Page 22 of Not Mine to Keep

“It’s the truth.” He stepped closer, sending me back to the door, and his eyes briefly cut to my mouth. “And I don’t need the money, so no, he didn’t buy me off.”

“But you have your reasons to be here, whether it’s because Armani sent you or not.” I lifted my chin in challenge. “It has to be more than a favor. If you’re going behind Armani’s back with Gabriel, what does Gabriel get out of this? What do you?”

His nostrils flared as he stared down at me, jaw locking tight, as if he were ready to go ahead and take me over his shoulder and end the conversation now.

“When your father’s dead and you officially take over, you’ll turn the organization over to Gabriel. With your blessing, no one will protest the transfer of power. And no one will view you as a threat since you willingly gave up the throne and the life. You’ll be free of him. Of all of them.” He took a step back, affording us both a chance to breathe. “I don’t love the plan, but Gabriel’s the lesser of the two evils, and you won’t be wedded to a psychopath and will be safe. And I ...”

“You what?”

“My debt will be paid back.” His casual tone both reassured and frustrated me. He also didn’t seem like the type to bend to another man’s will, but he was still working with Gabriel.

Unsure how to respond, I pointed out, “You got blood on my floor.” I studied his lethal and muscular frame, and he followed my eyes to his jeaned legs.

“Just a flesh wound.”

Frowning at his dismissive attitude over his health, I knelt before him. Unsure what possessed me to feel the need to take care of a man who was still technically a question mark, I lifted the pant leg to see whether he was bullshitting me on the injury. “Doubtful you need stitches,” I said decisively, “but let’s get the wound cleaned up anyway.”

He stared at me, as if equally surprised I was on my knees before him after accusing him of working for Armani.

I know, I know. I’m giving myself whiplash.But it’d been a wild twelve hours, so anything went at this point.

“You’re taking all of this much better than I anticipated after—”

“Watching you kill three people?” I let go of the pant leg, and he offered me his palm to stand.

The gentleman killer?“If I believe everything you’ve said to me,” I began, letting him know he wasn’t off the hook yet, “I suppose there are some reasons that killing is justified.” Once on my feet, I slipped my hand free from his big one, hating the little jolt ofsomethingI felt at him touching me. “But I guess I owe you for saving my life.”

“If it wasn’t some charade staged by Armani, you mean?”

“Right.” I nodded, remembering I still owed him gratitude for something else. “And, um, thank you for the hair-holding last nightifthat wasn’t part of the act to win me over.” I turned to the side, setting my attention on the hallway. The only shower was in the primary bathroom upstairs.

At the feel of his hand wrapping around my forearm, I went still. “You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you, Callio—”

“Callie,” I cut him off, facing him. “You can call me that, I suppose.”

He kept his eyes on me for a bit before surrendering with a nod of agreement.

“Let’s get you cleaned up. Come on.”

“Not sure whether you’re offering to wash the blood from my body and clean my wound, but I assure you, it’s not my first rodeo. I can manage just fine.”

I couldn’t believe it, but my lips nearly betrayed me by smiling. “Now that’s a word I never thought I’d hear a city boy say.Rodeo.”

He finally unhanded me and picked up his suitcase. No brand name in sight on it, and I’d expected something as expensive as yesterday’s suit. “Where’s the shower?”

“In my bedroom, where you clearly were last night since you went through my things to locate my firearms.”

He ignored my words, and in a husky tone remarked, “You can’t be alone while I’m showering. You’ll stay in your bedroom and lock the door while I’m cleaning up. Understood?”

“Again with the bossiness.” And yet, I was semiflustered at his commanding tone, those sharp eyes on me, not to mention the straight-up orders that kept falling from his lips. Frustrated by my odd reaction to him, I started down the hall to get to the stairs, but his hand on my hip stopped me in place. And what a place to stop—right next to the quote by Dolly Parton I’d had framed: “We cannot direct the wind, but we can adjust the sails.”

“Do I need to remind you I’m wearing blood from the men who tried to kill you?” he murmured from behind, still holding my waist like I was already his wife. “Bossy is to keep you safe. You’ll need to deal with it.” His deep voice slid under my skin, and I wanted to rebel, but something told me I’d be wasting my breath.

Pulling my focus away from the framed quote, I then shifted free from his touch and fast-walked to the stairs and darted up them. Once in my bedroom, he set his suitcase by the door and looked around, acting as though it was his first time seeing my room.

It wasn’t all that impressive. A queen-size bed with a fluffy white comforter I’d snagged from a Bed Bath & Beyond store-closing sale. Throw pillows from Hobby Lobby (my guilty pleasure store). One antique nightstand Imani had helped me fix up that now matched my dresser. Then there was the vintage floor lamp my best friend, Nala—a music teacher at my school—had gifted me. Aside from that, there was my favorite spot, a sitting nook by the window where I’d wasted a year trying to write songs with no luck. Armani had killed the creativity in me. I now had writer’s block. Thankfully, he hadn’t strangled the voice from me, and I could still sing.

“So, um, when will Gabriel call you back?” I did my best to come across as more sweet than sour that time. Sidestepping him, I was even a “good girl” and followed his orders, shutting and locking the door behind us.

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