Page 45 of Under His Command
“That’s for speaking your mind with me. I hate that you think you could ever make me get sick of you, but I love you for telling me.”
“Love… me?”
He smiles. “Let’s go home before I paint the President’s furniture in your sweet cum.”
“Tempting,” I grin. “But I need to get back to my apartment first. I need my laptop and a few clothes.”
He lets go of my chin as the grave expression from earlier returns to his face.
“You can’t go back there, angel. Not for a while.”
My brows knit together in confusion. “What? Why not?”
I watch his mouth move, the words registering.
My bones shake with fear, and I hold onto him, not knowing how to react.
“Someone broke into your apartment an hour ago. There’s blood… everywhere. And one of my men is dead.”
“What…?” I stare at him with wide eyes. I bring my hand to my mouth, adrenaline rushing through my veins at the thought of my imminent death.
“Which means that when you saw that orange,” he continues, “chances are they were there minutes before you saw it. I’m sorry, Dove, but I’m no longer leaving you out of my sight.”
SIXTEEN
Ispend the next two weeks at Rowan’s house, working extra hours from my laptop so I can compensate for the lack of physical presence at the office.
I hate hiding in here like a scared mouse, but the truth is… I am scared. I’m terrified for my life. I’m just a girl from the suburbs who somehow got mixed up with the most hunted man in the country. And now I’m the hunted one.
That’s why, to my shame, I didn’t fight Rowan too much when he asked—no, scratch that—when he told me I wouldn’t be going to work anymore. But since he had Saint deliver some of my items here, that didn’t stop me from putting in the hours online. What else am I supposed to do?
Rowan is always in the house, though he might as well not be here at all. He’s always on the phone, or having meetings in his office, or staying up to work until dawn. I feel bad, knowing I’m adding to his already packed schedule.
He’s tired. I can see it on his face when he smiles at me. I wish I could do something to help. Anything. But I still don’t fully understand what we’re up against. And every time I ask him about it, he tells me it’s safer for me not to know the details.
So I try to focus on things that are in my power—things like making sure he eats. Like making sure he gets enough sleep even when he argues that he’s not tired. He never asks me for anything, but I need him to do it. I need him to lean on me as much as I lean on him, or I’ll end up feeling like a burden.
I cut up a handful of mushrooms on a wooden board, the sharp knife slicing through them with ease. The knob of butter I threw in the pan is already melting, so I throw them in along with the onion, cherry tomatoes, and garlic I’ve just diced.
The rich, nutty smell of sizzling vegetables wafts all over me, spreading the sun-kissed aromas from the garden into the room. I then add a teaspoon of tomato puree, along with some fresh herbs and pappardelle pasta, finishing it off with a huge heap of creamy parmesan.
Rowan is still in a meeting right now with someone I’ve never met before. It’s past ten at night and he skipped dinner, so I want to make sure he gets something in his system. Even if I have to bother them from whatever they’re talking about.
“Rowan?” I ask, knocking on his office door softer than I indented.
A few seconds pass, and then the door opens fully. Rowan’s tall figure towers above me, hair disheveled and the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to his elbows.
“Sorry to disturb you, I just… it’s late. And you didn’t come for dinner,” I say, pushing the bowl of warm pasta toward him. I move away from the gap created by the door so his guest doesn’t see me dressed in nothing but my nightgown.
Dragging a hand down his face, Rowan looks behind him at the man in his office, then back at me. His eyes linger on the curve of my breasts and at the top of my thighs where the nightgown barely covers anything. I’m already squeezing my legs together. Hard.
“Is this a bad time?”
He shakes his head, his eyes hooded as he extends his hand toward me, pulling me in.
“Rowan,” I murmur, tingles of arousal creeping into my pussy.
Whatever he’s thinking right now can’t be good. We haven’t had more than a few moments together in days. He’s probably as needy as I am.
