Once You’re Mine: Chapter 30

When Hayden continues to stare at me, words pour from my mouth like a faucet, spilling everywhere. “I have no idea who this person is or what they want, but they stole my necklace and have been leaving individual pearls on my nightstand every day for a week. At night. I could’ve written everything off as me losing my necklace and that would’ve made sense, until a single pearl appeared. I would never willingly break that necklace. My father gave it to me, and it’s one of the few things I have left from him.”

Hayden says nothing. In the seconds that follow, the silence creeps along my skin like a swarm of bugs, making me antsy. When I think he’s about to acknowledge what I’ve said, he surprises me by walking further into the penthouse.

“Did you hear what I said?” When he nods, I grit my teeth, praying for patience. “And?”

“And I don’t give a fuck.”

For a couple of seconds, I stare at him. Then I struggle in his hold. “This isn’t something you can brush off. Put me down so we can talk about this like adults.”

Ignoring my protests, he stays in motion. The only change is he tightens his grip on me to the point it forces a wheeze from me. I glare up at him although he can’t see it. However, I’m immediately distracted from my irritation when he steps inside a large room.

The master bedroom is a chilly sanctuary of dark opulence, the strict decor continuing in dramatic fashion. More floor to ceiling windows overlook the city, but thick blackout curtains remain drawn to cocoon the room in somber shadows. The focal point is a massive platform bed, a black wooden frame with padded leather in matching charcoal gray. Not a crease disturbs the smooth surface of the duvet and sheets, and the dark floor planks are bare, the ebony wood continuing underfoot.

In place of art, a massive black and white photograph dominates the wall opposite the bed. It depicts a lone figure standing before a dilapidated building under ominous gray skies. The subject stares away from the camera, the person’s face obscured by shadow. It’s a portrait of shrouded anonymity, the lone splash of grim color reinforcing the room’s bleak palette.

I suspect it’s a woman from the shape of the body, but I can’t be certain. Even so, jealousy flares in my gut and spreads, making my stomach churn. For a moment, I forget about my stalker, wanting to know the hell that person is.

And if she means anything.

“That’s a beautiful picture,” I say, meaning it despite my sudden insecurity. I shift my gaze to Hayden’s face, ready to decipher every blink and shape of his lips as he responds to the question I need an answer to. “Is it someone you know or a random photograph you purchased?”

“I know her personally.”

Ouch. “The woman in the picture or the artist?”

“The woman.”

Sonofabitch. “Who is she?” I try to keep my tone light and slightly disinterested, but when Hayden turns to look at me, I feel exposed by the way his gaze pierces me.

“The woman is someone who changed my life.”

“For good or bad?”

“Both,” he says.

I hate her. Whoever she is.

He doesn’t speak again until we’re inside his spacious bathroom that looks more like a spa than a place to shower. I briefly admire the luxury surrounding me, but my thoughts are centered on Hayden when he sets me on the edge of the counter, keeping his hands on my waist as though afraid I might try to run again.

I won’t. But if I do, it’ll be to steal that portrait and light it on fire.

I glare up at him, wishing I was upset that he manhandled me as opposed to being jealous over a still image of a woman who may or may not be important to him. That logic doesn’t translate, not when he placed her in the most intimate room in his house.

“I need to clean your feet so I can assess the depth of the lacerations,” he says. “Hold still.”

His gaze softens as it drifts down to my battered and bloody feet. My anger fizzles out, replaced with a ball of warmth in my chest at his blatant concern for me. He finally removes his hands from me and I sag, getting a moment to breathe properly without his touch sending me into cardiac arrest.

Hayden turns on the sink, grabs a washcloth and soap, and then checks the water’s temperature. His long fingers encircle my ankle and my hip as he helps me shift my position. “This is going to sting.”

“I’ll be fine.”

He guides my foot underneath the warm water, and I bite my lip to get from making a sound. But God, how it hurts.

Hayden keeps my leg suspended, his gaze on the blood and dirt swirling down the drain. His face morphs into a frown at the damage revealed and begins bathing my foot with a soapy washcloth, his ministrations methodical but gentle.

I run my gaze over him, drinking in the way he switches from one sole to the other, his head bowed and his eyes focused. With him this close and his hands on my skin, this position feels too intimate, too vulnerable, yet I remain still, not wanting to miss a moment.

Hayden rinses and bandages the numerous cuts and abrasions, and when he’s finished, he releases my bandaged feet. Then he reaches for me, his long fingers encircling my hips, and leans close. The air between us is charged with unspoken words as his gaze finds mine.

“Better?” he asks.

“Yes.”

“Are you going to stop running, Callie?”

