Wounded Beast (Gypsy Heroes Book 2) by Georgia le Carre Page A

eyes, and after a while I fall into a deep, dreamless sleep.

    A sound wakes me up. I open my eyes, and Dom is sitting freshly showered and fully dressed by the bedside. His hair is still damp, and I am suddenly reminded of the first time I saw him. It feels like our first encounter happened a lifetime ago. Another era. He has become so much a part of my life.
    ‘How are you feeling?’ he asks.
    I push hair out of my face and blink a few times. My eyes feel heavy and my mouth feels wooly. At least the headache is gone, though. ‘I’ll survive,’ I mutter.
    ‘Look, I have to go out, but stay as long as you like. Make yourself some breakfast. How about I take you out to lunch when I get back?’
    ‘Uh, no, I can’t stay. I’ve got to go to my mum’s and then I’m meeting my best friend for lunch.’
    ‘Right.’ He takes his phone out of his pocket ‘What’s your mum’s number?’
    I stare at him, surprised. ‘Why?’
    He looks up from his phone. ‘I ’ m a paranoid motherfucker. I always need next of kin information.’
    Because I ’ m so startled by his arrogant assumption that I should give him my mother’s number after two nights of … hot sex—I guess that ’ s what it was, there had been no lovemaking between us—I end up giving it to him. Besides, I’m not even properly awake. So this is officially an ambush of sorts.
    ‘Now, your best friend’s name and number?’
    My eyes widen, but I cave in and give him Anna’s number, too.
    ‘Right, I’ll get my driver to pick you up and take you wherever you want to go. He’ll be waiting for you in the foyer.’
    I shake my head. I just woke up and I ’ m being steamrolled into agreeing to all kinds of things. ‘Please don’t do that. I’ll just call a taxi.’
    ‘No you won’t. Brian will take you,’ he says, his jaw hardening.
    I cover my eyes. It really is too early to fight with anyone, let alone a juggernaut like him. ‘OK, fine.’
    ‘I’ll pick you up from your place at eight tonight. Wear your red dress.’
    I uncover my eyes. ‘Ah … we’re going out tonight?’
    ‘It’s Saturday. What else would we do?’
    His phone must have buzzed in his pocket. He takes it, looks at it, and raises his eyebrow enquiringly at me. I shrug to indicate that he ’ s welcome to take the call. He presses the button and listens to a woman’s laughing voice saying something. I immediately turn my eyes away from him and pretend to be very interested in a ray of sunshine that ’ s pouring in through the curtains, which he must have partially opened.
    My stomach ’ s churning with a mixture of hurt, shame and fury. What a sick bastard. As if he had to bloody take the call in front of me while I ’ m lying naked in his bed still smelling of sex with him. I don’t let any of my feelings show on my face, though. He wants us to be enemies who fuck? Sure, I can do that. In the end, he’ll be the one who ’ s sorry. A voice in my head says, ‘In your dreams he’ll be the sorry one.’
    ‘Cut it out, Layla,’ he says into the phone and cuts the connection.
    ‘What are you looking at?’ he asks me.
    ‘The dust motes,’ I say softly, relief pouring through my veins. All is forgiven. He was talking to his sister. I feel gooey inside.
    He turns his head to look at the particles suspended in the rays of sunlight. ‘Why?’
    ‘Because …’ I pause. Oh my God, I am so happy for no reason whatsoever. ‘The dust motes are magic. They ’ re around us all the time, but you can only see them in a burst of sunlight.’
    ‘OK.’
    ‘Don’t you get it? They ’ re the universe’s way of telling us that there ’ s more to life than we can see, hear or touch. You know, like dogs can hear things we can’t, bats can feel sounds, and other animals can see ultraviolet light.’
    He stares at me. ‘And you’re a tax collector?’
    I shrug.
    ‘I’m going, but before I go …’ He pulls at the sheet that I ’ m holding fast to my chest.
    I clutch the