Dangerous: Made & Broken (A British Bad Boy Romance) (13 page)

“Yes.”

“That little…” I stopped myself from finishing that sentence at the look of warning in Marcus’ eyes. “Look, I appreciate you not letting Dad find her, but you can spare me the lecture. She’s fine. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a pain in the arse of a wife to deal with.”

I stepped past him, not waiting for his acknowledgment, and yelled, “
Mira
!” loud enough to resonate through the flat and into the bedroom where she was currently hiding. I set my jaw at the burst of annoyance that rolled through me at the knowledge that she was hiding from
me
behind the supposed shield of my brother’s protection. She wasn’t his to protect. Even if I resented the hell out of the job, it was mine, and my muscles itched with an instinctive urge to challenge Marcus for stepping in.

If I’d been drunk I might have given in, but my brain was clear enough to know that I wasn’t guaranteed a win in a fight against Marcus. He’d always been completely unpredictable, and I wasn’t in the mood to lose another showdown tonight. Bad enough my pint-sized spitfire of a wife had slapped me around a few hours ago, even if it was only verbally.

The door to Marcus’ bedroom creaked open, and Mira came round the corner, her face drawn with tension. She stopped before she got to the kitchen area and balled her fists up beside her hips. “What?”

I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from snapping at her challenging tone. If we were going to have another domestic, it wasn’t happening in front of my crazy brother. “We’re going home. Now.”

To my mild surprise, she didn’t argue. Instead, she went over to the counter where she’d left her coat and purse, picked both up, folded the coat over her arm, and then walked over to Marcus.

“Thank you,” she said softly, and then she raised up on her tiptoes and planted a light kiss on his cheek. “For your kindness.”

I wasn’t prepared for the wave of scalding jealousy that rushed through my veins and ended up in my chest in a molten pool of anger. Marcus. Of all people,
Marcus
was the one she thanked—for his
kindness.
If it had been one of the twins I could have accepted it, but Marcus? If I had a bad reputation, then he was the fucking anti-Christ, and yet here she was, seemingly completely at ease in his presence. And with his protection. While me… me, she treated like a bloody fiend.

I pushed the sensation down. I didn’t want
her,
I just wanted to fuck her. Once I’d had my fill of her, this unbearable yearning that scratched at my insides like a thousand ants would pass, and I’d move on to greener pastures like I always did once a bird started to bore me. What did I care if she preferred my brother over me?

I held the door open for her, pretending like every cell in my body wasn’t seething, and when she walked through without a word, I closed it behind us, not bothering to say goodbye to Marcus.

I’d never had any beef with my brothers before, but as I drove out of the parking lot underneath Marcus’ fancy high-rise, dark resentment churned in my gut.

* * * *

Chapter 14

Mira

We didn’t speak for nearly a week after that.

I’d expected Blaine to yell at me for breaking his precious rules, but he didn’t. Instead, he avoided me.

I saw him a few times in the kitchen or on the stairs, and once or twice I caught sight of him headed for the shed in the backyard, but we never exchanged as much as a word.

For the first few days, I saw it as a blessing. What had gone down between us had been way too intense, and I was happy to pretend like it’d never happened. Between Blaine’s anger, my own body’s treacherous reactions to his closeness and the run-in with his disturbing brother, playing make-believe was just fine by me. As much as I wanted to get Blaine to respect—and ultimately trust—me, I sorely needed a few days off from all the drama.

But by day four, the peace and quiet had lost its novelty, especially because neither Rob nor Greg, nor any of the other guards, set foot in the house unless it was to carry in my groceries. When I asked if they wanted tea or a sandwich, they always politely declined and then exited the house as if I’d offered them arsenic. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that Blaine had had
words
with his men since I’d managed to sneak out without alerting any of them.

As a result, I was completely isolated, and I was beginning to go more than a little stir crazy. When I woke up on day six after
The Incident
so nauseous I had to sprint to my en-suite bathroom to throw up, I was done suffering in silence.

