Page 11 of The Billionaire's Secret
I turn toward the bedroom where she’s changing clothes.
I want to check on her.Comfort her.But it’s not my place.
I should call her husband.Fly him out here.That might help her.If she were mine, I’d want to be by her side.
I dial Montclair’s HR manager and wake her up.I brief her on what happened, then tell her to reach Salem’s husband.She groggily tells me she doesn’t have the employee roster at home.
I remain silent.
“I’ll get the information,” she says quickly, promising to text when she has it.
I resume pacing and when the bedroom door opens, I spin around to face Salem.Her eyes lock me in again.Why do I feel so powerless to resist her when she looks at me?
I clench my hands into fists to keep from reaching for her.I will not be that kind of man.The kind like my father.The kind who thinks nothing of coming between a couple to destroy a family.
She smiles slightly.“I’m okay.”
“You fainted.How can you be okay?”I say gruffly.“What did the doctor say was wrong?”
“I don’t want to tell you what he said.”
“Why not?”
“Because…I haven’t eaten enough lately and passed out because of that.”She smiles sheepishly.
Relief fills me.“After worrying that I was having low blood sugar, turns out you’re the one who needed nagging.”
“Sorry about that.”Salem crosses to the sofa, sits and smooths the skirt of one of the dresses I had brought up from the boutique.
“It’s okay.”Oh, Siren.You scared the hell out of me.
She glances at me, then looks at my bloodied knuckles.“Your hands!”Getting to her feet, she starts toward the bathroom.“I’ll find a first aid kit.”
Without thinking, I take her by the wrist as she passes, stopping her.
She doesn’t move.I close my eyes and drink in the sound of her breath, the scent of her shampoo or perfume whatever the hell it is that’s her scent.Could I hold you?Could I make sure you’re safe?I swear my intentions are innocent.
I battle those treacherous lying thoughts.Those first-step thoughts.The slippery slope that leads to the same path my father took.
I let go of her.“I’m sorry,” I say quietly.
“For what?”she answers just as quietly.
“I sent you to him.”
“But you didn’t make him into an asshole.He had that part nailed down before we arrived on the island.Now treat your wounds if you won’t let me,” she orders.
My phone pings before I can answer her.I read the message then frown.“HR doesn’t have the contact info for your husband.”
“Why would she text you about that?”
“I wanted to call your husband.”The man who has the right to hold her.“And fly him here.”
“No,” she says.“I don’t want to wake his son.”
Hisson?That’s the second time she’s referred to the boy that way and I wonder if she’s the child’s stepmom.
“I’m unscathed,” she continues, rubbing a spot near her shoulder.“There’s not even a mark here.”
