Page 59 of Temporary Vows
“Thank you,” I rasp.
He reaches for a plate, serves a decent helping of food, then faces me, moves closer, and sets the plate before me.
“Eat,” he orders.
I meet his firm stare with my own. I can’t just sit here and eat in this tension. I need to know what’s going on.
“Thank you for what you did for me.” The words come out in a rush. “I don’t know what happened, but I know you sorted it out.”
His brows knit and he frowns. “Eat, and we’ll talk.”
It takes me a moment to look away. He keeps his eyes on me, and I know he’s waiting for me to start eating.
I grab the fork, pick up some of the eggs, and ease it into my mouth. They taste delicious with a hint of a tangy seasoning, but I have a hard time swallowing. After everything that’s happened, my appetite has gone to hell.
“How are you feeling?” he asks, stopping the silence from stretching.
His probing gaze is so potent, it feels like he’s trying to see what’s inside my mind.
My throat tightens, but I speak. “I feel like shit. Like someone ran me over with a bulldozer a million times, then tossed me in hell.”
His frown deepens. “Marcus won’t bother you again. I paid the debt and gave him a warning he’d do well to remember.”
What kind of warning would he have given a man like Marcus?
The hint of a smile ghosts across his lips, giving him that…psychoticlook. My skin tingles. Not in a bad way, which should worry me.
“What if he doesn’t listen?” I swallow hard.
“He will.”
“I can’t thank you enough.”
He shakes his head. “Don’t thank me yet.”
“Well, I am. And I will pay you back.” I don’t want to owe anybody. “Every cent.”
“Eat.” He motions to the food.
I take another few bites, and as the food settles, I actually start feeling better.
“We can talk about payment another time,” he states, stepping away from the counter.
I set the fork down. “I insist. I’d like to talk about it now. You paid a hell of a lot of money for me. You saved me.”
I know what he’s like. He’s supposed to be cold and uncaring, so when he does things like this, he always pushes them aside. As though he can’t stand anyone thinking he’s grown a heart.
For a moment, he just watches me, then the tension in his expression loosens. “Spoken to Jack yet?” he asks as if we’d already been talking about Jack.
“No.”
He leans closer. “Tell me, has he contacted you since you told him about the loan?”
I know exactly why he’s asking that question. And we both already know the answer.
“No.”
I’ve never had to defend Jack to Dorian, but I have with other people. People who called him all sorts of names after we lost thebusiness. They felt he could have done more, if only to take care of me.
