Page 52 of My Grumpy Billionaire Protector
Sometime later, I sit up straighter in bed, blow out a breath, and remove the towel. I rake my fingers through my hair, gather my clothes up off the floor, and toss them into the hamper. On my way back to the bed, I flick off the main lights, leaving only the soft glow of the lamp on the nightstand to stave off the darkness. As soon as I settle in between the covers, I switch off the TV and reach for my book.
Half an hour later, I am still reading the same paragraph, and my stomach is filled with tight knots. I release a deep sigh, slam the book shut, and set it back on the table. Then I switch off the lamp and turn onto my side. Through the slit in the curtain, patches of silver light dances on the floor, hundreds of particles suspended in midair.
Two hours later, after tossing and turning, sleep finally comes, but it is filled with images of a dark-haired, hazel-eyed man.
* * *
“Areyou sure you don’t know where you are?”
I eye my mother and bite off the retort on the edge of my tongue. “You’ve asked me that already, Mom. I honestly don’t know where I am.”
Alba peers into the camera, her rumpled sweater weaving in and out of focus. “There’s gotta be something you remember about the journey.”
I wince. “I was bound and gagged in the back of a truck. Do you really want me to keep reliving that?”
Alba frowns and leans back. She presses her back against the couch and folds her hands into her lap. “I just can’t understand how this happened.”
I straighten against the chair. “They wanted you, but they got me instead. It’s really not that hard to understand.”
Alba exhales. “I’m sorry.”
I press two fingers to my temples and blow out a breath. “No, I’m sorry. I know I’m being a bitch right now. I didn’t get much sleep last night, and I’m in a bad mood. I know this isn’t your fault.”
It really isn’t anyone’s fault that the pull I feel toward Shane is getting in the way.
Our dynamic should be simple and straightforward, but he’s gone and fucked it up and a part of me doesn’t even regret the kiss.
Alba swallows. “I feel like it is. I should’ve checked my phone that night. If I’d known you were home, I would’ve made sure there was a security detail placed outside your door.”
I shrug. “I don’t know if it would’ve mattered much anyway. They did come prepared.”
Alba’s expression hardens. “Are they hurting you? Because if they are, I swear to God—”
“Mom,” I interrupt. “I appreciate how protective you are, but they’re not hurting me. They’re actually really accommodating.”
Alba frowns. “Considering they kidnapped you, it’s the least they can do.”
Has he… has Isaiah mentioned anything else?”
A second later, my grandfather’s clean-shaven face emerges, his expression tight and reserved. He takes a seat on the couch next to her mother and brings one leg up over the other. As usual, he is dressed in an expensive-looking pair of dark trousers and a dark sweater with his golden hair slicked back.
“No, I haven’t seen him since they first brought me here.”
Mitchel Coombes huffs, and his expression darkens. “Isaiah Gallagher is notorious. He’s been around for almost twenty years now.”
My blood turns to ice. “That sounds bad.”
“Not necessarily. It just means that he knows his way around.”
“It’s not his first rodeo.”
Mitchel blinks, green eyes tightening around the edges. “You shouldn’t joke about something like this.”
I cross my arms over my chest and look away. “I’m sorry my coping mechanism offends you.”
My eyes dance all over the room — from the large case pressed against the wall to the small window in the far corner of the room with the drapes tied around the middle and pausing at the desk I am seated on. The laptop is propped open, facing me, and only two wires crisscross and disappear somewhere underneath the table. The door is left ajar, with two large men stationed only a few inches away.
I’ve already tried to figure out where they were holding me, but I have had no luck.
