Unravel Me (10 page)

Exasperated, I paced the room. In a moment of pure frustration, I grabbed the envelope of photos and tossed it at him. “Here. This is what I found waiting for me when I got home from work last week. I thought Nathan was behind them but he’s not. It’s some tabloid reporter. He’s helping me get her off my back.”

Alastair sifted through the photos slowly. His eyebrows shot up when he presumably saw the one of us at the beach.

“Why didn’t you tell me about this?” he asked quietly. “You spent all last weekend keeping it to yourself. Why?”

“I didn’t want to stress you out over something that’s really not a big deal.”

“Lia,” he said, dropping the photos and appearing in front of me in two steps. “Your safety is a big deal. I couldn’t live with myself if something ever happened to you that I could prevent. Promise me you won’t do this again.”

He held my chin firmly, locking a determined gaze on me. I didn’t like being scolded but at least some emotion crept back into his eyes.

“I don’t need bodyguards. And stop being so dramatic.”

“It’s not up for discussion. Be thankful I’m not having them drive you everywhere.”

“Jesus Christ, Holden,” I exclaimed. “What is it with you and this bossy, overprotective shit?”

Tension thinned his mouth into a firm line. “Tread carefully, Amelia.”

“What? Now you don’t trust me? Are they going to make sure I don’t have any more secret meetings with him?”

“I never said I didn’t trust you. This is for your protection.”

“From what?”

Clenching his jaw, he looked away. “I don’t want to fight with you.”

I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply.
What are you hiding
? “I don’t want to fight with you either.”

“Good.” He straightened his spine, appearing satisfied with the outcome. “Paxton will monitor you to and from work—”

“You can’t dictate my day to day routine,” I nearly shouted. The echo from my outburst bounced off the walls. Alastair stared at me impassively, waiting for my tantrum to end.

“I know,” he muttered. “I’m not dictating anything. This is an extra precaution. A buffer, if you will. Now please, I don’t want to fight, Amelia.”

I folded my arms, sighing. “No offense, but sometimes it’s exhausting being in a relationship with you.”

The corners of his mouth perked up. “Ditto, love.”

I rolled my eyes, focusing on the bag he’d sat on the counter eons ago. “What’s in that?”

“A peace offering.”

“Are we at war?”

The deep, throaty laugh that curled my toes filled the room. He pulled a bottle of vintage port out of the bag. “Not anymore. Would you like some?”

“Yeah, sure.”

He gave me a once-over. “You might want to change first.”

Right. The spaghetti.

“Thank you, Mr. Blackwell.”

His puzzled look made me laugh as I walked toward my bedroom. My jeans were haphazardly tossed on a chair by the window. I threw those on with a fitted, red scoop-neck cotton shirt. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and ran my fingers through my hair quickly before going back to the living room.

Alastair was sitting quietly on the couch, elbows propped on his knees, chin resting on folded hands. Two wine glasses sat on the coffee table in front of him. He motioned for me to have a seat. I was momentarily struck by how that gesture made me feel like a guest in my own home. I sat gingerly next to him and grabbed a glass. The port was smoky and savory with a hint of chocolate. A slight smile curved his lips when he saw me enjoy it.

“Is this an official truce then, Holden?”

“Do you want it to be?”

“I suppose.”

“Your lack of enthusiasm is worrisome,” he said, taking my glass and putting it on the table. “I want your undivided attention.” I could almost hear his heart pounding as he leaned in close. “My Lia. My stubborn, feisty, frustratingly enchanting Lia.”

“Poetic as always.” I ran my fingers over the reddish-brown beard covering his youthful face. “Not sure if I’m into this mountain man look.”

“No? I thought American women liked a rugged man.”

Maybe it was the way he looked at me with that little grin or the way his eyes flickered with flirtatious mischief but I couldn’t help myself and climbed onto his lap, straddling him.

“I’ll take you any way I can get you, chief. Now stop talking and kiss me.”

Amused by my order, he obliged and treated me to a passionate lip-lock. It was skillful, sensual and confident. I enjoyed this one much more than the frantic, desperate ones from earlier. Part of me still vibrated with guilt for not being completely honest with him about the pictures and why I’d enlisted Nathan’s help. For now, I focused on him and savoring this moment.

