Page 108 of Receiving His Mercy
Yikes. She hoped that didn’t mean he was planning to permanently get rid of her mother. “Umm.”
To her surprise, he threw back his head and laughed. “I can see where your mind is going. Don’t worry, I’m not going to touch your mother.”
Okay. She guessed that was good.
“But I will do my best to make sure you forget her. And that you never go back to see her. Or give her any more of your time or your worry. Yeah?”
“All right.” She really had no desire to return to Albany and see her mother. And it was probably better for her mother if she didn’t either.
“That’s my girl,” he murmured. “Now, eat your breakfast.”
She stared down at the fried eggs, bacon, and hash browns. She wasn’t used to eating this much for breakfast, but suddenly, she found herself very hungry.
Satisfaction filledhim as he watched her eat.
God, she was gorgeous.
And his. She was all his.
This is what he’d been missing from his life. This was why he had felt a burning sense of being incomplete. Of not having enough purpose.
The universe had intended him to be this woman’s protector, her lover, her caretaker.
After they finished breakfast, she insisted on cleaning up, then turned to him, looking delightfully awkward.
“What . . . what now?”
“Well, I can think of one or two things we could do,” he murmured, stalking toward her.
She backed up, her eyes wide. But that wasn’t fear in her face, thank God.
Nope. Her mouth had dropped open and her breath was growing faster. She swallowed hastily as she banged into a wall. He placed one hand on her hip and the other on the wall beside her head.
“We haven’t talked about my . . . quirks.” He used the same word she had.
“Your quirks? What quirks?” she asked.
“Well, they aren’t so much quirks as they are needs.”
“Like yourneedto track me?” she asked.
“Yeah. That’s one of my quirks.”
Hmm. Yeah, she definitely wouldn’t call that a quirk. More like obsessive overprotectiveness. At least she guessed that was what it was and that he wasn’t just a psychotic control freak.
Okay, he could be a bit of the latter too.
“Why do you need to track me?” she asked.
“To make sure you’re safe. This is a compromise.”
“Oh, it is? How is it a compromise?” And she was frankly surprised that he knew that word.
“Because what I really want to do is lock you up to ensure nothing bad touches you. Or keep you with me. How do you feel about a collar and leash?”
“No!” she cried.
“Hmm. No? All right, tracker it is.”
