our gazes slid away, uncomfortable with the closeness.
“Well, I’d better get going.”
He gestured at the copies I’d given him. “Yes, I have to deal with these.” He came around the desk and gave me a brief, one-armed hug, and awkwardly patted my back. “Be careful. No more dealing with criminals, okay?”
I smiled and said nothing as I walked out of his office.
Sally gave me another hug for the road and pushed a couple of peppermint candies in my hand before I left.
Chapter 33
Now for the part I’d been putting off. The part that made my hands shake and my chest hurt. It was time to visit Sullivan.
I could either wait for him and his menacing minions to find me, or I could come from a place of power and go to him. One might argue that going to him was coming from a place of sheer stupidity, a fly dive-bombing a spider’s web, but I felt more comfortable with initiative than I did with inertia.
As I drove out of Huntingford and got on the highway, my sweaty hands gripping the steering wheel, I began to feel the enormity of my actions. My dad was right, what had I been thinking? Sullivan must be livid I’d taken those files. No one screwed him over. He told me that. Breaking into his home, not to mention smashing his fancy bowl, attacking two of his employees, invading his private space, stealing personal files. Had to be a worse than owing him money.
Maybe it would be better to just keep driving and not stop until I got a safe distance away. About two thousand miles might do it. But then Sullivan might come after my family, like he did with Axton. Maybe I could offer up my mother. I smiled at the thought of my imperious mother snapping at Henry that he’d tied the rope binding her hands wrong, and that he should do it properly or not at all. But then I quickly sobered and thought of my sister and little Scotty. No, I had to finish this.
I was so lost in thought I almost missed my exit and had to make a hasty lane change to get off the highway. I drove up to Sullivan’s beautiful stone house with my heart beating twice as fast as normal. I turned in the circular drive and parked the car. Henry was out of the house and stalking toward me before I even had time to open the car door.
I managed to grab my bag before he jerked me out of the driver’s seat and frisked me, patting me down from head to toe. His enormous hands impersonally brushed over my breasts and ass, sliding between my legs.
“Watch it.”
“Don’t flatter yourself.” He unzipped my purse and rummaged around, taking my keys and pocketing them, before shoving it back at me. He grabbed me by my arm and yanked me toward the house. “I wouldn’t want to be you right now.”
Henry and I had something in common. I didn’t want to be me right now either.
He led me through the house, down the hall, and straight to the pseudo library. Henry gave a perfunctory knock on the door before opening it and thrusting me inside. I felt like I had just been thrown into a cage with a very hungry lion.
Sullivan stood in front of the window, his back to me. With the sun washing over him, I could see the blue highlights in his black hair. He wore a navy cashmere sweater and dark slacks, his hands shoved in the pockets. Slowly he turned toward me, his posture deceptively relaxed. His eyes told a different story.
“Rose.” His voice was soft. “Have a seat.” He gestured with one hand toward the chair in front of his desk.
If he had been screaming or ranting or showing some kind of emotion, I think I wouldn’t have been so afraid. The quiet reasonable tone masking his fury made my knees quake, but I wasn’t going to let him see that. He’d eat me alive.
I threw back my shoulders and stalked toward the chair, throwing him a haughty look before sitting down.
He slid into his seat behind the desk, and with his hands flat on the desktop, studied me in silence. I stared back with my best bored look. The one I used as a teenager when my mother would chastise me for using the salad fork instead of the dinner fork. I knew which fork to use, but when she insisted on serving salmon, I insisted on using the wrong fork.
“You stole from me, Rosalyn Strickland. And that is not acceptable.” His voice dripped ice, but the volume didn’t change.
“You and I have different definitions of unacceptable. And I did what I had to do to protect the people I care about.”
He stared at me with those angry gold eyes and said nothing. He was waiting me out. He could wait all day. I kept my mouth shut and thought about my homework assignments, my meager grocery list, and the fact I needed an oil change. It had been over ten thousand miles. Way over.
It took a solid fifteen minutes before he got up from the desk and stalked toward me. Grabbing my arms, he hauled me up, his hands warm, even through the long sleeves of my sweatshirt.
My breath came in shallow gasps. We stood three inches apart. That spicy orangey scent tickled my senses. I probably smelled like fear and peppermint candy. I hope he didn’t notice.
“I want what you stole from me,” he said. It came out more like a snarl and he shook me a little for emphasis.
I casually tilted my head. “Why didn’t you just say so?”
“Do you have them with you?” He was so close that if I puckered my lips, they’d touch his.
“Maybe,” I whispered. I may have swayed a bit.
He didn’t let me go immediately, but kept his hands on my arms while he stared at my mouth. I parted my lips and held my breath in anticipation of whether he would move that half an inch, touch his lips to mine, or pull back.
He pulled back.
I exhaled.
“Give them to me,” he said.
When he released me, I sank down in the chair. He, however, didn’t go back behind the desk, but instead leaned against it, his leg brushing mine. Boldly, I crossed one leg over the other, bringing my calf to rest against his and raised an eyebrow.
He left his leg where it was and crossed his arms over his chest, to show that touching me didn’t bother him. I leaned back and smiled, showing him that I wasn’t bothered by his not being bothered.
He held out his hand. “Now.”
I wagged my finger. “Not so fast.”
His expression shuttered and his nostrils flared slightly. Seeing him lose his shit was a bit satisfying. A lot scary, but a little satisfying.
He scooped up my purse and pawed through it. I didn’t like it. I had tampons rolling around in there. But still I didn’t protest. I knew it wouldn’t do any good.
He threw the bag to the floor. “I’m tired of playing games.”
“I am, too, actually. Why did you let me go last night?” I had been wondering about it and it still confused me. I’d told him I had access to the hard drive, but still, he’d made no move to detain me.
“I don’t know,” he ground out. He glanced back at me, his jaw clenched. “And you broke my antique porcelain bowl.”
“Well you could have broken Axton.”
“Yes, but the antique bowl had value.”
I kicked the side of his leg with my foot. “That’s not even funny.”
“Do you see me laughing? I want what you stole from me.”
“I have the items I borrowed—”
