Beneath These Scars (Beneath #4)(15)

I wasn’t too proud to admit to myself that I watched his Adam’s apple move as he swallowed. The man was nothing less than striking with his black hair, perfectly cut and styled in a way that clearly said I don’t have to try to look gorgeous, along with dark green eyes, tanned skin that stretched over sharp cheekbones, and a strong jaw. He would have been nearly perfect if not for the scar slashing through his eyebrow into his hairline. I wondered at the story behind it. Because God knew, all scars seemed to come with a story.

And of course, I couldn’t forget the huge cock. My cheeks—and other parts of my body—heated against my will. Leave it in the pool room, Yve. Forget that you know how big his dick is.

Titan raised an eyebrow, the unscarred one. My assessment of him hadn’t gone unnoticed—or my dirty thoughts, it seemed.

“I had a problem at my place.” I looked away as I said it, flipping a hand as if it weren’t worthy of concern.

His eyebrow dropped and lines creased his forehead. “What kind of problem?”

Like I was going to tell Lucas Fucking Titan about the glass in my dish rack that made me flip out. He’d think I was crazy, and maybe I was. All I knew was that something in my gut had told me to get the hell out of that house.

I listened to my gut, which was probably the only reason I’d ended up in the hospital rather than in a casket the night my ex had come home with a different sort of crazy burning in his eyes. After he’d finished with me, I’d awoken with every inch of my body screaming with pain, and found the house quiet. Something had told me if I were still there when he came back, I wouldn’t live through the night.

So I’d called Ginny, and she’d called the ambulance. If I hadn’t, the doctors told me my internal injuries would have finished me off before he could. Intuition for the win, I thought.

I gave myself a mental shake and focused on the present, finally admitting, “I thought maybe someone had broken in.”

The lines deepened as he scowled. “What did the police say?”

It was an obvious question, but I felt like a tool giving him the truth. “I didn’t call the police.”

“Why not?” he demanded.

“Because I didn’t think there was anything missing.”

“Then how would you know someone broke in? Was the lock picked? The door broken down?”

I shook my head and brought my tumbler to my lips, coughing a little when the Scotch hit my tongue.

“That’s fifty-year-old Scotch; it should be smooth as silk going down.” The words were just as smooth in Titan’s deep voice.

I swallowed, nodding as the fiery liquor slid down my throat. “It’s not bad. Just not what I expected it to taste like.” I hoped the subject change would stick, but it didn’t.

“Why didn’t you call the police?”

I decided to be as honest as I could. “The door was unlocked, and it looked like something had been moved, but there was nothing else to report.”

I expected him to tell me I probably forgot to lock it, or that I was imagining things, but he didn’t. He turned and I watched his reflection stalk to the side table. I swiveled away from the window to face him as he lifted his phone and tapped on the screen.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“Calling Hennessy, a detective at NOPD.”

“What? No. Don’t do that. It’s fine. I—”

He must have found the contact he was looking for because he raised the phone to his ear. I strode across the room, not even thinking before I snatched it from him and disconnected the call.

Titan’s hand shot out and wrapped around my wrist. He plucked the phone from my fingers with his other hand. The quick movement—and his hand getting so damn close to my face—had me flinching away and lifting my arm to shield myself. It was another instinct of mine, and it was a telling one.

Titan immediately dropped his hold on me and stepped back, his eyes wide and his lips parted. “What the hell, Yve? Did you think I was going to hit you? Jesus, I might be a total dick sometimes, but the only time I’d ever hit a woman is when I’ve got her bent over, ass out, and * dripping.” His wounded expression made him seem more human than anything he could have done.

Mortification rushed over me in hot waves. I backed away, the tumbler sliding through my sweaty palm until I set it down with a clunk on an end table. I flew out of the room and raced down the halls of the huge house, intent on getting the hell out of there. But I didn’t know where to go.

I should’ve walked out as soon as I knew whose house this was.

“Yve, wait.”

Titan’s voice came from behind me. Something in his tone made me freeze in mid-stride. I didn’t turn, but my shoulders hunched forward as if my instincts were screaming at me to protect myself.

I wasn’t a victim. Not anymore. I was a survivor. And I never wanted to see anyone look at me with pity again. Shoulders back and spine straight, I whirled around to face Titan.

Concern creased his features, an emotion that looked completely wrong on his arrogant face. I hated it, and the urge to lash out clawed through me.

“I don’t feel the need to be interrogated by you or some cop. If you don’t want me in your house, I’ll be on my way.”

“Not until you tell me who hit you.”

His nostrils flared and his hands were curled into fists, but surprisingly, my fight-or-flight response faded. I didn’t feel threatened anymore. He wasn’t pissed at me, but for me. That was new and different. Still, it didn’t mean I was about to share my pathetic story. Who wanted to admit they’d been beaten and let it keep happening? Or worse, that at the time I’d believed my husband when he’d told me it was my fault.