“Do you have plans this weekend?” he asked.

“No.”

“You sure about that?” he chuckled.

“The only thing I’m sure about right now is I like kissing you.”

“Even with all the scruffy facial hair?”

“Yes.” I slung my arms around his neck. “You’re insufferably hot. Hairy or otherwise.”

“Ah, the truth finally comes out. I knew you only wanted me for my body.”

“I prefer your cooking skills to be honest.”

He smiled, leaning his forehead to mine. Placing his hands on my thighs, he caressed me with devotion and adoration. I cherished our relaxed intimacy even though I knew he remained partially shielded.

“So you’re free this weekend, then?”

“My parents are in town. We’re going to an arena football game tomorrow.”

He regarded me with great interest. “Your parents? Can I meet them?”

Struck by the wide-eyed nature of his request, I nodded. “Yeah, of course. Do you want to come to the game with us? I can see if Steph can get another ticket.”

“If it’s not too much trouble. And if you don’t mind being seen with a hairy ginger Englishman.”

“Seriously? This is a thing, this look?”

He laughed good and loud. “No, love. Stop panicking. I worked from home all this week and got a little lazy with the shaving.” Something in his eyes gave me pause. He sounded cheerful but I sensed he wasn’t telling me everything.

“Lia.” He tilted my chin up. “Look at me.” He scanned my face, searching for God knows what. “Want to shave me?”

The request caught me off guard. Sliding a razor across his face wasn’t something I’d fantasized about specifically. My goal, at some point, was to shampoo all that gorgeous hair on his head.

“The longer you think about it, the longer this beard will grow.” He squeezed my waist.

“Hey.” I flinched.

“Do I have to enforce the no overthinking rule again?”

“Okay, fine. I’ll do it. But don’t blame me if I mark up your precious face.”

“Positive thoughts, please,” he teased, sliding me off his lap. I followed him to my bathroom and watched him rummage through my toiletries for the shaving cream and razor. Once he had everything set up, he peeled off his t-shirt and sat on the counter.

“You’re sure you trust me to do this?” I asked, squirting some shaving cream into my hand.

Inexplicably, the mask locked into place, hardening his expression. Neither one of us moved. We stared at one another silently. I desperately wanted to know what thoughts or feelings plagued him but he was unreadable. Frustrated, I rinsed the shaving cream off my hand and walked out. Nothing about tonight sat well with me anyway. I wasn’t fully convinced he’d shown up at my door just because he saw the online gossip piece. A nine-hour flight for that seemed excessive.

And why the hysterics with having Paxton and that other guy keep an eye on me? I stood by the windows, staring out into the darkness. Alastair continued to be a multi-layered puzzle. Sadly, I was nowhere near figuring him out.

“Amelia.”

The hairs on the back of my neck stood up. Every cell in my body gravitated to the dark, carnal voice that spoke my name. It pulled me, an unrelenting force I was powerless to stop. Aware that my breathing had become deep and labored, I turned. Alastair’s half naked body filled the doorway; a tall, powerful figure exuding raw sexuality.

“Come to me.”

The dangerously seductive command was intensified by his primal stare. I froze, momentarily caught in his lusty haze. Shaking it off, I went to him. The room almost hummed with the energy radiating from our bodies. Running his hand through my hair, he pulled it, forcing my head back.

“This look,” he murmured, pressing his lips to my neck. The pressure from his kisses gave me a thrill. It intensified as he sucked on a soft patch of skin at the crook of my neck. I arched my back, pushing into his chest. He had me locked in a heated embrace with one hand knotted in my hair and the other tightly clasped on my backside. The world went fuzzy as I let the stress and tension of tonight melt away.

When he stopped, I was surprised to learn he’d sat me on the kitchen table. Without saying a word, he removed my shirt and bra. I watched him, fascinated. He was focused and methodical in his movements, taking off the rest of my clothes along with his own. Wrapping my legs around his hips, he leaned into me, catching my bottom lip in his teeth.

“You provoked me in a way I’ve never experienced,” he said, low and domineering. “I am not sharing you with him. For any reason.”

Fiery embers of possession flickered through his eyes. I’d never seen this side to him. It didn’t trigger me the way I expected because I knew deep down he wasn’t a possessive bastard. This envious, controlling outburst came from a fearful place that I don’t think he realized existed. Gripping the edge of the table, I was surprised my fingers didn’t sink into the wood.

