Page 9 of Braving the Storm
“Are you going to at least answer me?” I place my plate down and fold my arms over my chest. If I remain standing, I feel like I’ve got some tenuous thread of power in this conversation.
Stôrmand Lane is damn imposing.
He dwarfs this little breakfast nook and yet somehow looks perfectly suited to where he’s seated all the same.
It’s confusing. Perplexing. I don’t like it.
Nor do I like how my skin prickles beneath the surface when I’m this close to him. As I stand here, my eyes have absolutely no business continuing to trace over the tattoos lining his forearms and hands. The veins and corded muscles revealed by his shirt rolled to his elbows are far too alluring for my health.
Yet my gaze flickers to the ink adorning his right knuckles. Letters that spellS.T.O.R.M.span across each individual digit from little finger to thumb.
“My niece wants to know why I’m here?” he says through a mouthful. Mocking me again.
“Yes.” I shift my weight.
“This is my house, darlin’… my home.” He leans back in his chair and studies me with fierce, ice-cold eyes as he washes his food down with a slurp of coffee.
“So, the real question I’m needing to hear your excuse for, is why the hellyouare trespassing here.”
Chapter 4
“Trespassing?”
Her voice comes out high-pitched.
My niece’s eyes go wide. Lips parting in a way that makes my jaw tighten, because it’s impossible to look at her mouth and not think about other parts of her body. Forbidden parts that have that same dusky rose color that I should never have seen, and now I know.
I know what Briar Lane’s cunt looks like. I know how heavy and full her tits are beneath that thick sweater she’s wearing. I know too much about the girl sitting in my house, drinking my coffee, eating my food, talking at me like I don’t fucking belong here.
My back damn well aches after getting exactly zero sleep on the couch last night. My head pounds like a hammer on an anvil after finishing off that bottle of whiskey while sitting outside in my truck.
What in Christ’s name was I supposed to do?
I’d stayed out there, hid with only my depraved thoughts for company, until I figured she’d gone to bed and it was safe enough to come back inside.
God fucking dammit.
“You’re the one creeping around in the dark, accosting me in the bathroom.” She splutters, flush paints her cheeks.
“Says the girl, breaking and entering in the first place. Count yourself lucky I wasn’t in a worse mood.”
I’m not thinking about her naked and bent over in front of me. I am not.
“That wasn’t breaking and entering. I have a key.”
“Stealing the hide-a-key doesn’t equal permission to enter a man’s house.”
“Oh my god, you can’t be serious.” She sits down with a heavy exhale and rubs her temples. “This is my cabin. My property… or whatever the hell you call someplace like this. What part of that aren’t you understanding?”
“Sorry, but I think you’re mistaken.” I drawl. Taking another big sip of my coffee and pushing my now empty plate away, noting as I do so, she still hasn’t touched her food. “Been living here for ten years.”
Her eyes snap up to mine. “A decade? Then why… why did Dad leave me the deed to this property in his will?”
My gut twists. Fuck, Erik is such an asshole. Even in death he’s still interested in tipping gasoline all over my life, then lighting the match.
I shrug. Playing it off as nonchalantly as possible. “Beats me. But I can tell you right now, I ain’t moving. My life is here. My business.” I tap my finger against the wood surface, staring her down.
Briar looks like she’s about to crumble.
