Chapter 17

I’m shakingfrom the top of my head to the tips of my toes, and it’s not from the cold.

He just?—

Savage rubbed himself against me. Minus the clothes, he would’ve been…

Stop. Stop. He also just ran out of the room and into a storm to get away from you.

I’ve never been in a more frustrating and confusing situation. The man I thought despised me, or at least thought I was annoying and unattractive, wants me so badly, he can’t stand to be in the same room as me.

And I’m the idiot who’s lying here with ruined yoga pants, completely unfulfilled.

This is another memory I’ll store away to keep for lonely nights.

That’s not pathetic.

I get up and head for the master bedroom, then clean myself up in the bathroom and change my pants. I put on underwear this time, because panty-lines or not, I can’t afford to ruin yet another pair of pants because of Savage. I only packed three.

I head out into the hall.

The fire crackles from the living room, and the front door is shut, probably locked from the outside to keep me safe. And Savage is out there in the rain, while I?—

My gaze wanders to the other doors, and my heart skips a beat. One of the “forbidden” doors is open a crack.

I gnaw on the inside of my cheek.

“This is wrong,” I murmur. “You’re not doing this. You were told not to do this.”

But I’m also tired of being told what not to do and when. My feet carry me toward the door, and I shiver, nervous about what I might find inside.

What is Savage hiding? Gosh, at this point, what isn’t he hiding? The man is an enigma. All I know about him is that he was in the Navy, he doesn’t like to talk, he cooks a mean chicken piccata, and he is seriously well-endowed. Scarily well-endowed. Like, I’m not even sure it will fit, well-endowed.

Ruining the pants, Hannah.

My curiosity gets the better of me, and I press my palm to the door. It opens on oiled hinges, and I gasp.

The room is hexagonal in shape, and the center is empty except for a few comfy-looking armchairs and a coffee table. The walls are dominated by bookshelves that groan under the weight of countless books. Books in every color and size, but neatly categorized so that it’s beautifully aesthetic. The only spaces not occupied by the shelves are those that let in light from French windows. There’s even a little nook beneath one of the windows that looks like it will get amazing sunlight.

“Wow,” I breathe.

This is a librarian’s fantasy. A beautiful home library filled with books? Unreal.

And Savage knows I’m a librarian, so why would he keep this from me?

I enter the room slowly and move along the bookshelves closest to me. They’re not set up in alphabetical order. There’s an entire bookcase dedicated to one author in particular. C. M. Casey.

I remove one of the books and turn it over. It’s a middle grade fantasy adventure with a young girl on the front holding up her hand with a ball of fire above it. Gosh, these are exactly the types of books I wanted to get for the library before things fell through with the hot pepper-eating contest.

I’ve still got time. I can find donors for the revamp, talk to the?—

“What are you doing?” Savage’s voice rings through the space.

I swallow and turn toward him. “Sorry,” I say, putting up a smile. “The door was open and once I saw what was in here I couldn’t resist. This is an impressive collection. I mean, seriously. Are they all children’s books?” I lift up the book in my hand.

His dark gaze flickers to it and then up to my face. “Put it back.”

“What?”

“Put that back.”

“Savage, look, I?—”

“Put it back.” It comes out as a bark that verges on a shout, and I jolt on the spot.

I grew up with brothers, so I’ve seen my fair share of testosterone-fueled arguments, but it shocks me. I have seen Savage lose control once. And it was at the hot pepper eating contest after he saved my life.

“You don’t need to raise your voice at me,” I say, lifting my chin and glaring at him.

“I wasn’t raising my voice.”

“And now you’re going to gaslight me too?”

“Hannah, put the book back. Please.”

“No.”

“What?”

I walk over to him and shove the book against his chest. “You put the book back. I wouldn’t want to touch anything else in here in case you lose your friggin’ mind.” I push past him.

“I told you not to come in here,” he says behind me.

I turn around and find him standing in the doorway, clutching the book in both hands. “I told you, this door and that door are off-limits.” He nods to the far end of the hall.

“Yeah, well, unlike you, I don’t care if somebody tells me something is off-limits.”

“That’s bullshit.”

“No, you’re bullshit. This whole situation is bullshit. Look, you didn’t want me to go in there, and I get that what I did was wrong, but if you ever talk to me like that again, I will—” I lose my breath. What will I do? “I’ll leave and never come back.”

“I thought you were doing that anyway.”

“Whatever. You think you’re so smart, Savage. So smart and controlled. I can tell you think I’m, I don’t know, less than you. Not worth your time.”

“That must be why I made you chicken piccata for dinner last night,” he grunts. “Because you’re not worth my time.”

“No, you’re right. You just… keep your distance and then randomly make me my favorite meal that you happened to hear me mention years ago,” I say. “Without any explanation. You acted like you despised me for years. Watched me embarrass myself over and over again. And then you invite me out here, and next thing, you’re telling me actually, you think I’m an amazing person, and here’s your favorite breakfast, next to one of your favorite flowers, and by the way, let me grind my dick into you for a hot minute.” I take a breath. “Do you have any idea how confusing this is? For me? For you? I don’t know what the hell is going on half the time. So I am sorry. Truly. I’m sorry I entered your secret library. I just—I wanted to know you. And that was my mistake.”

He grinds his teeth. Even when he does that, he’s handsome, but I can’t stand the sight of him.

“I’ll just go to the bedroom and stay in there. That way you can protect me just like my brother wants you to, without you having to have me in your home.”

“Hannah,” he says, in that gruff tone. It’s just below a shout.

My hair stands on end, and I march up to him. “What?”

“You—You have no idea why I asked you not to go in there,” he says.

“And whose fault is that?” I ask.

We glare at each other for a moment. He takes a step toward me, but I put up my hands. “Don’t come near me. I don’t want to talk to you right now.” And then I enter his bedroom and slam the door behind me.

It’s ridiculous, but I well up instantly.

I walk to the bed and plop down.

It’s not that Savage is upset I violated his privacy or his rules, or even that he got snappy with me about it. It’s how frustrated I am.

How can one guy send this many mixed signals? And why? Why can’t he just open up to me and tell me what he wants?

I lay back on the bed and let the tears come. Why is life so messed up at the moment?