Page 93 of By His Rule

“It looks like you’re standing somewhere you don’t belong.”

A smirk kicks up one side of his mouth, and it makes one of his dimples pop.

A sigh falls from my lips, and I tell myself it’s out of frustration, not how damn good-looking he is.

He tsks before letting his eyes drop down my body. I might be dressed, but the way his pupils dilate, I may as well be standing here naked.

“What do you want, Kian?” I snap, frustrated that he’s ruining my day.

Everything was going so well.

“We’re going out,” he states as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

Popping a hip, I rest my hand on my waist. “I’m sorry. We’re what?”

“Going out. You’re probably going to want to shower first though, right?”

My mouth opens and closes to say something, but no words emerge.

What the fuck is this asshole playing at?

“Come on, open up. We don’t have all day. Got places to be.”

I continue to stare at him in disbelief.

“Where is your key, Lorelei?” he snaps, his patience quickly disappearing.

My eyes drop to the fake plant that sits in a pot beside the front door, and he follows my gaze.

“You’re fucking kidding me. That’s where you keep your key? Are you asking to be robbed and attacked in the middle of the night?”

My brows jump. “N-no, that’s not?—”

“Never. And I mean fucking never, leave your key here again. Do you hear me?”

“I hear the words, Kian. But I am not listening to them. Who the hell do you think you are to tell me what to do with my own goddam key?”

He holds my eyes for a few seconds, the hardness of his expression letting me know exactly what he thinks of my statement before he spins around and plucks the key from beneath the pot.

My eyes catch on the “Callahan” that’s branded across his back, giving me little choice but to appreciate what he’s wearing.

The suit I’m used to is nowhere to be seen. Instead, he’s wearing a Chicago Chiefs jersey and a pair of what I can only assume are stupidly expensive jeans and sneakers.

I hate to admit it, but the casual look really suits him.

Without another word, he opens my front door, and after pressing his big palm against the small of my back, he physically pushes me inside, immediately closing us in.

“I have no idea what is going on here, but I have plans this afternoon, and they don’t involve you.”

“Cute,” Kian muses. “You have thirty minutes to get showered and dressed. Do not make us late.”

He takes a step forward, stupidly assuming that I’m going to follow his orders.

“You do not get to force your way in here and then start barking orders like I’m a dog, Kian Callahan.”

“Oh, and you need to wear this,” he says thrusting a carrier bag at me before disappearing into my living area.

“What the actual fuck, Callahan?” I seethe.

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