He went on to inspecting the contents of a minifridge. One of the hinges was missing. The door almost came off when he opened it. “Tell me about the bar.”
“What about the bar?”
Judging by the apples and butter in the fridge, it didn’t look like she ate well. He shut the door and turned back to face her. He kept the question nonchalant, but the need to know grew in him like a cancer. “Did the men touch you?”
She looked away. “No.”
“But they wanted to?” he asked, his anger not abated.
“Some.”
He’d fucking kill each one of them. God forbid he should ever run into any of them on the street. “Did they look at you?”
“I was too busy working to notice,” she said, glaring back at him.
That line of question wasn’t helping the self-control he needed. He’d found her. That was all that mattered. Forcing the image of another man’s eyes roaming over her body down with much difficulty, he asked, “Why didn’t you tell me about the firestarting?”
Her eyes flared. “Jeez, I don’t know, Joss. Maybe because if you knew you’d kill me?”
“Drop the sass, Cle. Why did your blood mask it? How did you do it?”
“I don’t know.”
He clenched his hands. “You fucking lied to me.”
“I didn’t know,” she exclaimed. “Not until it happened.”
He considered her answer for a moment, taking in her frail form on the bed. He believed her. “It doesn’t matter. You shouldn’t have run from me. I warned you about that.”
“So what?” She scoffed. “Now you get to punish me?”
She’d be afraid if she knew. Mockingly, he said, “Finders, keepers.”
She stiffened. “I don’t belong to you.”
He walked back to the bed and bent over her, placing his arms on either side of her body on the mattress. “That ache I bet you felt between your legs after fucking me says otherwise.”
She struck out, but he caught her wrist before her hand could connect with his cheek. “You hit me, and you’ll regret it.”
She yanked her arm from his hold. “It happened once. It doesn’t mean a thing.” Her voice shook. “It doesn’t count for anything.”
“Once or a hundred times, it doesn’t matter. I fucking came inside you. You can pretend all you want what we shared didn’t count, but it would never make it less real.”
“Whatever you think that was isn’t real.”
Like hell. “It’s fucking real.” He gripped her chin. “It’s staring at me right now. I came over a continent to find it.”
She jerked her face away. “Just kill me already or leave.”
He straightened, smiling down at her with all the coldness her betrayal ignited in his heart. “You don’t think it’s going to be that easy?”
The anger that glittered in her eyes shifted, letting in hatred. “What the hell do you want from me?”
“Get up.”
“Why?” she asked, the word sounding breathless with the fear she tried so bravely to hide.
“We’re leaving.”
“Where are you taking me?”
Making his voice hard, he said, “Now, Cle.”
She glanced at the door. “Is your team waiting outside?”
“They don’t know I’m here.” Well, they knew he was in South Africa, but not that he was with her.
Her lips parted before she clamped them together, probably deciding if she should believe him. After another beat, she asked, “Cain didn’t send you?”
“No one knows you’re alive.” Taking her wrist, he pulled her to the edge of the bed. “I suggest we get a move on. Lupien must be close on your tail.”
She sucked in a breath. “I’ve been careful.”
“I found you, didn’t I?”
Her face paled.
“Let’s go,” he said, dragging her to her feet.
She held back. “Not until you tell me where.”
“You lost that right when you bailed on me, little witch.”
“Wait.” She dug in her heels. “I came home from work only a few hours ago. At least let me have a shower.”
He glanced at the cubicle with the cracked tiles and molded shower curtain. “If you need a shower, you can have it at my hotel.”
There was a lot of wasted time to make up for, a whole fucking lot she owed him, and he was looking forward to remembering it this time.
Chapter 23
With white marble pillars and winged cupids painted in pastels and gold on the ceilings, the Westcliff Hotel was impressive, but Joss hadn’t chosen the place for its decor. He’d picked it for its security that included guards around the clock and a fingerprint sign-in at the door.
He brought his little witch straight to his suite, which was ten times the size of the room in which she’d lived for the past four months. The comparison made him clench his fists. She was his responsibility. Poverty wasn’t a fate she’d suffer with him. When she’d run, she’d taken away his right to take care of her. The jump had been daring and irresponsible. Didn’t she know how easily she could’ve died? Didn’t she realize how lucky she was Lupien hadn’t found her first?
Pushing away the dark thoughts, he pulled open the closet. “I brought your clothes.”
Accusation burned in her dark eyes. “Were you that sure of finding me?”
She shouldn’t expect anything less of him. “Of course.”
“I see,” she said in a flat voice, trailing her fingers over the dresses on the hangers. “What now?” She turned back to pin him with a gaze. “Why am I here?”
“Show me,” he said, advancing on her.
She backed up into the clothes, all but falling into the closet. “Show you what?”
He towered over her, not giving her the reprieve of space. Her defiance made it difficult to shed the anger the idea of losing her had ignited. The fear. “Your art.”
Her chest rose and fell with rapid breaths. “I can’t.”
“You can’t what, witch?” he asked, gripping the shelf above her head and leaning in.
“I can’t do it.” She ducked underneath his arm and darted past him.
He let her get away. For now. Smiling to himself, he straightened and turned.
She stood with
