Her gaze settled on his lips, and for a moment, the tension in her body eased, just a fraction. The smallest crack in the wall she’d surrounded herself with.
Fuck, she was stunning, even with the marks of violence on her body, fragile like thin ice ready to shatter into a million pieces.
She trusted him, and that trust mattered more than anything.
His body wanted her, but he wouldn’t cross that line.
Their connection is what he craved the most.
He needed to know who hurt her, and why she kept pulling away. In a short period, he’d got used to being the one she laughed with, kissed, and then, boom, she pulled away.
The abrupt silence, the end of their playful texts, was a kick in the fucking nuts.
The flight back to Ireland had been soul destroying. Every second dragged, and when he finally landed, his Mustang was waiting, ready to take him back up North and straight to Meadow Dawn.
The plan was simple. Show up unannounced and charm his way back into her life.
If he had to fight for her, he’d do it. No fucking problem.
But the moment she saw him, Shannon bolted, spurring her horse into a storm like a woman possessed.
And if that wasn’t enough to confuse him, the old man blamed Jamie for making her sick, or whatever he accused him of.
Now, here she was, vulnerable and withdrawn, far from the temptress he’d left behind. A shift had happened, and everything had gone to shit.
A dark secret clouded her pretty blue eyes, and he was determined to pull it out of her.
The scent of peppermint shampoo filled the bathroom as he massaged her scalp, trying to figure out his nextmove.
Once the shampoo had rinsed away, he grabbed the robe from the door hook and opened it wide for her.
“Get dried off and I’ll put the kettle on.”
She stepped out of the cubicle, slotted her arms into the sleeves and let him tie the belt at the front, tugging her closer as he did it.
“Thank you,” she muttered.
Jamie smiled and peeled off his damp trousers, leaving them in a pile on the floor. She lingered in the bedroom, blow-drying her hair, keeping her distance while he flicked on the kettle, leaning into the counter as anger simmered deep within him.
A while back, he’d helped Marcus rescue Lana from a psycho stalker. After his brother got shot, he detached himself from the blood and violence.
That was nothing new to him. Jamie had dealt with a lot of shady shit in the past. However, almost losing Marcus…fuck, that still haunted him.
He wanted Carl Reed dead and vowed to be first in line to do it.
Marcus, though, knew it would be a safer bet to have someone else pull the trigger. The end result was still the same. They got justice, and their hands stayed clean.
And now seeing Shannon so messed up…knowing some fucker beat her, that thirst for revenge burned inside him again.
Her pain was his pain. Her vengeance, his vengeance.
The kettle clicked, snapping him out of his thoughts. Tea wouldn’t cut it now—he needed something stronger.
Reaching for the first bottle he saw, a lonely bottle of vodka, he twisted off the lid and poured a double into the mug.
Without hesitation, he slammed it back, not flinching when the burn hit his throat.
Behind him, Shannon’s light footsteps approached and when he turned, his heart did a weird fluttery thing.