I leaned weakly against the toilet after the heaving was finally over, unable to muster enough energy to get off up from the tiled floor.

Great. Just what I needed—a stomach bug.

I stayed on the floor for a good half an hour, until I was reasonably certain I wouldn’t hurl from moving. When I got up, my stomach lurched again, but at least the dry heaves didn’t return. I quickly cleaned my teeth and then pattered downstairs to the front door.

Rob and Greg were back on watch. They both looked mildly surprised at my disheveled appearance when I opened the door, probably thanks to my checkered pajamas bottoms, silk camisole, and sleep-messy hair.

“I need crackers,” I croaked. “And ginger ale.” A pang from my empty stomach made me add, “And gherkins, please,” before I shut the door again, not waiting for a reply. Sure, it wasn’t their fault that they seemingly weren’t allowed to talk to me anymore, but right then, I felt so completely alone in the world that I didn’t have it in me to care whether or not it was their choice to treat me like a leper.

I felt like crap, and no one cared. Heck, if I’d somehow contracted something lethal and died, my so-called husband would likely throw a party to celebrate it.

When Rob popped in to drop off my requested goods approximately twenty minutes later, he found me hunched over the breakfast bar, crying miserably with self-pity.

“Hey now, what’s the matter, love?” He sounded halfway concerned, halfway like he’d rather be anywhere else than trapped with a weeping woman, but instead of fleeing like I would have expected, he put the groceries on the counter and placed a tentative hand on my shoulder.

That one, small gesture of someone actually giving a crap turned my quiet crying into full-on belly sobs.

Rob made a startled noise at the back of his throat, clearly not having expected the Niagara Falls of snot and tears erupting in front of him.

“I-I’m so-sorry,” I hiccuped, doing my best to rein in the torrent of volatile emotions that ripped through my chest. “I’m j-just s-so alone. A-all the time.”

“Mmmh,” Rob hummed, as if that made all the sense in the world. It instantly made me feel a bit better, as if maybe I wasn’t completely crazy.

“Tell you what, why don’t you eat some of them crackers, love, and have a glass of ginger ale? I’ll just give Blaine a call, have him come home to look after you.”

My moment’s relief vanished immediately at the sound of my husband’s name. “No. Not Blaine. He h-hates me.” For some unknown reason, saying it out loud made a fresh bout of tears burst out of my eyes and stain my already salt-speckled glasses.

“Nah, he’s just a bit rough ‘round the edges. You gotta learn to handle him. He’s a Steel alright, but he’s a good kid when it comes down to it.” Rob gave my shoulder a light pat and fished his phone out of his pants. “You just settle down now, yeah? He’ll come runnin’ the second he hears you’re upset.”

“Don’t tell him that,” I sniffled pathetically. The last thing I wanted was for Blaine to know he’d beaten me with his silent treatment—especially when I felt so inexplicably weak. He didn’t need to see me when I was down.

“Don’t be daft,” Rob said as he left the kitchen with a backwards glance over his shoulder, phone already lifted halfway to his ear. “He’s a bloke—he’ll crack at the sight of his wife’s tears. You gotta learn to play the game, love.”

I stared after the big, burly man as he disappeared out of the kitchen and out the front door. Even with my best efforts I couldn’t imagine Blaine being anything remotely close to “a good kid,” but perhaps Rob did have a point. Perhaps a softer touch was what was needed when it came to Blaine. I’d spent all my time trying to be strong and together—and even when I’d failed miserably, I had reacted with anger rather than tears.

Maybe he would indeed react better if he saw vulnerability in me instead.

I grabbed a piece of paper towel off the counter and wiped my eyes before blowing my nose. At least it would be pretty easy to show him vulnerability today.

* * *

When Blaine walked in about three quarters of an hour later, my tears had finally stopped, even if my face was still salt-streaked and my eyes red-rimmed. I hadn’t been able to find the energy to go wash my face or even change into regular clothes, so when he rounded the double doors into the kitchen, he found me sitting on a bar stool still in my pajamas and snacking on a gherkin straight out of the jar.

