Page 95 of Brutal Savage

I can’t seem to catch my breath from my soft cries.

He got me poppies.

Somehow, before I woke up, he managed to get them and made sure I saw them first thing in the morning.

What is he trying to do to me? I want to run and find him, to throw my arms around him and thank him. Because this was really sweet.

Brushing my tears away, I head for the door, and it’s then I notice my luggage in the far corner of the room.

He made sure my things were here for me too, just as he promised.

I move toward his closet, opening the door to find a large walk-in space. My hand falls across my chest when I notice that all my clothes have already been hung, with my shoes neatly lined up on one side, not that I have that many. I didn’t want too much to run with.

I don’t have as many clothes as he does either. Suits and pants and t-shirts are organized by color.

How in the world did he get all this in here without waking me? Were his men in the bedroom while we slept?

I don’t like that. I need to ask him about it. But first, I really want to thank him for the flowers.

Rummaging for an outfit, I settle on a pair of black dress pants and a baby-blue blouse. Putting on a light touch of makeup and running my fingers through my hair, I’m finally ready. Heading down the stairs, I hear Ruby.

“Come on, Bubbles. Be a good girl and drop my apron.”

I stifle a laugh just as I make it the last step, and from my right, I see him strutting over to me.

“How’d you sleep?”

When we lock eyes, my heart gives a little leap. And all these thoughts instantly rush into my head. Remembering the way he held me last night, how good it felt.

Yet I can’t forget why I’m here to begin with.

Because no matter how sweet his gestures have been, he still kidnapped me. He still forced me to marry him. How do I forget that?

I refuse to let him think I’ll fall in line and pretend this is okay.

No matter how good it feels when he’s touching me.

“I slept like shit. Your mattress is terrible.”

A lie. A complete and utter lie. The mattress was heavenly. I wish I could go back and sleep on it some more.

“I’m sorry about that.” His jaw tenses.

“It’s fine.” Clearing my throat, I push my hair back with a finger, moving the strands away from my eye. “Thanks for the flowers. They’re beautiful.”

“It’s not a problem. I know your mother felt like home. I wanted to bring a piece of her here to you. So that maybe one day this house can feel like a home too.”

“Tynan…” Emotions well in my chest.

I can’t handle him being this nice to me. I want him to be what I would expect from someone in the Mafia: someone cruel and heartless.

But Tynan Quinn? He’s shattering every perceived notion I held about him.

I shove down the emotions stitching up my throat. “Thank you for having all my clothing when I woke up too. But, uh…” My face flushes.

“What is it?” He cups my cheek.

I instantly close my eyes, and somewhere inside me, I want to believe that this—whatever this is—could be something real.

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