole who is on your mind twenty-four-fucking-seven. And I’m telling you now, if Brock has it in his head that he can take you too, he has another thing coming. You’re mine, got it?”

My defiance collapsed into a frown. What did he mean by you, too? Who else did Brock take away from him? Then it hit me, stealing the air out of my lungs and making my stomach tighten with revulsion. I backpedaled, my face crumpling in disgust. My ass hit the wall behind me and I felt my chin quivering. My anger was uncontainable. It filled my chest and stomach, washing every inch of my body with hot, red rage.

Yes, I was jealous. I was screwed up and weird and jealous of the woman who dated my fake-husband. The guy who freaking kidnapped me.