Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 125653 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 628(@200wpm)___ 503(@250wpm)___ 419(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125653 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 628(@200wpm)___ 503(@250wpm)___ 419(@300wpm)
Holy hell.
As if pinched, I jump out of his embrace and scramble to my feet. He eyes me cautiously, clearly expecting an argument. Or maybe it’s disappointment in his gaze. I’m too unhinged by the idea that I’ve been snuggling with him to figure it out. I’ve been on his damn lap, and it hadn’t felt weird or wrong; it had felt normal, right, good.
Seriously, what the great hell, Dee?
Macon peers up at me, one thick brow quirked as if to say, “You’re the one who made yourself comfortable all over my lap.” Yeah, I did. Why did I do that? I take a step back, and my butt rests against the balcony railing. I have to think about something other than how very good it felt to be in his arms. I have to put an end to all this soft, dangerous emotion. He’s my boss. I’m here because of Sam. And then I remember . . .
“Why didn’t you tell me about the stalkers?”
His good humor shatters like dropped glass, and he stares back at me, stone faced. “North?”
“That’s not an answer.”
His fingers flex, and I’ve a good idea he’s imagining wrapping them around North’s neck. “I meant, did North tell you?”
“Who cares who told me?” I stretch my arms wide in frustration. “You should have.”
“Why?” His chin lifts belligerently. “It was over and done by the time you arrived.”
“Is it? You mean to tell me they were caught and are now behind bars? That you have North as a bodyguard and are worried about me going out on my own because everything is just peachy?”
A curse snarls out of him, and he runs a hand over his face, the bristles of his burgeoning beard rasping against his palm. With an aggravated sigh, he sits back with the grace and arrogance of a king. “They’re not in jail. Yes, I am taking precautions, and that includes having you protected.”
A chill races down my spine. “Jesus, Macon! When you said you had security concerns, I thought you meant in a ‘let’s be extra cautious and vigilant’ way. Not that someone had actually stalked you!”
“Well, now you know.”
“Don’t you dare be blasé about this. You should have told me. Not North, you. It should have been you!”
“I know!”
I’m not sure who is more surprised at his admission. We blink at each other before his eyes narrow in that pugnacious way of his.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I grind out.
“Because I hate talking about it.” The tendons in his neck stick out as he turns his head and scowls into the growing night. “It makes what they did real.”
Shit.
“I hate what they did to you,” I say quietly.
His snort is both snide and doubtful. I forgive him for it because I’d be lashing out too.
“I do, Macon. It was wrong, horrible.”
The tense set of his shoulders eases a smidgeon.
“If it was me,” I go on, “I would be so angry. I’d want to . . . well, if I’m honest, I’d want to punch them in the face.”
Slowly, his gaze turns back to mine. Wry amusement lingers in his dark eyes. “You always were bloodthirsty.” He leans his head back against the chair. “Shit, Delilah. What can I say? It messed me up. I hate it. But I should have told you.”
“Did it ever occur to you that Sam might be in real trouble?” Fear bolts through me. Because she truly might. My breath comes short and fast.
But Macon snorts. “No,” he says as if it’s the most ridiculous idea on earth.
“No?” I lean toward him, my body humming with anger. “What if someone hurt her trying to get to you? That’s a possibility, you know. Don’t shake your damn head at me! She might have gotten in their way or—”
“Delilah,” he cuts in blandly. “You’re not living in a crime novel. Sam didn’t get carried off or hurt by my stalkers.”
“How do you know? Things happen, you patronizing ass—”
“She’s the one who told them where I’d be.” He stares back at me, unflinching, pissed off. “If anything, she ran when she found out what her loose tongue cost me.”
Rocking back on my heels, I struggle to understand his words. “She . . . wouldn’t. She’s not that low . . .”
“She is absolutely that low. The woman who ran me off the road confessed that she paid Sam a thousand dollars to get ahold of my schedule.”
Horror prickles over my skin, sears me from inside out. Macon lets me absorb it. I can’t look him in the eye. Whipping around, I clutch the rail and stare at the now inky sea. “Fucking bitch.”
The chair creaks behind me, the sound of Macon rising. He comes to stand beside me at the rail. “Not the exact words I used, but yeah.”
Now I understand. There was no way Macon would let Sam get away after that. The fact that he even considered my offer and didn’t pursue vengeance stuns me. I’d be out for blood.