Page 56 of In Doubt
“It really wasn’t a bark,” I say. Is that what it is? It’s been on my mind. Bothering me the whole night long. I don’t want her to think I’m like that. Usually I couldn’t give a rat’s arse what Giorgie Martinelli thinks of me as long as she stays out of my way. But now… now I don’t want her to hate me anymore. I don’t want her to think badly of me. And I really want to keep kissing her. “I got irritated and snapped at you. If it came out sounding like a bark, then I’m sorry. I would never do that to you. And I didn’t mean to upset you. I wouldn’t ever want to hurt you.”
“Really?” she asks, with a slight smile on her lips and a twitch of her eyebrow, her arms falling away from my neck to hang by her sides. “Because we spend most of our time going out of our way to be shitty to each other.”
“Not always,” I say thinking of the moan I just forced from her throat. I smile back, mesmerised by the curl of her lips, drunk on her scent. “But anyway it’s lighthearted. A bit of competitive banter.”
“Not always, Jake.”
I bow my head. “No, not always. I don’t want to fight with you anymore, Giorgie?”
Her fingers raise as if she’s going to touch me again. Then they fall away. “Why?” she asks.
I open my mouth, try to find the words to describe all the turbulent feelings crashing through me. But I can’t even get a handle on them myself, let alone explain them to her.
Why don’t I want to fight?
Because it hurts. Hurts every time she says something dismissive or cruel, when she underestimates me or makes assumptions about me. I’m not the man she thinks I am. But somehow I’ve never been able to make her see that.
“I would never intentionally hurt you,” I whisper.
She peers deep into my eyes as if trying to read my very soul. “Wouldn’t you?” she says quietly, and her voice sounds so broken the need to gather her into my arms and hold her close is almost overwhelming. “Because someone else, someone who reminds me of you, said that to me once,” she looks away to the doors that lead to the pool, “and then he did.”
I almost bend, double over, the force of her words punching me right in the gut.
Fuck!
Why had I never seen this? It’s obvious. Her preconceived ideas about me, her weariness, her fear.
Someone hurt her.
I want to demand who. I want to take her by the shoulders and shake that name from her mouth. I want to find the piece of scum and rip his heart from his chest and stamp on it until it’s nothing but dust on the ground.
But the desire drains from her eyes and it’s as if she’s somewhere else. Her brows crease in discomfort and I know she’s revisiting some memory.
I take a step back. “Giorgie?” I prompt. “Whatever–”
She snaps her face back my way, a smile forms on her lips but her eyes are dulled.
“I really need the loo,” she chirps, bending down to retrieve her towel.
I want to press her more but she’s already turning away, walking in the direction of the bathroom.
I stand there, catching my breath. Unable to understand what the hell is happening to me. My heart hammers in my chest, every alpha fibre in my body yelling at me to fix this for her, to make this right, to protect her, care for her, make her mine.
I stumble backwards.
What the actual fuck?
If all this is is sexual attraction, lust, passion, desire, why the hell do I feel this way?
I force myself to pick up my feet and storm through the villa to the shelter of the palm trees around the back. It’s silent and empty. No one else about. I lean against a tree trunk and breathe.
She’s always been such a firecracker. Spitting sparks and bright as sunlight. She’s enthusiastic to a sickening degree, and, other than when she’s talking to me, cheerful as a bird at dawn.
Yet underneath all that …
And why has that stirred me up like this? Why has that piece of information stoked the alpha within me?
I’m not some stupid dude, ruled by his cock and his temper. Not since I found my pack. Not since I found my brothers and my place. They’ve helped me to become the man I am: rational, intellectual, considered.
