She still doesn’t look up from the spot she’s fixated on. If time is what she needs to adjust, I’ll give her that. She needs it. I get it. She came here expecting to get rid of me and instead, she has to live under my roof and be with me twenty-four seven.

I asked her to trust me, but what she doesn’t know yet is that I don’t trust her. She’s bound to run; therefore, my wife will be sleeping with me while she’s here. Something tells me I may have to tie her to the bed when I tell her that. Gag her even. In different circumstances, I would love nothing more than to do just that, while I suck on the sweet spot on her neck, lick every inch of her skin, and screw her into a fucking sex stupor. I’d give her all the kink she wanted.

Calla finally decides to speak.

“You said everyone had respectable jobs around here. What is it you do?”

She looks directly into my eyes. If only I could tell her the truth about what it is I actually do. I can’t. No one can. I’ve told her all she needs to know for now. Before I tell her the whole truth about my life and the things I do, I need to gain her trust back. If she finds out I lied to her about anything, I know I will lose her forever before I have the chance to prove to her how much I want her back.

Kryder may be the biggest drug dealer around these parts, but me? I’m the biggest gun thief motherfucker in this whole damn country. But when I look back at her, I simply say,

“I run this bar, Calla. That’s my job.”

Chapter Eight

Calla

I have two choices. Either I can sit here and bitch and complain, or I can follow his rules. Plain and simple. Neither of these options will get me the hell out of here any faster the way I see it. Justice sucks. I’ve seen it, read it, know all about it with my six years of studying law. I could argue with Cain until I’m blue in the face, throw every case precedent at him that has ever been created, and I’d get nowhere with him. He still wouldn’t let me leave or call my parents to let them know I’m safe.

The truth is, if I wasn’t so hell-bent on trying to make myself believe I hate him, I could admit that he’s been keeping me safe from this Kryder dude. I’m thankful that I now know someone has been after me, but I’m not about to tell him that.

There is still so much to talk about, so much I know for a damn fact he isn’t telling me. He is greatly underestimating the power of my lawyerly instincts. This bar isn’t legit. They may not deal with drugs anymore, this I do believe. But guns are definitely a part of whatever is up around here. You can’t bullshit a bullshitter, and as most of my professors have told me, I will make one hell of an attorney because I can smell a liar a mile away. I may not have been around him for the last six years, but I can see the lies as clearly as if they were written across his handsome face.

I look up at him again. Cain doesn’t strike me as a vain man, but shit, he’s been blessed in the genetics department. The way his body is sculpted to perfection, one would think Michelangelo himself carved him just to make women physically and emotionally spent simply by looking at him. A sane woman would want to wrap her hands around his neck and choke him for the way he’s been throwing out demands. But me? Oh no. I’m not sane right now at all.

I shake my head; my body has been pushed hard enough today. My brain has taken in way too much information. A shower sounds nice, but a long, hot bath sounds even better.

“Do you have a bathtub? I’d prefer to have a bath. They relax me, and with the information you have provided me with today, I could use it.”

I cringe a little as I hear my voice come out in a sexy, deeply alluring kind of way. Do they still make chastity belts? Because my vagina needs one.

Confusion plays out across his features for a moment before his gaze trails up and down my body in a hungry kind of way, making my pussy feel like it could erupt all on its own. The intensity of his fixation on my neck makes me want to tilt my head more just to see what he would do. My pulse quickens, my breath catches, and if I don’t quit staring at his mouth, I’m going to be straddling him pantyless in about two point five seconds. I’m getting off track here.

“I have one,” he says finally. “It’s never been used.”

My eyebrows shoot straight up in surprise.

“What? You mean to tell me this is your house, you have a girlfriend, who I assume lives with you or at least stays here, and she has never used your bathtub?”

Now he looks surprised. His eyes widen then quickly fill with anger. Jesus, his face looks deadly.

“That bitch has never been in this house, Calla.”

“I, um... I guess I don’t understand.”

He’s never brought her here? Aren’t they in a relationship? I mean, sure, I think he treats the twat like shit, and for whatever reason she puts up with it, but come the hell on!

“Like I said, we’ve both changed. I’ve got my reasons why she doesn’t come here. Why I very rarely stay here. When I decide to share them with you, I will. In the meantime, it’s all yours.”

He abruptly turns without another word, obviously expecting me to just follow him. I do, though. I follow him through an open walkway where he switches on a light, giving me the perfect view of his ass.

I should not be looking; it only tortures my soul. But good God almighty. If anything, it is even tighter than before. Those black jeans hugging it are the luckiest pair of pants in the world, they truly are. That ass is the reason I never really paid much attention to other men; it ruined me for them.

I slide my glance down, checking out his long, muscular legs encased in big black motorcycle boots. My eyes roam back up across the vest he’s wearing over a dark-colored tee. I check everything out, from his robust traps to his expansive shoulders and back. He definitely works out and keeps himself in great shape. I’m glad he still does that for himself, at least.

He turns left into a room and turns on a light. Now I’m mad at myself for checking him out and mad at him for stopping. Damn.

But then I walk further into the room and it takes my breath away. There’s a huge, dark brown king sized bed up against one wall. The headboard is made of four wooden rectangles connected by a thin piece of wood. Two matching night stands sit on each side, with the matching dressers sitting against the opposite wall. A fireplace with shades of brown, turquoise, and a very light cream brick runs all the way up to the high cathedral ceiling. On either side of the fireplace are floor-to-ceiling windows covered with wooden blinds, which are closed now. I can only imagine the view behind those windows.

“Woah, this is your bedroom? It’s... wow. I don’t even know what to think. This is remarkable.” I twirl around in wonder. “It all looks... I don’t know. New. Don’t you sleep here?”

Cain ignores my question.

“Come on. Let me show you the bath.”

He sounds pained, which makes me stop and glance over at him. He’s standing there with his jaw flexing, arms crossed over his chest.

“No, I want to see this,” I insist.

My feet carry me to the edge of the bed. My dirty hands reach out to feel the softness of the turquoise and brown comforter. I draw them back rapidly, afraid to stain the soft fabric. Now I’m close enough to see that an intricate design is etched into the wood, and I peer down to study it. When I do, my entire body lurches backward.

“Th… those are Calla lilies. Good God. I… I don’t understand.”

Exhaling loudly, he steps towards me, eyes heated. He stops at the end of the bed, his eyes never leaving mine.

“I’ve never slept in here. Not once. I sleep on my couch. This is our room. At least I hoped it would be our room one day.”

“You must be joking me?” I ask, my aggressive tone masking my nervousness.