Page 76 of Sapphires and Secrets (Harlow)

The helpful lady spilled her answer, one that sent a sick feeling through his gut. He turned to Emilia, and she drew back, her shaking hand pressed to her lips as though she’d read his concern.

He gulped some air and cleared his mind, reminding himself that a person waited for him to speak. “Yes, those FBI guys never keep us in the loop. Thank you for the update, Ms. Rivers. I’ll call the office line from now on.”

He hung up and whirled around to face Emilia, his chest pulling tight. “You shouldn’t be in that cottage alone.”

“Why? What happened? Is my dad okay?” She kept drawing back, her hand still over her mouth and muffling her voice, her eyes glistening with fear.

“He’s fine, but the FBI took his phone, and someone’s been tracing his calls.”

“Oh no.” She shook her head, slow and disbelieving.

He caught up to her and held on to her arm, keeping her from going too far, imploring her to hear him out. “Listen, this is some serious stuff, Emilia. You need to leave that cottage. It’s not safe.”

She shook her head again, faster, more insistent. “Anthony has taken so much from me already.”

But even as she spoke, her face lost color.

“And he could take your life next. Please, you have me now. Stay here with me.”

“No.” She hugged herself. “I’ve made enough sacrifices. I’ve worked too hard for what little I have. I can’t. I just can’t.”

“Jesus Christ, Emilia. I know this is a lot to get your head around—”

“Ten years, Blaine. Ten years. And I never had my own space. I never had any kind of peace or escape. I want a decent night’s sleep, for once. I want to live without fear.”

“You’d get that staying right here with me.” He let go of her and scrubbed a hand over his face, stifling the irrational need to shake her until she understood just how unreasonable she was being. “Hell, you can have the spare room and all the space you want. I’m at work most of the day. You’ll have plenty of peace, and at least I have proper deadbolts on my doors, unlike the cottage.”

“You’re not listening. The cottage is my one piece of independence. Moving in with you, it’s too soon, and it wouldn’t be the same.”

A mixture of hot anger and insult coursed through his bloodstream, and even as it did, he felt like the world’s biggest tyrant. He’d offered her a generous alternative, yet she countered with unbending refusal and rejection. And still, he understood why. Why the cottage was so important to her. And still, he couldn’t let her need for solitude take over the necessity to keep her safe.

“Hate me if you want. You’re not going home.” He stalked forward, resolute, heat building in his chest. “I’ll lock my doors and keep you captive here if I have to. You’re staying. At least until Anthony is found.”

She jutted her jaw forward. “It’s bad enough I’m forced to remain hidden, to conduct any work I might want to do in private. I won’t add giving up the cottage to the list.”

“Is that so?” He stormed across the room and snatched the keys from the hook beside the back door.

“What are you doing?”

He twisted the key in the lock. “Exactly what I said I would do.”

He crossed the kitchen in the opposite direction, striding through to the living room and the front door.

Her voice called after him, hurried footsteps not far behind. “I’ll climb out a window if I have to.”

“Try it.” He twisted the key, almost colliding with her as he turned around. A frustrated growl broke from his throat, but he used her close proximity to stare her down. “You have two choices here. Accept my offer and take the spare room, or keep acting like a spoilt rich girl, and I’ll be more than happy to tie you down in my bed beside me tonight.”

Her lips parted, but she didn’t speak. In fact, an eerie sort of stillness washed over her, followed by a red blush creeping up her neck and through to her cheeks. Then again, even his own body stirred at the racier side of what he’d just threatened.

“I didn’t tell you about Anthony so you could hold me against my will.” The soft glisten returned to her eyes, her voice weak, hollow, and raspy.

Still, he too could play stubborn. “What’ll it be, Emilia? Your bed or mine?”

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