Page 40 of Forbidden Mistress

Chapter 16

His Lair

I brush past him into a huge foyer. It looks like the lobby of a hotel, with a short hallway that opens up into a rotunda. There’s a round granite table in the center of the space with a huge glass vase of freshly cut long stem lilies on top. Just beyond the table is an entryway leading into the living room—and beyond that, a large window overlooking the ocean. It’s unreal. It’s crazy that people actually live like this.

He shuts the door, and I turn to face him. “You haven’t texted me in days.”

The second the words leave my mouth, I wish I could reel them back in. They make me sound desperate, like spurned high school desperate, like I’ve been staring at my phone, waiting for him to text me. Truthfully, that’s exactly what happened, but he doesn’t need to know that. I push out a breath. Whatever. So he knows I’ve been waiting—who cares? It was a dick move to leave me hanging for days.

He shoves his other hand in his pocket. “I thought we could both use some distance.”

I cross my arms over my chest. “I never said I needed that.”

He glances down at the ground and shakes his head. “I needed it,” he says firmly.

My heart sinks. “Oh.” I shrug. “Okay, well, I guess that’s it then. You could have let me know.”

That gets a response out of him. “No.” He steps forward, so close to me that I think he might kiss me if he didn’t have the full face mask on. “That’s not it. I needed time to think, Cassandra. To get some things straight in my head.”

When I inhale, the scent of him engulfs me, and I fight the urge to sink against his chest. I frown and prod gently. “What things?”

“Now isn’t a good time,” he answers.

Before I can even reply, I hear a screech. A familiar screech. To my left is a set of double doors leading to what looks like the kitchen. In the middle of the doorway is a young woman, same height and build as me, but with short blond hair slicked back from her face. She’s all too familiar, though I’ve never seen her face until now: Willow. The second I see her, my heart seizes in my chest.

“Oh, hell, no.” Willow folds her arms tightly across her chest. “What is she doing here?”

She’s not wearing a mask, and she’s wearing regular clothes—a graphic T-shirt, patterned leggings, and socks, but no shoes. Did she spend the night here? Is she the reason he hasn’t been texting me? Is she the reason this isn’t a good time to talk?

I try really hard to keep my composure, but I’m sure everything I’m feeling is written all over my face. Lori has always said I’m an open book, incapable of hiding my true feelings. But I have to remind myself that Hart isn’t mine. We fucked twice. And as shitty as this whole situation is, it’s my fault for allowing myself to get attached.

“Willow,” Hart warns in that deep, commanding Dom voice. “You will wait for me in the kitchen.”

She snaps her mouth shut and glares at me. Honestly, can I blame her? Given the situation, I’d hate me too, probably.

“It looks like you have a lot to deal with.” I spin on my heel. “I should leave.”

But he stops me, wrapping his large hand around my elbow. He’s wound so tight, I can see the tension in his shoulders, and biceps. They bulge as he tugs me against him.

“You aren’t leaving,” he says through gritted teeth.

I swallow, looking up into his eyes. “You said you needed space…” I glance over his shoulder toward the kitchen. “...and now I see why. I’m giving you that space.”

He shakes his head slowly. “You’re trapped in the stag’s lair now, Fawn. You came to me, and now you have to see this through.”

I open my mouth to argue, but he tightens his grip and hauls me into a doorway to the left, opposite the kitchen, down a short hallway and into a bedroom.

“Wait here,” he bites out, snapping the door shut.

I stand in the middle of the room and wonder what the fuck just happened. I’ve been shoved aside so he can speak with Willow, and that has stinging jealousy slithering through me. She’s obviously more important. Otherwise, why is she here, obviously settled enough to take off her shoes, while I’ve been waiting for his call for two days? His priorities are clear.

God, I feel like an idiot. Here I am, chasing yet another guy. A guy that isn’t even free for me to chase. I press my cool hands to my hot cheeks, heart thumping, wondering what I should do. Leave the penthouse? Cut things off with Hart permanently?

Sure, the money has been a godsend, but it’s not worth all this drama. Over the past week, I’ve barely had time to concentrate on anything else.

No, no. Better to do this head-on. When he comes back, we’ll talk, so I’m not ghosting him, like he ghosted me. Then, I’ll go on my merry way.

Just the thought sends a sharp pain through my chest. I’ll probably cry for a week straight. But at least I’ll have closure. That’s…something.

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