Page 10 of Tice's Kind of Trouble
Beyond the patio is the sparkling pool, an elaborate lounge area, and an outdoor kitchen.
His scruff brushes against my neck, then his mouth opens against the ticklish spot there.
“I want to find you out there resting by our pool when I’m finished.”
Despite the first inclination to argue, I know there’s no hope.
Tice looks like the kind of man who gets his way.
He strides off, his boots pounding on the black tile floor. A few seconds later, he’s relaying my address—the one I didn’t give him—to someone at the local police department.
SEVEN
Tice
The call is over quickly, but as I look out the window, searching for Bethany, I’m filled with unease.
She’s safe. There are no threats on my property. I’ve got world class alarms. One would have alerted if anything was wrong.
A strange sensation fills my head, a dreamlike quality.Bethany is at my place.Mine to protect.
But...
To soothe the obsessive asshole in me, I hit the space bar on the keyboard, waking up the computer beneath the desk.
Every inch of the property is monitored. Call me paranoid. It’s from years of the work I’ve done.
The wife I’ll marry will be safe.At all times.
After scrolling through the feeds, I find the one I want.
There she is.
Her small form is curled on the oversized lounge chair by the pool, her hands tucked below her cheek.
Something in my chest clenches. It’s an unfamiliar sensation. I’m not sure if it’s a good feeling... maybe it’s too much. Which aligns with the unnatural nature of the possessiveness I’ve been having for Bethany for months.
Tapping on the plus sign on the screen, I zoom in.
Her beautiful gaze is staring off, her lower lip pinched between her teeth.Worried.
A kick of adrenaline hits me. This shit with her break-in needs to be wrappednow. Whoever destroyed her lock and violated her privacy—while she was in the house—will pay.
Fuck.A blistering rage makes my fists tighten, bunching into corded knots on the desk.
If I have my way, Bethany will never be worried about anything again.
Now I need to make that happen.
Grabbing my phone, I text a couple of longtime contacts, filling them in. But I can’t stop staring at the monitor.
Giving myself a shake, I dial Kane. The man is going to be livid—I stole his sister right out from under his nose.
Before he answers, I’m already preparing for the yelling, holding the phone away from my ear.
“Where is she?”
Yelling, just as I expected.
