Sparrow - L.J. Shen Page 0,76

at Rouge Bis dicing vegetables that Pierre tossed in the trash in front of his sous, saying they were too inconsistent to be used. Pierre made it a point to make sure I knew my ties with Brock and Troy didn’t intimidate him. Guess he had every reason to hate me after the stunt Troy pulled, but I still couldn’t keep my mouth shut.

I answered back and no one answered the head chef back. I was giving him trouble, and like most men in my life, he saw me as a walking, talking headache. An environmental hazard to steer clear of.

After my long day, all I wanted to do was take a hot shower and crawl in bed. I walked into the darkened guest bedroom. I’d already changed out of my kitchen whites at work, so I kicked off my shoes and threw my street clothes in a messy pile by the bathroom door. The immense shadow on the bed didn’t register at first, but then his voice boomed, filling the room with a presence that was much more than physical.

“Get your shit and move back upstairs.” It was an order.

Troy.

I stilled, clad only in a purple undershirt and matching underwear, the boyfriend-shorts style.

“I want to mess around.” I smiled into the darkness, staring at a spot above his head. I could faintly make out the shape of his body. He had one foot propped on the bed, his knee bent, his dress shirt rolled up to his elbows.

“Nobody said anything about getting back to playing house,” I said.

This was a blunt provocation, a way to lick the Paddy Rowan wound that he split open so brutally when he visited him in Miami. It almost made me feel better, hearing his breaths picking up speed, both of us engulfed in the pitch black. He was getting restless. Annoyed. And more than likely, hot for me.

He rose from the mattress, striding in my direction. A warm shiver ran down each of my nerves like a bomb fuse. It exploded somewhere between my thighs, sending sparks of adrenaline to the rest of my body.

I was going to pick a fight tonight.

“You know, Red? It’s hard to hate you all the way when you stand toe to toe with me.” He chuckled, circling me, his arms clasped behind his back.

The room was dark, too dark, and I was disorientated by the long workday and the fact that he came here for something.

For something I wanted and waited for.

For something I feared and dreaded.

For him to take my innocence.

“Is that your version of sweet nothings?” I snorted, shaking my head. “Because you suck.”

“I’m rooting for you,” he continued, ignoring my jab. “I’m fucking your life up, and you’re still trying to claw your way out of the quicksand. It’s hard not to admire that.”

His body hovered over mine like a cloud of sweet mist, almost touching. I sucked my cheeks in, feeling my cool façade faltering. I didn’t want him to be nice to me. It made our war so much more dangerous.

“Get to the point,” I hissed.

“You refuse to be a victim. You always fight back, boots on the ground.”

“Troy…” My voice nearly broke. It was the first time I called him by his first name without having a hidden agenda. “I said get to the point.”

“When we were in Miami, I was doing you a solid.” His lips found my skull.

More hot shivers. More want. More lust. More Troy.

Idiot, I thought. You ruined me in Miami. “Oh?” I asked, fighting the need to let my arms loose, to allow my hands to touch his strong, male body. I wanted him despite everything, and worryingly, maybe even because of what he did to me.

“Paddy…” His name was like a smack in my face leaving Troy’s mouth. “I paid him a visit in Florida. Went there and got your payback for you.”

I choked on my saliva, and felt my eyes flaring, but I didn’t say a word. His lips fluttered between my shoulder blades, and he planted a kiss between my neck and shoulder, his tongue darting out briefly to remind me of what was to come.

“He’s dying from cancer, y’know. Will be dead soon. He will die a poor man. He will die a broken man. Every dime he had to his name…” He caught a loose strand of my hair, rubbing it between his fingers like he was examining fine silk. “Is now yours.”

“Mine?” I repeated.

“Yours.” He nodded into the crook of