I Belong to You (Inside Out #5)(44)

“Which is what? What’s he doing?” Mark asks.

My heart jumps to my throat as I discover Mark standing several feet away. He doesn’t look happy. He motions us to the elevator, and we rise to our feet. As we walk toward him, Kara quickly murmurs, “He hired someone to track Ava. He believes she’s alive, and we’re fairly confident he doesn’t want her to stay that way. We’re desperately trying to find her before he does.”

My mind instantly goes to his extra phone, and how he wanted me out of his parents’ office to take a call.

Mark punches the call button for the elevator as we join him. “We’re going to Riptide,” he informs us, his expression as hard as his tone. He doesn’t look at me, and I can almost feel the anger radiating off him.

The elevator dings and we all step into the car. Mark still won’t look at me, and my urge to hug and talk to him is extreme, but it would clearly be unwelcome. When we exit the elevator we rejoin Jacob, and by the time we’re seated in the Escalade, the silence is thick and uncomfortable. Mark has withdrawn physically and emotionally, and the way that it’s tearing me up inside proves Kara’s words. This path he and I are traveling is full of jagged edges, and I either have to accept that or get out. And I’m too invested in him, and his family, to choose the latter.

When we reach Riptide, the absence of the press is a relief. A member of Walker Security claims the Escalade while Jacob and Kara walk us to the entrance. Once we’re all past the double doors, Mark and I continue forward. When we reach the centerpiece of the lobby, an abstract rug of grays and reds framed by four low gray chairs, I ask Mark, “Why aren’t you talking to me?”

He doesn’t look at me. “You did enough talking for both of us with Kara, I’m certain.”

We reach the reception desk. As Beverly, a forty-something brunette who’s been here for a number of years, starts to greet us, Mark cuts through. “Do I have packages waiting for me?”

“Yes, sir,” she says, sliding a large envelope toward him, and then pointing at a box on the end of the horseshoe-shaped glass counter.

“I’ll be using my mother’s office as my office while I’m here, and my stay will be of an indefinite length,” he states. “Are there any urgent matters for myself or Ms. Smith to address?”

“Not at the moment.”

“Excellent. Buzz me if that changes.” He flicks me a look. “My office, Ms. Smith. We can talk there.”

“Yes, Mr. Compton.” The boiling tension is ready to become an explosion.

We go to the left of the desk to reach his office, instead of right to reach mine. As we enter the hallway to the east wing, Mark stops and motions for me to continue in front of him.

I shake my head, refusing to play his power game. “Together,” I say softly, then add,“Mr. Compton.”

“Don’t push me any further than you already have, Ms. Smith.”

“Ditto.”

“Ditto?”

My chin lifts. “That’s right.”

He glances down at the packages. “If my hands were free—”

“But they aren’t.”

“They will be in just a few moments.”

He starts walking and my breath hitches at the glint of warning I saw in his eyes. I fall into step with him, one part dread, one part erotic thrill. “Your threats don’t scare me,” I say softly.

He stops at his office door and gives me one of those steely gray stares. “Then you’re not as smart as I thought you were.”

Knowing his remark is a manipulation tool, my anger is instant. I walk inside the office, taking a battle position in the center of the rectangular room. Anticipation thrums through me in a way that I’ve only experienced with Mark. I’m furious, but I’m also ridiculously nervous. And aroused. How can I be this aroused when I’m this angry?

Mark shuts the door and a shiver races down my spine. The click of the lock that follows is like the erotic drag of an invisible finger along my nerve endings.

I try to focus on the room, to calm my reaction into a manageable proportion. With supreme effort I focus on something other than the man driving me insane, and force myself to picture the boldly colored red sofa and chairs behind me that I know are framed by black display shelves and past exhibit photos.

But it doesn’t work. My attention is riveted by the graceful way Mark crosses the room and positions himself behind the massive L-shaped glass desk in front of me. And while I’ve always found this office to be pure feminine power, he’s already erased that, claiming it as his. And as I meet his stare, I see all too clearly that he intends to make good on his vow to own me as well.

My spine straightens and I don’t blink. My anger will not be thwarted. My need for answers is not forgotten, and my good reasons for talking to Kara are not diminished.

Mark presses his fingers to the desktop, and we just stare at each other. Neither of us speaks, and every little sound seems magnified. My breathing, in and out. The clock on the wall behind him.

His emotion twines around and around me; I’d never be able to explain to someone what I see and feel with this man. He can look at me as he is now, showing no emotion, and I still understand him. I know he’s hurting. I know he’s worried. I know he feels like I betrayed him with Kara, and that he doesn’t see shutting me out of his hunt for Ava as the same sort of betrayal.