“I don’t want to be shared, Alastair.”

Liquefied emerald irises drifted over every inch of me before connecting with my own fervid stare. I cried out from the fullness and pressure as he staked his claim on my body swiftly and with renewed determination. Leaning back, I closed my eyes.

“Look at me,” he ordered, torturing me with the leisurely way he moved in and out.

I did, tangling my fingers through his hair. Hovering my mouth over his I whispered, “You feel so good.”

The table shook as the velocity of his thrusts increased. I clawed at his back, pulling him closer. The animalistic way he stared into my soul unraveled me, exposing my irrefutable need for him. Before he snapped his eyes shut, I saw the same nakedness in them.

With a harsh groan, he grabbed my hips and stopped thrusting. I pressed my fingers into his lower back, urging him to continue.

“Tell me what you want,” he growled.

“You,” I answered, breathless. “I want you.”

“Only me?”

“Yes.” I grabbed his hair. “You’re mine.”

He flexed his hips slowly, teasing me. The gradual movements drove me insane. I was hypersensitive and throbbing, wanting him to finish what he started. He leaned his athletic body against mine, our sweat and scents mingling.

“My Lia,” he whispered, stroking his tongue along my bottom lip. “The things you make me feel.”

His lustful desire for me filled the room, suffocating my sense of reality. Barely aware of his feverish movements, I succumbed to the delightful chaos of sensations taking over my body. He’d stripped me to the core, elevating the most intimate act two people can share to something not of this world. And he did it in the most ungentlemanly way by ravaging me on the kitchen table.

We climaxed within seconds of one another, breathing hard and collapsing onto the wooden surface. Like he’d done many times before, he stayed inside me for a few minutes, keeping our bodies fused together.

“Bloody hell,” he marveled, pulling out.

I could only grunt a response. I was spent. I couldn’t sit up even if I wanted to.

“Come with me, love,” he whispered, lifting me off the table and carrying me to the bedroom. I melted into his arms, resting my head on his shoulder. He placed me on the bed, stretching out next to me. Unable to open my eyes, I snuggled against him, inhaling his delicious scent and savoring his warm embrace.

“You smell good,” I mumbled into his chest.

“So do you.”

Slivers of contentment and joy spread to every part of my body. As we lay together, arms and legs tangled in post-coital bliss, I wondered how much more in love I could be with him. It scared me on so many levels. At any moment he could decide it was too much effort to be in a relationship. He could also choose to reactivate his
I-don’t-date-I-just-get-laid
thing. Or he could just get bored with me. Any of those scenarios would shatter my heart beyond repair. I shivered.

“Are you okay, love?”

I finally managed to open my eyes and drank in his satisfied, calm expression. There was even a small smile playing on his lips.

“Yep.”

“Are you cold? There’s a jumper in my car if you want it.”

“A jumper?” I asked, mimicking his accent. “Why are you driving around Florida in July with a sweater?”

“Because people like you keep the air conditioning at temperatures rivaling Antarctica.”

“Would you rather I opened the windows and let all that disgusting humidity in here?”

He squeezed me tight. “Fair point.”

Snaking my hand behind his head, I pulled him in for a kiss. He nuzzled into my neck, brushing that damn beard against my skin.

“You need to shave, buddy. That tickles way too much.”

He smiled against my neck, pressing a quick kiss to it before looking at me. “As you wish, m’lady.”

An overwhelming surge of guilt flowed through me. I swallowed it down, choosing to stay in this moment rather than let my thoughts run rampant.

“Your brain is on overload again,” he said, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “None of that.”

I traced my thumb along his sculpted mouth. “Are we okay?”

Shadows of uncertainty glided through his otherwise serene expression. He furrowed his brows, wrinkling the patch of skin between them. “I’ve never lost control like that before,” he murmured. “I’m sorry.”

“Are you apologizing for shagging me senseless on the kitchen table?”

The left corner of his mouth ticked up. “Not quite.”

“Good.”

Retreating behind his shield, he looked me squarely in the eye. “I trust you implicitly, Amelia. This is all new to me, this relationship stuff. You know that. If you were to leave me or—”