Page 73 of Recurve Ridge

“Right? Then that mood changes. He goes from protective bear to… to…” I pressed my lips together and collected my thoughts. “To a sinuous fairy-tale beast in the next breath, royally capable of pissing me off. His emotions are a one-way door, and it’s infuriating. If I approach him, the fire goes out and he shuts off.” I sounded like a petulant child, but I didn’t care.

Alan comprised my safe zone. Even knowing he collected information like other people collected flowers or toys, his charm worked as well on me as it did on anyone else. In a house full of borderline psychotics at best and full-on sociopaths at worst—including at least one murderer, per Jon—I needed to trust someone.

Anything for the cause, right? I needed a clarity check on what heeding my cause came under. Beneath the healing process Robe had set me on, I knew more than one thing had changed about me. Not that any of that was his fault, exactly, but I still struggled with those deep-level alterations.

I also still struggled on occasion with having the freedoms I used to take for granted whisked away, but not half as much anymore. My newfound need for constant physical comfort to prevent the nightmares, relying on others for basic survival and life beyond simple needs like food and shelter for the first time in my life. The men of Recurve Ridge protected me, and I didn’t want to be without them. The cage I initially clawed against and whenever I fought against Robe’s need for control had become my refuge.

A pale reflection of the figure that should resemble me stared back as I struggled to reconcile with the girl who shared my skin. But my reflection no longer suited my shape or shared my name. She died sometime during my race through the forest before I found myself entangled in Robe’s arms. I adapted as best I could to circumstance, but I’d had enough of waiting and reacting.

Alan smiled. “Sweetcheeks, he’s so enamored with you that when you approach him, he runs like a six-year-old boy.”

I snorted, an unladylike sound, but the whiskey had sucked away my worry over decorum in this place. “Robe was never a six-year-old boy. He was born a full-grown man with six beards to choose from.”

“Cheers to that.” Alan clinked his glass against mine.

I pressed the alcoholic coffee against my lips, savoring the burn that sank down my throat. The sensation made my head swim and my eyes water at the same time. Spice and all things so, so nice, or something like that. “Alan, do I run from him? Do I try to hide? Or do I?—”

Alan raised an eyebrow. “Robe is more than you can ever imagine. He’s done things for all of us, helped us across that line we can’t cross back over. Not one of us would—not even for him. Can you hide from a man like that, Mari Merripen?”

His first use of my full name since the day I walked into Robe’s house hit me like a slap to the face. Despite the shock value he intended, I knew his words were truthful. Those same words also had an opposite, almost arousing effect. Robe had the resources to hunt me back to NYC and beyond. No matter where I went, I would always end up back on Recurve Ridge and back in his bed, even if I slept there alone.

The difference between him and Gideon lay in a moral choice. Robe wouldn’t use me. Still, I wanted to wallow, and so wallow, I did.

“I’m a prisoner.” I whispered the three words, wondering which truth Alan would throw at me next.

He paused. “If you choose to be.”

I nodded, drinking the rest of my coffee in silence. Did I want to be Robe’s prisoner or return to a different life? No matter which way we swung it, I had little choice in where I headed other than to go in the direction Robe pointed me.

Maybe I could make that happen on my own terms instead of on his.

An idea formed in my mind, aided by a cheeky bartender and the power of his wares. I pushed off the barstool and stood on unsteady legs. My feet pressed into ground that was spongy despite the fact that it looked as hard as it had been before, no matter which eye I closed. The floor wobbled, or maybe I did, and I grabbed at the bar for support.

Alan’s warm hands closed over mine. “Are you all right there, sweetcheeks?”

I looked up at him and gave him a dazzling smile. “Alan?” I asked in my sweetest, most alluring voice. His eyes narrowed, but he nodded once. “Can you teach me how to lap dance, please?”

I wished I asked weeks earlier. The smile that split his face with mischief and mayhem filled the room with a glow. I’d put my trust in the right man.

* * *

My legs achedby the time I perfected the moves Alan taught me. Myeverythingached. Muscles I didn’t know I had hurt, and it felt almost too goodafter days cooped up in a house in the middle of nowhere with nothing to dispel the energy that coiled inside me without Miller’s training.

My body awakened with the new activity, even if it was grinding away at an empty chair while the rest of the occupants were absent for… whatever they did. While I didn’t often stand under the shower for long, I opted to embrace the luxury of the endless hot water system Robe had provided and let the steam clear my head while the heat unwound tension from my body.

Could I seduce Robe? Alan seemed to think I’d healed enough to take on the mountainous—pun intended—task. Even I had a degree of confidence over my scheme, once the effects of the alcohol wore off. And the head of the household did his damnedest to create moments he designed to drive me mad and then walk away, time and again. If what I was planning worked out, I’d have a definitive answer one way or another.

My skin still steaming from my volcano-level hot shower, I wandered into Robe’s bedroom, patting myself down. His towels were massive—they had to be for someone his size. They were also fluffier than any I’d used in the executive hotels we booked when I traveled with Gideon.

My hand froze over my heart at the thought of my old boss.Ex-boss. Tormentor.

Nightmare.

I’d managed to keep the chaos at bay for the few scant days since my last nightmare through pure distraction.

Never be alone.

Never stop talking.

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