I stare up at him, lost as to how we’ve come to this place, but finding myself unable and unwilling to refuse. I give the barest of nods, accepting the sanctuary offered in his embrace. At least for now.

“Good,” he says. “You don’t need to worry about a stalker finding you here. The security is subpar to none. You’ll be safe until I take care of it.”

“Thank you.” I drop my gaze to his hands and then look at his face. “Can you help me get down?”

With concern swirling in his gaze, Hayden assists me into a standing position. He keeps a tight hold on me, steadying me throughout the transition. The padding on my feet cushions them enough to prevent any major discomfort, and I sigh with relief.

“That mouth.” He reaches out to brush his thumb along my lower lip. “The things I want to do to it…”

Before I can come up with a response, he lets his hands fall to his sides. “Do you need anything?” he asks.

That simple inquiry is like a loaded gun, able to take me down and make my heart bleed. What I need is emotional distance from Hayden before I fall in love with him. Every gentle touch and protective action entwines me with him. Soon I’ll be so wrapped up in him that I won’t be able to leave him without hurting myself.

“I’d love a glass of water.”

He lifts a sardonic brow. “Dehydrated from your night out?”

“No. I’m parched from all the running I did earlier.”

His mouth twitches with suppressed amusement, but then it overtakes him, and he smiles at me. A genuine smile. It lights up the room and blinds me to anything except Hayden and how devastatingly handsome he is. But it’s more than that.

Seeing him happy, even if it’s for a second, moves me in a way that’s profound. It does something to my soul, a place he shouldn’t have any access to.

“Can you walk?” he asks, the joy on his face disappearing at the mention of my injuries. “Maybe I should just carry you to the kitchen.”

His obvious concern for me has my heart squeezing in my chest. Even though I love being in his arms, I want to reassure Hayden that I’m fine. I hate seeing him upset. Especially because of me.

“The bandages provide enough padding so that I barely feel the cuts,” I say, waving a hand in dismissal when his frown deepens. “Lead the way.”

With a look of skepticism, he places his hand at the small of my back, his palm warm against my body. The familiar scent of his cologne lingers in the air, soothing and comforting, and I inhale, soaking it in. Like I have every time I’ve been in his embrace.

My first few steps are awkward as I adjust to the padding on my feet while hiding my discomfort from Hayden, but once we reach the kitchen I’m confident that my wounds are minor and of no concern. At least, not as bad as he’s been treating them. It’s endearing. You’d think I stepped on the blade of a machete from the way he’s taken care of me.

I’ve never had anyone do that. Not in the way Hayden has.

He’s quick to retrieve a bottle of water from the refrigerator, unscrew the cap, and offer it to me. I take it from him, careful not to touch him. Having Hayden’s fingers on my skin makes it impossible for me to think coherently. Or at all.

“Thank you,” I say. I take a long drink and he watches me, making a normal activity challenging. While trying not to choke, I empty the bottle, feeling like I deserve a gold medal for completing such a feat. “I appreciate what you did tonight, but I think we need to have a conversation about boundaries.”

He folds his arms, causing the material to strain against the contours of his chest, which distracts the shit out of me. “Is that so?” he asks, his voice dangerously soft.

The warning underlying his words has me refocusing my thoughts. “Yes. I’m assuming you tracked me through my cell phone, and that’s not okay.”

“I don’t see the problem.”

“It’s an invasion of privacy,” I say, throwing up my hands. “I’m not your pet who ran away and needs you to rescue them.” When he lifts a mocking brow, I take a deep breath to ease the frustration unfurling in my gut. I squeeze the water bottle pretending it’s Hayden’s neck. “Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“I need to know every second of every day that you’re safe.” He shrugs. “If that means planting a chip in you or tracking your cell phone, I’ll do it.”

My mouth falls open before I snap my jaw shut. “Do you hear yourself? You sound insane.”

“If I’m crazy, it’s because of you.”

As if he slapped me, I jerk back. “Me?”

“Yes, you.”

His arms fall to his sides and he takes a step toward me. I take one back in response because his nearness overwhelms me and destroys my defenses. He walks up to me, trapping me between the counter and his body as he looms over me, his blue eyes coated in frost.

I repress a shiver and avert my gaze, watching him grip the counter’s edge on either side of my hips. He leans into me, pressing the length of his body to mine, and that delicious contact has my blood singing.

“What did I ever do to you?” I ask, staring at his forearm and the veins visible just underneath his skin. “You’re the one who won’t leave me alone.”

At the feel of his fingers taking hold of my chin, I press my lips together. He lifts my head until our eyes meet. It’s nearly unbearable to look at him. Not when he stares at me like I’m his reason for living.

“Because you’re in my blood, Callie. Underneath my skin. No matter how hard I try, I can’t cut you out without killing myself in the process.”