Sparrow(58)

Troy was in the penthouse when I opened the door, must’ve arrived after I went out for my pre-dawn run. Still in his clothes from the day before, he lay on the sofa, a glass of whiskey in his hand.

I didn’t acknowledge him. I took a shower and made my bed in the guest bedroom, and when I came back to the kitchen to fix myself some coffee, he was still there, in the same position. He looked exhausted, but any sympathy my heart could muster toward this man had vanished after the Paddy Rowan incident. I leaned my hip against the kitchen counter as I waited for the water to boil.

“Hello to you, too,” he grunted into his drink.

I didn’t answer. Christ. It was eight a.m. Too early to be drinking.

“You know…” He looked into the glass, swirling the amber liquid. “For someone who’s been upgraded to living in a penthouse and got the job of her dreams, you seem a little ungrateful.”

I threw my head back and gave a bitter laugh, my hands on the counter behind me for support. “Oh, you’re good, Troy. I see the mistress you spent the night with managed to put all kinds of crazy ideas in your head. See, in order for me to be grateful, I needed to want this in the first place. No one asked me before you kidnapped me. We both know I’m not here out of choice. So why don’t you tell me why you’re keeping me here? I’m sure it’s good.” I turned around, pouring myself some coffee and clucking my tongue. “Yeah, I’m sure it’s real good.”

He got up from the L-shaped sofa. I heard him padding barefoot over the gold granite tiles even before he appeared by my side. He poured a cup of coffee, a smirk tugging at his lips. I knew he got high on this exchange, too. Our fighting recharged him. He already looked a little better, like he’d caught a quick nap.

“You seem to give all kinds of f*ck about who I’m screwing nowadays. Are you jealous, Red? Because I already told you, you can always use me for your personal needs. The offer still stands.” He deliberately brushed his arm against mine.

“Don’t worry, I’m used to the idea of you cheating. I couldn’t care less who you were with last night.” I took my cup of coffee, intending to march to the guest room. His rough hand landed on my arm, stopping me.

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.