Page 62 of Always Been Mine

“He’s a divorce lawyer.”

Hell, no.

“I am not about to sit in a car with an overpriced camera,” Gabe pushed through gritted teeth, “just so I can spy on unfaithful spouses.”

“I’m telling you, Gabe, that market is red hot in DC.” Beatrice walked up to him and pressed her body against his. “Think about all the perverted politicians you’re going to take down.”

“You’re joking, right?” She better be. Otherwise, she didn’t know him at all.

She grinned. “It was worth a shot.”

She tried to pull away from him, but he tightened his arms around her. “You need to trust I’ll find something that you’re going to be comfortable with. I’m not saying it’ll have no level of danger. I’m not saying my whereabouts might be secret. All I’m saying is, I’ll always come back to you.”

“You can’t promise that, Gabe,” she whispered.

“Yeah, I can. I did this last time. Took me three fuckingyears, but I held on to the promise of you, Beatrice. The difference is, I’m not putting you through that unknown again.”

“I’m wondering, what if I had been married or with someone else?”

His grip tightened. Beatrice yelped, so he eased up. The thought of her with someone else was triggering a dark part in him. “I’d kill him.”

Beatrice laughed nervously. “No, really, what would you have done?”

His eyes must have changed because she frowned at him. “Gabe?”

No. It’s Dmitry.

He pulled her close and whispered the warning in her ear. “I will kill to have you.”

Gabe released her before he frightened her more. He backed away from the room, holding her eyes. “I’ll wait for you in the living room.”

What the hell just happened?

Goose bumps ran down her back. That was not Gabriel Sullivan. That was not the Gabe she knew. That voice was menacing. Her hands were suddenly clammy, and they were shaking when she folded some clothes into her suitcase.

I will kill to have you.

Why didn’t that sound like an empty threat? It certainly didn’t sound like mere alpha-male, chest-thumping posturing.

It was a warning issued with conviction.

Beatrice spied her wine by the nightstand and took a heavy sip. In fact, she drained it. Yet, she didn’t want to flee or retreat from him. Behind his dark gimlet eyes was a storm pulling her into its center. There was a yearning for her to be his anchor. His sanctuary?

She finished packing and rolled the suitcase to the living room. Gabe was sitting on the couch, bent forward, elbows on knees, hands linked.

He looked up, and Beatrice flinched. His face was hard, harsh even.

“Don’t,” he rasped, standing up. “I will never hurt you.”

“I know you won’t,” Beatrice replied levelly.

“You look frightened.”

“Frightened, no. Seeing this side of you, though, is unnerving.”

Gabe gave a short bark of mirthless laughter. “I don’t have a split personality, Beatrice.”

“I know you don’t.”

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