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“Tell me what just happened with my father. What did he do? What does he need to do to fix it so that I can go home? Since you clearly don’t want me here.”
He scowls at me, the move somehow making him even more uncertain and perhaps approachable rather than the stern, get-the-fuck-away-from-me look I’m sure he’s going for.
Has this man ever smiled in his life?
It doesn’t seem like it.
The Beast seems to only have one mood—angry.
And with no one else on the mountain, he has nowhere to direct that but at me.
His hands bunch and flex at his sides. “I told you when you got here, don’t ask about my business.”
“I’m not asking you about your business. I’m asking you about my father’s.”
Gray eyes widen slightly, almost like he’s surprised by and appreciates my response. “Do you know what your father does?”
“Of course, I do. He’s my father.”
He raises a brow, waiting for me to elaborate.
I release an annoyed huff. “He’s an importer—all sorts of different things. He’s had his shop in Helena since before I was even born.”
“And you believe everything your father does is on the up and up?”
My lips part to say, “Of course,” but certain memories trickle in.
Hushed conversations with people when I was a child and he had me with him. Phone calls he left the room to take. Doors closed in my face. Meetings he said I couldn’t come in for. His constant need for privacy.
What could he possibly have been doing?
I don’t have an answer for that, but my need to defend the only parent I’ve had since I was five—the man who tucked me in at night, fed and clothed me, and ensured I had everything he never did growing up—flares through me in a heated rush. “My father’s a good man.”
He raises that silver brow again. “You know my position on that argument. I think it’s time you took a long, hard look at the man you put up on that fucking pedestal. He might not be who you think he is, and he might not deserve the way you’re defending him.”
The Beast turns to walk away from me, but before he can, I somehow close the distance and grab his forearm.
Hard, thickly roped muscles tense under my palm, his warm, smooth skin gliding against it, and a spark of electricity shoots through me. A snarl ripples from his lips at the contact, and he freezes, his gaze dipping to where my hand rests on him.
“Do you think you’re any better than him? That what you and your family do is somehow righteous?” I shake my head, trying to choose my words carefully so I don’t set off The Beast while still making my point. “I don’t know what my father did in the past, and I don’t care. I know who he is at his heart. It’s you I question.”
He’s an enigma wrapped in a riddle hidden in a puzzle. All designed to drive me mad while forced into this house with him.
His gaze darkens.
Rightfully so.
The words are meant as a threat, a warning that I’ve seen the cracks in his well-constructed façade and intend to utilize them to my advantage.
But something else lies in his eyes besides his trepidation, maybe the tiniest hint of compassion, like he feels bad for me and for the situation I’m in, even though he’s the one putting me in it.
“I’m sure you’re well aware of my reputation, Ms. Fox. It was earned for a reason. I don’t suggest you test me to see if it’s true.”
Taking a chance, hoping I’m right, I step closer to him, ensuring my gaze stays locked with his. “You’re not going to hurt me.”
He’s had ample opportunity already.
Hell, he could’ve done anything to me that first night when I was unconscious, and I wouldn’t have known. But he didn’t. I know that not just because he told me, but because I feel it deep in my gut that he wouldn’t, that despite all the evidence that suggests otherwise, he’s not the type of man who’s going to hurt a woman who’s already in pain and needs help. He’s not the type of man who would hurt a woman at all.
