Page 5 of Provoked

“That’s it? You’ll leave Montana?”

Didn’t I just say that? I jerk my chin in assent, wondering for the thousandth time what I did specifically to turn her against me. And why she looks both eager and disappointed right now.

“When are they coming?”

I check my phone for any updates, but there’s been nothing since this morning. “Should be any time now. If you’d give me your phone number, you’d know that.”

Ingrid rolls her eyes like the kid she basically is. “Uh-huh. No thanks.”

She disappears inside and I resume my seat on the top step. At least I know she’s here and safe. Aside from the cowboy Romeo, that is. I frown, adding a note to my phone to check up on him when I’m back in New York with access to my investigators. I could call one now, but then Ingrid would hear and there’d be more hell to pay.

A cold bottle of water appears over my right shoulder. “Here. You shouldn’t get dehydrated,” Ingrid says with a long sigh.

“Thanks.” I think that may be the first thing Ingrid has voluntarily given me since she declared me public enemy number one to her independence. I can feel her hesitating behind me. Like a wild animal, she’s unsure what to do with my back turned to her. I sigh and snap open the bottle cap. “Something the matter, Ingrid?”

Her slight weight shifts on the floorboards. “You haven’t yelled yet. What are you waiting for?”

At that, I twist to stare at her. She’s biting her lip, her eyes worried. “As you’ve pointed out many times, you’re an adult. One who isn’t interested in my opinions regarding her safety. Is there something you want to confess, little Ingrid? Do you want the absolution of my yelling at you?”

She gapes at me in shock, then licks her lips. Her arms reach up to clasp her elbows, pushing her perfect breasts higher and out. She’s too young and naïve to be flaunting her body like that. Someone will get the wrong message and back her into a corner she can’t escape from. I growl instinctively, even though I realize how unreasonable I’m being — even in my own head. Ingrid flushes scarlet and swiftly retreats.

Leaving Justin to act like a possessive gargoyle on the porch, I stomp up the stairs with the first of my suitcases silently fuming. Why can’t he ever see me as a grownup? Not once in the last three years since I graduated from college have I had to ask him for help — or money from my inheritance. Technically, I’m allowed to withdraw a generous yearly allowance until I take possession of the capital. But as my trustee, Justin controls the rules for receiving said allowance, and one of them is I have to live in New York. With him. Not happening.

It wouldn’t be so bad if he were just an ass. I still wouldn’t want to live with him, but it wouldn’t set my temper on fire. But he’s a genuinely good guy if you dig down under about twenty layers of ornery and another ten of built-up big city veneer. I’ve given up hope of ever seeing any more of the sweet guy drowning under all of that. He’s made it more than clear he doesn’t want that guy to even exist, let alone be seen.

I stare down from the window in the upstairs hallway that overlooks the front. From here, I can just make out the tips of his shoes. He didn’t follow me inside. I don’t know why that bothers me. If he had, I’d have told him to get out. Firmly. Is that why he didn’t?

Frowning, I head down the stairs to grab another suitcase. This one is heavy and while I can just about manage carrying it over a curb or something equally low, I hadn’t thought through how I was going to maneuver it upstairs. I’m doing that now. It’s not going well.

When the wheels catch and slide backward on the step above, the lower end bangs into my shin. The shout of pain and fear of being sent backwards down the stairs escapes before I can hold it back.

In an instant, Justin is behind me, wrapping one firm armaround my waist and restraining the aggressive suitcase with the other.

I close my eyes in pain — and possibly to avoid theI told you sothat I’m sure is telegraphing sharply from Justin’s eyes. Swiftly and before I can protest, he lifts me up and over his shoulder and carries both of us, me and the suitcase, up the stairs. He drops the luggage on the landing, readjusts my body, and carries me into the bathroom at the end of the hall.

Opening my eyes to assess the situation when he sets me down, I see his dark head bent over my leg. I’m seated on the vanity, feeling breathless from the way his warm hands are palpating my shin.

Justin finally raises his head. His dark green eyes are filled with worry, his gorgeous lips twisted into a frown. “You’re going to have a knot there for a week or so…”

I nod, too bemused to speak. “You need to keep an eye on it and see a doctor if it changes. Do you have a car here?”

I shake my head no. “I’m going to go car shopping on Saturday.”

Justin’s frown deepens, and I mentally mouth his next words as he speaks them. “I’m not leaving you alone without a vehicle like this, Ingrid.” Now if I were writing this script, he would have said darling and sealed his emphatic declaration with a passionate kiss. But… maybe that’s why I’m a jewelry designer instead of a romance novelist. I still like my version better, though.

Instead, I sigh and nod, suddenly tired from the trials of the day. I haven’t told Justin that I saw him on the plane yet. There doesn’t seem to be any point in poking that bear.

“Come on, I think you should stay off your feet for a bit. Which room is your bedroom?”

“The one to the right.” I point out the open door of the bathroom to the room adjacent. All three of the bedrooms (remade from the original six) are large, but that room faceseast, and I thought it would be lovely to wake up to the sunrise. If I change my mind, I can easily move to one of the others. The furniture is included in the rent and it’s all charming cottage stuff.

Justin slides one arm beneath my knees and picks me up, this time cradling me against his chest. Without another word he carries me the twenty feet into the next room and sets me down gently but without ceremony on the edge of the bed. Then he goes back to the hallway and retrieves the suitcase which he sets down adjacent to the one I managed successfully.

Five minutes later and all my luggage is upstairs. Justin has gone out to his car and retrieved his overnight case, which he carries into the room across the hall. The movers are still coming, right? I need to tell them where to put everything, although honestly I have no idea what’s on the truck. I’ve felt rudderless in terms of a home ever since my parents died. And even then, something was missing. When I went to live with Justin, I knew it was only temporary, so I treated that awful fluffy room like a guestroom. Justin himself gradually became an anchor, but not his cold, silent apartment.

“Do you even have any food here?” he asks brusquely, startling me from my daydreams.

“I don’t know. I think someone said something about putting some basics in the refrigerator, but I don’t know what that means or if it happened.”

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