Unravel Me. Lynn Montagano

swallowed. Hard. Robert opened the display case, removed the ring and laid it on a piece of velvet in front of me. My free hand flew to my neck, grasping the necklace Alastair had given me only a few weeks ago at the beach. I ran my thumb over the platinum ‘A.’

      “Try it on,” he encouraged, letting go of my hand.

      I picked it up and slid it onto the middle finger of my left hand, immediately feeling its weight. Holding up my hand, I admired the way the amber glowed and the diamonds sparkled under the soft light.

      “The stone’s color reminded me of your eyes,” Alastair said, brushing his thumb over the ring. “I hope you—”

      I silenced him with a kiss. Feeling the firm pressure of his lips moving with mine negated any reservations I had about public displays of affection.

      “I love you. So much,” I declared, tightening my grip on his shirt. “Always.”

      Little by little, fragments of the impenetrable outer shell were breaking away, revealing the man I adored. It wasn’t a complete shedding of the barrier. He kept enough in place to let me know there were still some issues we had to work through. “I want everyone to know you’re mine. Off the market, so to speak.”

      By everyone, I knew he meant only one specific person. His penetrating stare was sultry but it made me nervous.

      “I only have eyes for you, Alastair Holden.”

      The slightly arched eyebrow did nothing to quell the undeniable disdain he held for my ex. “Good.”

      Grinning, I pulled him close for a soft kiss.

      Two women took it upon themselves to pick this moment to stand next to us and peruse the jewelry in the case. It was clear they knew exactly who he was. They shot sideways glances at me while pretending to coo over the rings. He probably didn’t appreciate these people being so intrusive. Much to my surprise, he fisted his hand in my hair and kissed me with such force I almost fell backwards. Sliding his tongue around mine in long slow strokes, he kept us locked in this heated embrace far longer than I would have expected. Not that I minded.

      “My Lia,” he breathed. “Let’s get out of here.”

      I swear I saw the two women fanning themselves as we left.

      * * *

      The level of concentration on his face was staggering as he flipped through a large cookbook. I stood on the opposite side of the breakfast bar, not hiding the amused smile growing on my lips.

      “You’re staring.”

      “So are you. I’m hungry. Get started, chief.”

      He flicked those bright emerald irises at me, making my heart race. “I’d rather not have this go pear shaped if you don’t mind.”

      “C’mon. It’s only dinner. Don’t be so…” I paused, looking for the right word, “British.”

      He smirked. “You don’t know what pear shaped means, do you?”

      Tapping my nails on the counter, I shrugged. I knew what it meant but was more interested in the stare being leveled at me than his use of slang. Those eyes could stop time. Oh, and that mouth. Even twisted in a wry grin it made my insides quiver. Mine. Every inch of him was mine.

      “What are you thinking about?” The rich, velvet tenor of his voice curled my toes.

      “You. Duh.”

      “Very articulate.”

      “What can I say? You’re, like, totally hot and I wanna see you naked.” I twirled my hair in an exaggerated manner and winked.

      He smiled slightly. Since we returned to his house in Bearsden after the jewelry store I’d been trying to draw out his playful side. The emotional roller coaster from last night had a strong hold on both of us. I’d hoped it would have weakened by now. Strumming his fingers on the counter, Alastair sighed.

      “How about we order food instead and do…couple-y things?”

      “Couple-y things?” I scrunched my nose. “Who’s being articulate now?”

      He shrugged. “I have this big living room that I never use. I thought maybe we could watch a movie or listen to music or…have a snog or two.”

      “Oh, those couple-y things. You mean, what normal people do?” I teased.

      “Cheeky.” His pretty eyes dropped their shield sending a rush of happiness through me. “What do you prefer? Chinese, Indian or Italian?”

      “Keep it simple. You can’t go wrong with pizza.”

      Shooting me an exaggerated eye roll, he rifled through one of the drawers and pulled out a menu. Judging by the name of the restaurant, it was something Italian and most certainly not pizza. He disappeared to his office without asking me what I wanted. I made myself comfortable in the museum-like living room. The couch cushions were so puffy I had a feeling I was the only one to ever sit on them. I was afraid to touch anything. Even the remote control for the flat screen television looked unused. The only thing in here that had any personal feel to it was the photo he’d taken of Big Ben with a red bus driving past it.

      I smiled to myself, wondering what he was going to do with the pictures he’d taken of me last night. It wasn’t too big of a stretch to think he’d display them somewhere in the house. Preferably the bedroom. Although from my understanding nobody ever came here so he could blow the pictures up poster sized and hang them all over the house if he wanted. Silly, silly thoughts.

      “You look like the cat that got the cream,” he remarked, striding through the room. “I’m going to pick up the food. It’s just down the street so I won’t be long. Make yourself comfortable.”

      I grabbed the remote and stretched out on the couch, saluting him. “Yes, sir.”

      His gaze darkened as he hovered over me. “Be careful, kitten. I could get used to you saying that.”

      Spurred on by the heated stare leveled at me, I ran a finger down his shirt. “Is that so, Mr. Holden?”

      “Vixen,” he muttered, nipping at my earlobe. “I’ll deal with you when I come back.”

      “I’m counting on it.”

      “Wow.” The throaty laugh I loved so much filled the room. “Someone is extra feisty tonight.”

      I heard him chuckling all the way to the door. Once he was gone, I decided to take another self-guided tour of his house. Strolling past the master bedroom and home office, I noticed a closed door at the far end of the hallway. I twisted the doorknob and was surprised to find it locked. My curiosity shot off the charts. I figured it was a second bedroom but why keep it under lock and key? What is he hiding now? Scolding myself for always assuming the worst, I went to his bedroom. The camera sat on his bureau. I grabbed it, turned on the preview screen and almost dropped it.

      A picture of me sleeping popped up. Thank goodness I wasn’t slack jawed or drooling in the photo. I actually looked quite peaceful with one hand curled under my chin. Taking a deep breath, I scrolled through more photos. They were all of me. He must have taken a dozen while I was sleeping. The rest were from when he’d been lurking by the door.