his high-handedness. “Correction: I always have a choice.”
“Right now, you don’t.” Before I can issue another protest, he digs into the pocket of his joggers and retrieves his mobile. Typing in a password, he tosses me the phone. “Guy dropped by your flat last night.”
The phone lands in my lap like a ticking time bomb. Something in Saxon’s tone, though . . . Apprehension skids across my flesh, cold and swift. “He did? Why?”
“I met him there.”
And, just like that, the apprehension morphs into claws of outrage reaching into my chest to squeeze at my lungs. “Sorry, you did what?”
“Don’t make me repeat myself.”
“Repeat yourself?” I echo, launching from the sofa for a second time, the mobile slipping to the floor, forgotten. The carpet is scratchy beneath my bare feet. “I want to know why.”
Saxon watches me from behind lowered brows. Nothing in his expression so much as flickers, and God. How could he have been so stupid? I’m self-aware enough to know that I’m overreacting and yet I can’t stop. I can’t. The worry tangles with anger and then the anger dances with fear until I’m a hot mess pacing the living room, my breathing escalated, terrible visions of Saxon bleeding and injured in some snicket overriding all common sense. Had that happened, I never would have found him. I wouldn’t have even known. I squeeze my eyes shut, desperate to destroy the images before they drag me down a darkened path that leads to nothing but more paranoia.
I spend my days worrying about Peter and Josie. I didn’t think I would need to be concerned with Saxon doing something rash too.
Is there no one here who cares if they live to see another day, save me?
Frustration boils over, dictating my tongue. “Do you have any idea of what could have happened? What might have happened had you been caught?”
“Trust me, you wouldn’t haven’t been proper screwed. I had a plan in place.”
My own words being flung at my face does nothing to settle the simmering rage hammering at my rib cage, like a beast ready to claw its way out through bones and flesh and muscle.
“And if something had happened,” he continues smoothly, “nothing would change. Guy would look after the three of you. You needn’t worry about being tossed out on your ass.”
The beast emerges, flaying me open, and I explode.
“You bellend, I’m not worried about me!” Spinning around, I stop just short of throwing myself at him and beating his hard chest with my fists. “It’s you I’m worried about. You. There’s a bloody manhunt with your name written all over it, and I can’t believe you’d be so foolish as to just waltz into Stepney. You could have been taken to prison or, worse, been killed!”
“Foolish?” he echoes, his voice deep and even and sounding as though he’s been dredged through the very pits of hell. Slowly, like a panther rearing to strike, Saxon comes to his bare feet. He towers over me, a king whose authority has been questioned. “You want to talk about being foolish?”
I stand tall, my shoulders pressed back, my chin lifted.
Words climb my throat but Saxon edges closer and closer, and the look on his face renders me mute. His green eyes are ablaze with emotion—fury, displeasure, and something unidentifiable. Something that makes my heart tumble over itself with fear . . . and the sick promise of anticipation.
“Foolish,” he growls tightly, “might as well be your middle name.”
“How foolish can I be when you’ve mentioned—repeatedly—how you constantly underestimate me?”
“I may underestimate you, but you’ve overestimated yourself.”
He stalks me, hunter and prey, and I’m hyperaware of the door being open. Peter and Josie could walk in at any moment. I’m meant to be Saxon’s employee, nothing more, and yet I can’t find it in myself to tell him to sod off or get down from his high horse. I’m angry and flustered and upset, but still I don’t leave. No, like he’s hooked chains around my ankles, I find myself drifting toward him.
“The same could be said for you,” I retort archly. “You went to the one place in London where we shouldn’t be. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again—you aren’t immortal. Maybe one of these times I’ll say it enough that it’ll actually stick in that thick skull of yours.”
He moves before I can even anticipate him.
His hand locked around the back of my neck, dragging me close. His hot breath on my face, a warning