Page 36 of One Rule

“Go? Go where?” This leaves me on a high pitch, and I clear my throat, forcing myself to find the painting on the wall to the right of his head simply fascinating. It’s a large piece depicting beauty and self-confidence; a woman whose face is half-covered by delicate yet bold flowers that flow across her flawless skin while depicting pure, raw beauty.

It’s gorgeous. So emotive and brings forth this sense of inner strength—of finding your own worth away from societal standards—yet right now, I can’t acknowledge anything but the butterflies currently taking flight inside of me. They flutter beneath my skin; my nerves are so unsettled I nearly sway but manage to brace a hand against the closest piece of furniture and grip the entry table’s edge as he steps into my personal space.

“With me.” His hand pries mine before giving it a tug just hard enough that I’m forced to turn his way, seconds before I’m led toward the bedroom I’m using. There’s a flurry of movement inside, his female employees boxing everything that isn’t of my personal use while the older of the trio zips up the largest of the unpacked suitcases while being careful not to touch anything inside. And while I’m busy trying to make heads or tails of what I’m seeing, Micah moves to take his place slightly behind me. Close, yet there’s a respectable distance. “I’m taking you home, Liliana.”

“Home.” The word is breathy yet infused with every bit of the confusion I’m teetering on. “I am home.”

“No. You’re not.” His exhale teases the sensitive flesh just below my ear, his body bent low enough that his cheek is almost pressed against mine. “I’ll replace whatever they don’t pack.”

“Micah, you’re not—”

“Remove everything as I’ve instructed.” Within seconds of that order, my possessions are taken out of the condo by men who only appeared after the women exited. Out of all the people who’ve been here, I recognize two and neither Ligo nor Isaac make eye contact.

His personal guards never do. They are always around, someone as rich as Micah needs protection—hell, even my father has some security—but they’re seldom seen.

Yet Ligo drove me home two days ago. Made sure I got inside safely.

They work quickly. No words are exchanged; I do nothing more than watch as his employees remove every trace of my living here—everything but my underwear or the clean clothes inside of a hamper, I’d yet to put away. It all disappears before the front door closes behind the last person’s exit.

Moreover, I’m not upset by it.

Confused? Yes.

A little turned on by his dominance? Without a doubt.

But I also have to admit that I’ve done little with what I’ve brought into this condo. I’ve just been coasting by while Mom travels and the rest of my family works. I keep busy with work and school and the few friends I have, but this isn’t a place I’d miss if I were to move.

Not really.

And If I’m honest with myself, this place feels like a hotel. Pretty yet missing that lived-in feel that brings comfort.

I knew that coming in, so it’s not a shocker to me, and it’s one of the reasons I’ve been living out of my suitcase, just taking out what I need at any given time. Instead of filling the empty drawers or closet shelves, I re-stuff what I’m done using back into my luggage or a box.

Only my work clothes are hung and I consider that done out of a necessary practicality.

“I’ll help you with the rest,” Micah says, pulling me away from my thoughts. It’s almost as if reality slips into my consciousness with the weight of a battering ram, forcing me to realize that he’s taking me away from here. That I didn’t stop anyone from touching my belongings or that I’m not questioning his motives.

Instead, I flick my eyes to him and take in the way his muscles flex as he moves past me and picks up my hamper, tucking in my lavender-colored tights that are close to falling out. Then, there’s the way his fingers touch the matching sports bra and a nearly see-through tank I wear to bed sometimes. The pads skim over each item, quickly and without any expression on his face, but to me, it’s a contact I feel from the tips of my toes to my now hard nipples.

Yet it’s when he walks to the dresser and reaches for the bag from a boutique I discovered by chance on Biscayne Blvd. that I react. I’m over to him in a second and slapping his hand away, blushing at the fact he almost fingered the small bits of lace and mesh and satin that I feel sexy in.

“Sorry…” my cheeks feel as though they are on fire “…I’ll get these myself.”

“You have five minutes to do so.” Voice deeper. A bit rougher, and when I meet his eyes again there’s something in them I’ve never seen before. It flares and dominates the pupils, expanding them until very little of the blue irises I love is left. “Don’t keep me waiting, rebel. I’ll be right outside.”

A warning. A hidden threat to come back and pack me himself, and knowing that my cheeks are heated—the blush feels as though it’s traveling from my face to neck and lower—all I can manage is a nod.

Which seems to be enough because without another word he steps out of the room and a whooshing breath leaves me. Everything is happening so fast. Unpredictable.

Did something happen that I’m not aware of?

And while a normal person would run after him and demand an explanation, I begin to pack up the little bit that’s still here. My underwear, a handful of clothes, and my journal that’s been sitting on the bedside table since the morning after my last entry.

My guess is I brought it with me before falling into the bed.

It takes minutes for me to wrap it up and exit, nearly bumping into Micah who’s leaning against the opposite wall. He doesn’t say anything, but his expression is pleased. More so when I let him lead me out the front door and straight toward the elevator while two locksmiths change the old deadbolt to a modern number combination system.

Chapter13

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