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“Hey, you never told me.” I close my eyes, comfortable leaning against his muscled shoulder. I lift my hand up to rest on his chest. “How did you uncle die?”
See? Important stuff.
“You want my conspiracy theories?” His heart starts to race under my palm. “You sure?”
“I want the facts.”
“He overdosed on one of his heart medicines. Now he’s dead. Those are the facts.”
His voice pulses with anger and something else. Pain, I think, and it echoes inside me. “Okay. And what do you think happened?”
“I think someone forced him to swallow a whole jar-full of pills and held him down until he died. My uncle wasn’t a confused old man. He was fifty-five and the least likely person to overdose. Fuck.” Storm’s shaking again, and I rub a circle over his chest with my hand. “He was cold and calculating. Being the head of an empire, that was his element. Finding a way to keep my inheritance for himself, that I could see, but killing himself, accidentally or not? No fucking way.”
Like every time he talks to me about this, I’m torn between sadness, doubt and fear. He’s fighting it, hiding it—the pain, the confusion, the panic—but I feel it in the frantic beat of his heart, his shallow breathing, the sweat rolling down his corded neck.
Then why didn’t I guess he lied to me about who he is?
Because he didn’t lie. He’s right. He’s still Storm. No matter whether what he fears is true or not—and why wouldn’t it be? God knows my story is even more incredible—he only says things he believes.
That’s a good thing, right? It means those things he said, that he trusts me, that he needs me, that he thinks I’m beautiful… they were true.
Storm Jordan. His ink goes deeper than the fancy clothes he had on today, and although he barely knows me, he wants to help me when my own family set me up. He’s sexy, bossy and yet kind, just as he was when I met him. Just as gorgeous and hurting inside.
This is so bad. The way I feel about him… How am I supposed to walk away when this is over?
Chapter Fourteen
STORM
“Ray.” I tighten my arm around her slender shoulders, my skin crawling. “Do you think I’m crazy?”
She lifts her head from my bare shoulder, leaving cold behind. Her mouth opens, closes. She sighs.
Back at the beach I thought she believed me, but not anymore. She thinks I’ve lost my marbles. That I’m imagining it all. Like Hawk and Rook and everyone else in the damn world thinks.
“Say something,” I whisper.
She shakes her head, and my heart sinks, and just when I think she will answer, she jerks back.
That pushes my arm up. A sharp pain shoots between my shoulder blades.
Jesus. Ow. Dammit.
And Rook strides into the room before I even have time to catch my breath.
“Storm. Come out here a sec.”
I raise a hand in a universal gesture of “wait.”
He grabs it and hauls me up. A strangled cry catches between my teeth. Not so universal, after all.
“What are you doing?” Raylin steps between us and pushes Rook back a step with a hand to his plexus. “He’s hurt. Be careful, or don’t touch him at all.”
Rook blinks, then looks at me, brows raised. “A wildcat,” he says, and she shoves him again. “Storm will be fine. It will take a lot worse than a piece of ceramic in his back to bring him down. I want him to take a look at the stove.”
“Bullshit. You just want to bully him around because he obviously left you out of the loop for a while. Well, tough, big guy.” She’s really in his face and the way his eyes go round is goddamn funny. “You’re gonna have to suck it up and lay off him.”
Christ. I’d shrug, or laugh, but either option will hurt like a bitch, so I settle for a hand on her waist. She’s a wildcat all right, small and fierce.
