But this with Mark?
It felt unresolved somehow.
Like she’d needed a reason to dump him so that she could hook up with James or something…
Fuck, she felt like such a slut.
Mortification flooded her, and she ignored James as she turned away from the bed and rushed over to the door. Then, she heard him scampering upright and knew he was going to follow her.
“Where do you think you’re going?” she demanded, her voice less impressive than she’d have liked thanks to the squeak that had found a home in her throat.
“I’m going to make sure you don’t make the biggest mistake of your life,” he replied.
With that warning, and with a sheet wrapped around his waist, he strode ahead of her. And damn, if he didn’t look as regal as Julius freakin’ Caesar as he headed for the staircase and aimed for her ex.
Chapter 8
What was he doing?
What had he just done?
He’d fucked his best friend’s sister. Aidan was going to be more than pissed about that. He’d be more pissed to realize, however, that James wanted to do it again.
And again.
And again.
Once was not going to be enough.
James knew that like he knew his face on a fucking magazine front cover.
He ran a hand through his hair as he strode down the corridor towards the door, and ignored Diana’s shriek of surprise as she saw him walking around half-assed naked with nothing more than a sheet covering all the important parts.
Before she could do more than shriek, however, he heard her demand, “Hannah! What on earth’s going on?”
Hannah made no move to reply, though, she just scampered toward him, and tried to duck around him. He grabbed a hold of her just in time, and frog-marched her to the door.
Before she could do little more than yell, “Dammit, James, what the hell do you think…” James managed to open up and came face to face with Hannah’s ex.
When he saw the supercilious bastard’s smirk fall at the sight of him and Hannah wrapped up together, James wanted to crow. Then, he wanted to deck the son of a bitch. What little Hannah had said about this dick was too much.
He knew the sort.
Hell, he was the son of a man exactly like Mark.
His father controlled his mother’s every waking move—it was why they didn’t get on. Why he spent every holiday with the Sawyers, and barely saw his parents at all.
His mom couldn’t—wouldn’t—see the light, and his father was intent on keeping it that way.
“You need to get out of here before I beat your ass for what you did to Hannah,” he growled out, long and low, watching with pleasure as Mark flinched, taking a few wobbly steps backwards. “That’s right,” he spat. “You’re not so tough, are you, when you’re faced with someone your own size.”
“James!” Hannah shrieked. “Mark never touched me.”
“No, but that would have come next, Hannah. It always does. First, it’s your movements. Checking up on you. Then it’s your friends, which ones you can and can’t see. Onto your wardrobe, and then your food. Until every part of your day is under his watch.” When she stilled at his side, no longer trying to bow under his arm to get past him, he knew his words had hit home.
Thank fuck, he thought to himself. But as the thought passed through his mind, she whispered, “James, I think you should go.”
“What? Are you being serious?” he demanded, his gaze darting between Mark and her.