Unravel Me by Lynn Montagano Page B

hotel, relaxing before their visit kicked into high gear this weekend. Stephanie was at some swanky restaurant grand opening with the guy from Maine. She’d asked me to join them but I turned down her invitation politely, preferring to curl up on the couch.
    I was still in my work clothes. The lure of food was too strong for me to waste time changing first. That was certainly next on my agenda for this lazy evening.
    The doorbell scared the ever-living shit out of me. I dropped my fork, splattering spaghetti and cream sauce all over my skirt. Cursing under my breath I got up to open the door. I blinked, not believing what I saw. Standing in front of me looking casual and hot in his jeans and green t-shirt was Alastair holding a small paper bag. Judging by the amount of stubble on his face, I’d guess he hadn’t shaved all week. And boy did he look pissed. Shit. He’d seen the article.
    “Did I come at a bad time?” He flicked his eyes to my soiled clothes.
    “Considering you’ve shown up unannounced and you live across the Atlantic, I’d say yes.”
    “May I come in?”
    “You know you don’t have to ask. Why are you here?”
    “I can’t pop in to see my girlfriend?” he smiled, but the amusement didn’t touch his eyes.
    My heart started pounding. His arm brushed against me as he walked through the door, simultaneously giving me a rush and making me nervous. This was going to be interesting.
    “Are you home alone?” He casually glanced around the living room before placing the bag on the kitchen counter. Turning to look at me, he folded his arms and stood as still as a statue.
    “Of course. I was just having something to eat.”
    “I can see that,” he said dryly, casting a frigid glance at my pasta stained skirt. I generally kept the temperature in my apartment comfortably cool because it was always so hot out. At this moment, it was downright arctic in here.
    “Is the bearded look a new thing you’re trying?”
    Expressionless and stoic, he leaned against the counter. No emotion, not even anger, reflected in his eyes. He was a blank canvas and it scared the hell out of me.
    “Don’t be coy.”
    “What are—”
    “What the fuck, Lia,” he interrupted, clamping his arms around his torso.
    I stared at him, unable to form a sentence.
    Scowling in frustration, he raked both hands through his hair. A few cracks appeared in his impenetrable shield. “Stop doing this,” he growled. “Or do you enjoy sneaking around behind my back with that fucking tosser?”
    Each bitter word stabbed my skin with its sharp edges. Moving with calculated strides, he stood in front of me, dominating my line of sight. I was enveloped in his suffocating aura, caught between my desire to protect him from what I knew and collapse in his arms, asking for forgiveness.
    “Why are you seeing him?”
    “I’m not.”
    Clasping my chin in his hand, he tilted my head up. Hurt and confusion stained his beautiful green eyes. He kissed me forcefully, gasping for breath when he pulled away. “Why are you seeing him?”
    “Alastair, I’m not seeing him.”
    He kissed me again. The strength of it caused me to lose my balance and fall onto the couch. I’d never felt this level of desperation emit from him. Caging me against the cushions, he squeezed his eyes shut. “You’re mine,” he said in a husky whisper. “Don’t leave.”
    “I’m not leaving.” I freed my arms from his grip, running my hands through his hair. “Look at me.”
    His laser stare nearly burned a hole through my skull straight to the floor. Completely shrouded in his protective shell, he waited for me to say something. I traced along his hairline, running my thumbs over his eyebrows, cheeks and lips. He remained so still it unnerved me. There was zero emotion on his face. His body hovered above me, rigid and unyielding. It was almost as though he was caught in a nightmare with his eyes wide open. I couldn’t bear to see him like this.
    “Do you want him