Road To Fire (Broken Crown Trilogy #1) - Maria Luis Page 0,38

“We haven’t met.”

I can’t see her face, but I hear the familiar iron steel of her voice when she responds, “Isla Quinn.” A small pause that gives me the impression that she’s looking him over, sizing him up. Does she like what she sees? I demolish the thought with the crushing of a mental boot, ignoring the strange, fist-like vice that lingers in my chest. “You must be Guy.”

My brother tilts his head, just as I step in beside him. “Figured me out, have you?” he says, the earlier curiosity returning swiftly as he drops his untaken hand. It drifts into the front pocket of his joggers like he never offered it in the first place.

Isla only stares at him, her expression clear. “I’m the eldest of three, too.” She says it like they’re in some secret club together, as if with that alone they understand each other in a way that I never will. The fist-like vice eases, the icy fingers of ambivalence settling in once more. “And I’m not Saxon’s little pet,” Isla adds, casting me a quick look before shuttling her gaze back to my brother, “for the record.”

Guy issues a soft chuckle that steels my shoulders. “Saxon doesn’t do pets,” he murmurs, never once glancing in my direction. “The care they take, the gentle touch . . . It’s not the way my brother operates.”

Everything in me strings tight, like I’ve had rope tied around my wrists, my ankles. The imaginary restraints pull, chafing my skin in a way that doesn’t feel so imaginary. No, I feel it all—the sensation of being dragged in opposite directions whilst moving nowhere at all—and I open my mouth, prepared to put Guy back in his place, but then Isla looks at me.

Really looks at me.

Her gaze skimming my thighs and my waist and then, farther north, to my shoulders and finally, finally, to my face. She studies me like she would a framed painting in a museum, like I’m something interesting to look at but nothing you’d ever consider touching yourself.

I will never sleep with you, even if you get on your knees and beg.

That night in my car, her words roused heat within my chest. A certain tightness. A blend of emotion that I never, ever wanted to feel again. And now, under her scrutiny, I put a name to that emotion, a word to the tightness that burns and twists and leaves me feeling decidedly lacking.

Embarrassment.

Bitterness stiffens my jaw, until my teeth are grinding and I’m staring down at this woman—this woman who I saved, who I’ve offered a position, who’s made me feel lacking—and she never once averts her eyes from mine.

Like she isn’t afraid of me.

Like she isn’t considering bolting from this room at the first opportunity.

Like she sees me, all of me, and is still determined to go toe to toe, no matter what I say, what I do that ought to have her running in the opposite direction.

Holding my stare, she murmurs, “I don’t do pets either. The human variety or the four-legged kind.”

Guy’s bark of laughter echoes in the room. “A match made in heaven.” As though this is a casual conversation about the weather, he strides toward the kitchen. Grabs the lowball glass from the cabinet that he abandoned earlier, and snags two others. Props them up on the counter, unscrews the Glenlivet, and pours three shots. “A toast,” he says.

For the first time in my life, I find myself not trusting the man who practically raised me, who sheltered me and then gave me the tools to shelter myself. “To what?”

His mouth quirks with a half-smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Welcoming Isla Quinn into the fold.” He casts an easy glance her way. “For your new job.”

Isla doesn’t move, so Guy brings the tumblers to us, balancing two in one hand. He shoves the first at me, then ushers the second into Isla’s grasp. Raising his own in the air, he murmurs, “To new beginnings, yeah?”

I feel the rasp of the rope around my skin, tightening even more. “To new beginnings.”

Isla doesn’t smile. She stares at the amber whisky, then, without saying a word, tosses the liquid back in one go. Guy grins. I want to take my tumbler and bash it over his head. We both take our shots at the same time, and I should have known that my brother would manipulate the situation to his advantage.

“So, what will you be doing?” he asks Isla, his voice