I turned to face him when he paused in the doorway, half a pickle still in my hand. “Hey.”

He frowned, his light gray eyes taking in everything from the half-empty pickle jar and used tissue on the counter to my tear-stricken face and ruffled appearance.

“What’s going on? Rob said you weren’t feeling well?”

From the gruffness in his voice it was hard to imagine he actually cared about my state of mind, but then again—he had come home early to check in on me, which was more than I’d expected. I bit my lip and looked down. “I’m sorry.”

“Beg your pardon?” An apology was obviously not what
he’d
expected, judging from the clear note of surprise in his voice.

I managed to lift my head again so I could look at him. “I’m sorry,” I repeated. “For everything that went down between us last week. It wasn’t how I’d intended the night to go.”

Blaine looked at me silently for a little while, as if trying to determine if I was being genuine or not. Much as I wanted to, I couldn’t really blame him for his hesitance. If he’d suddenly apologized to me out of the blue, I would have suspected him of ulterior motives, too.

I put the pickle down and wrapped my arms around my midsection. Being open like this made the feelings of vulnerability come rushing back.

“I don’t want it to be like this,” I continued. “I know you have your family, your work, but I… I don’t have anyone except you. I c-can’t keep living like this, w-where we d-don’t even s-speak and…” I had to pause to not break down completely again, but I couldn’t stop the tears that started to pour down my cheeks again while I tried to word exactly how alone I felt.

Blaine made a low noise at the back of his throat, something between surprise and concern. He even took two steps toward me before he paused, his hand falling to his side as if he’d been about to reach for me.

“Look, I…” His frown increased as he looked at me, obviously at a loss for what to do.

I shook my head. “You d-don’t have to s-say anything. I’m s-sorry, I d-don’t know what’s g-gotten into me.”

Blaine looked at me for a few more moments before he sighed deeply and sank down on the bar stool next to me. “I hate crying women,” he muttered under his breath.

“S-sorry,” I hiccuped. “D-didn’t want Rob to c-call you.”

“And that’s the fucking problem, isn’t it,” he growled. “You’re so bloody stubborn.”

I didn’t have the spirit to point out that he wasn’t exactly easy to deal with, either.

Blaine rubbed his face with one hand and gave me a long, evaluating look. “Okay. Here’s what we’re going to do. I have a business meeting with some really important people on Sunday. They’re old family friends, and I know they want to meet the new Mrs. Steel. I’ll bring them home for the meeting instead, and you’ll set the table and cook dinner like you did last week. If you can get through the entire night without throwing wine, I’ll reconsider starting to let you get out a bit more. Show me I can trust you, and this doesn’t have to suck as hard.”

I blinked, sheer surprise stopping the flow of tears. It had actually… worked? Not being strong to earn his respect, not trying to be friendly to earn his trust… No, breaking down and bawling for more or less inexplicable reasons was what it took to find my way out of this mess.

“Think you can do that?” Blaine seemed noticeably more comfortable, now my sobbing had quieted down. He stretched out his long legs and grabbed a cracker from the open pack, once again the picture of an alpha male in perfect control.

I nodded and reached for another piece of paper towel. Yeah. If it meant I didn’t have to go through this crushing loneliness again, then I could play his good little housewife. And who knew—perhaps by the end of it, I would also gain the key to my freedom.

* * * *

Chapter 15

Blaine

The smell of garlic-roasted chicken hit my nostrils the second I walked through the door. Soft jazz played from the dining room, and I could see the warm glow of candle lights spilling out into the doorway, just like it had when I came down to Mira’s “
Lasagna Surprise”
last week. I suppressed a cringe at the memory of how that night had ended. Hopefully, tonight would go a whole lot better. I was banking a pretty big business deal on this, and had had time to regret making the suggestion more than once since I found Mira sobbing in our kitchen in the middle of used tissue paper and clutching a giant jar of pickles. But if it worked…