James sighs. “You’re not gonna like what I’m about to tell you, Raven, but in all honesty, I don’t give a fuck.”
My back goes ramrod straight. “Explain.”
“I’ve hired a security detail. Until we know what the hell’s going on, you’ll be monitored twenty-four-seven. And you’re to stay here with me, where I can keep an eye on you.”
“Is that really necessary?” I ask wide-eyed, placing my mug down on the counter.
“Oh, that’s the least of it, Raven. I want you home no later than 11 p.m. when your shift at the Honey Pot finishes, and 9 p.m. on the nights you’re not working,” he states, his tone final.
“You can’t be serious?” I exclaim, throwing my arms in the air. I mean, I don’t have a social life and would only come home after work anyway, but that’s not the point.
He chuckles darkly, but there’s no laughter there as he replies, “Deadly.”
Is it bad to be kinda turned on by this right now?
“Anything else?” I squeak, cursing my wayward thoughts.
“Your phone is to be fully charged and with you at all times. When I call or text you, you will answer within three minutes. If I don’t get a response because you were too busy washing your hair” —I go to interrupt him, but he gives me a look that has me clamping my mouth shut— “there will be consequences.”
I wait for him to continue adding to the long list of things I can and can’t do when he snaps, “Am I understood?”
“Oh, can I talk now?” I sass, putting my hands on my hips. “Or do I need permission?”
“I’m trying to keep you safe, Raven, so less of the fucking attitude,” he growls, pushing away from the counter and standing to his full height. “Or did you forget that someone tried to fuckingkillyou a few nights ago?”
That stops my attitude straight away. He’s right. I don’t normally do well with people telling me what to do—it’s the inner self critic—but even I can understand the severity of the situation and that I need to play ball.
I sigh and nod, the fight draining from me. “I’m sorry, you’re right,” I agree, wrapping my arms around myself, exhausted. “Do I really need to stay here if I have security, though?”
The thought of being under the same roof as James for an extended amount of time plays havoc with my brain, and the tampon from earlier enters my head. So, in typical me fashion, I blurt out the first thing that comes into my head. “What if you want to bring another woman home?”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
JAMES
Bring another woman home? Has she lost her goddam mind? Of course, I won’t be bringing another fucking woman home.
She’s been so out of it the last four days, she hasn’t seen the constant state of despair I’ve been in. How my heart broke every second of every day she was trapped inside her tortured mind. How I’ve barely eaten or slept myself for constant fear of something happening to her if I left for more than a second. I’ve desperately tried to get her to eat and drink, but it was like she was a zombie—eyes glazed over and incoherent mutterings.
I wanted to help her, but I didn’t know how. I just sat in the chair across from her for hours on end because she’s been through so much, and I wanted to be there for her, however she needed me.
The nightmares got me. Her screams of terror woke me on an hourly basis. I’d jump up and race to her, whispering that she’s safe over and over again until she settled. At first, it didn’t work, so I’d haul her onto my lap and hold her until the worst of it ebbed away.I don’t know if she remembers, but it’s definitely not something I’ll ever forget in a hurry.
So no, I won’t be bringing a woman back here when she consumes my every thought. I just have to get over this infatuation before something happens that neither one of us can take back.
I’m not oblivious to the way Raven looks at me and has been doing for a while. The night of the kiss… fuck, my world was altered, shifted, and flipped upside down on its axis, but she’s sixteen years younger than me. She’s Drew’s daughter. There’s no future for us.
“Bringing another woman back here won’t happen,” I reply, bracing my hands on the kitchen island.
I watch as her shoulders sink in relief, but she tries to brush it off by moving to sit at the dining table.
“I know you, James,” she scoffs. “Your house is like a revolving door of women. You wouldn’t be able to last five minutes without a hook-up.” She rolls her eyes at me before taking a sip of her coffee.
I smirk. “Is that so?”
“Uh huh,” she says around her mug, her own smirk clear to see as her eyes light up with mirth. “I guarantee there will be someone doing the walk of shame out your front door by the end of the week.”
This poor, sweet, innocent girl. She has no idea that I haven’t touched a woman in months. Haven’t wanted to. It’s her lips, her touch that’s been burnt into my soul.
