Falling for Rex by Shayne Ford
14
REX
A door slamssomewhere inside the house. My eyes flip open, my arms flexing instinctively.
I listen.
I hear the wind and the ocean in the distance. The patio doors are open. Footsteps stride across the first floor. Paced, heavy footsteps, large strides.
It’s him.
Another door opens and closes.
I shift my eyes to the nightstand, snatch my phone, and check the time.
It’s five in the morning.
I finally straighten and leap out of bed. Barefoot, I take the stairs down, wearing only a pair of sweatpants.
The only light downstairs comes from outside.
I move around, looking for him. Soft light stretches across the floor, coming from the walk-in-closet.
He walks out just as I head that way.
“Can’t sleep?” he tosses at me, not looking in my direction.
He has his suit pants on, his belt undone, his dark-blue boxers peeking through.
“Are you talking about you or me?” I ask, crossing my arms over my chest.
He looks down at his phone, walking away from me.
“Where were you?” I throw at him.
“Why do you want to know?”
I pivot and follow him into the living room. He snatches a bottle of water from the bar and gulps most of it while I lean against a barstool, waiting for him to look at me.
Our eyes meet, a strange smile threading through his gaze.
From all the people surrounding him these days, I’m probably the only one who can read him all the time.
It’s not a privilege. It’s a curse. Because he’s always bad news.
His eyes taunt me, daring me...
With him, it’s always a game. A competition. He’s always after something. Wanting something. Something to have, possess and destroy.
He can’t stop himself. It’s in him. It’s always been.
Baron said it’s his best trait–– in business, that is–– because it comes with a killer instinct.
I’ve never argued with him. I never liked Kian’s trait, either.
Of all people, I’m probably the only one he can’t destroy. He wouldn't touch Baron either.
That doesn’t mean he doesn’t try from time to time.
He can’t turn off his killer instinct. To him, everything is fair game, and now he has a woman in the crosshairs.
“Hmm?” he mutters. “Why do you need to know, brother?”
He tilts his gaze at me, waiting for an answer.
“I don’t need to know. But I was hoping that you went to San Francisco.”
Smiling, he crashes onto the sofa.
“I did.”
He slams his back into the couch, props his legs onto the coffee table, and crosses them before running his hand up his shredded abs.
“Do you want to know how it was?”
He cocks an eyebrow at me, grinning.
“Humor me,” I mutter, folding my arms on my chest again.
“It was just what the doctor ordered after that lame-ass party.”
“How was your party different?” I sneer.
He smiles as if it was good humor.
“It was for adults, not spoiled kids.”
“Why did you show up then?”
He tilts his head back, his narrowed gaze lined with a smile.
“I wanted to see your girlfriend.”
“What girlfriend?”
I don’t blink, not a muscle ticking in my jaw.
He clicks his tongue.
“Tsk, tsk... First, you tell me she’s not what I want, then you say she’s nothing. And then you go to such great lengths to pretend she’s not important to you...”
“Why did you talk to her?”
He laughs at me as if the masks have finally slipped off.
“Why wouldn’t I talk to her?” he asks, picking up his phone from the table and swiping his thumb across the screen. “I want to know what I’m gonna fuck.”
I crush my first instinct to charge at him, knowing that fighting him will only make him hungrier for her.
He’s already sniffing her like a hungry wolf, and I can’t think of anything right now to crush his interest in her.
“I’ve already told you she’s not your kind of woman.”
“And she is yours...” he sneers.
“She doesn’t mean a damn thing to me.”
“Why are we talking about her, then? Again.”
I hold his gaze.
“Yeah... You’re right. Why am I talking about her? Because she’s not used to men like you. You scared her.”
A smug smile tugs at his lips.
“Did she say that?”
“Yes.”
We both know I’m bluffing.
“When did you talk to her?”
“I ran into her after she left the party.”
Grinning, he pushes to his feet, walks around the bar, and fixes himself a drink.
“You know what I think?” he asks.
My eyes are trained on his broad, muscular back. I stay silent.
“I think you’re afraid of me when it comes to her. Why?”
He turns around slowly, his drink in his hand.
He sets it on the counter next to him and looks at me, standing feet away from me.
“What is so special about this girl?” he asks, searching my eyes.
“There’s nothing special.”
“And yet, you followed her home.”
“How do you know?”
“The cop told me.”
“The cop? Is he on your payroll?”
“He may be when it comes to you.”
“I wanted to make sure she made it home safe.”
“Did she?”
He has that mysterious grin on his lips again.
“Yeah.”
I observe him for a few moments.
“Why are you so fixated on her? I don’t get it,” I say.
“I can ask you the same thing.”
A long breath fills my lungs before I sigh.
“She’s um... She doesn’t know much about men. I’ve told you before... She’s inexperienced.”
“Uh-huh.”
He seems entertained.
“And it’s different,” I continue.
“Than the other women?”
“Yes.”
“But not for me?” he muses.
“No.”
“You protect her?”
I don’t answer.
“Why do you protect her?”
“She’s too innocent for you.”
“But not for you?”
“I didn’t do anything to her.”
My words float in the air, a perfect sample of what I’ve perfected throughout the years–– my ability to stand my ground when it comes to him.
“Why can’t you admit it? You want to try to be her friend,” he mutters.
“Would that keep you away from her?”
His eyes turn into gleaming blades.
“Sure. Why would I mess with that?”
The irony is evident, yet it doesn’t transpire in his expression or demeanor.
“Be her friend. Try it. See how it goes.”
He taunts me, knowing full well that I don’t believe a word he says, and yet, I may not have a choice and do it.
