My hand went to the spot he was glaring at on reflex. It shook. His eyes widened at my shaking hand, so I quickly yanked it back down to my side.
“No one,” I squeaked. “I just… walked into a cabinet.” It was the truth. Leaving out some important details and one important asshole, but the truth, nonetheless.
A truth that Rowan, apparently, wasn’t buying.
He made this known by rounding the counter in a handful of quick, powerful strides and advancing on me. I was entirely unprepared for him to break the barrier between us and come into my space, therefore, I didn’t have time to escape.
I didn’t have anywhere to escape to anyway since the espresso machine was directly behind me which I hadn’t thought about until my back slammed into it.
Rowan didn’t stop, his hand grasping my upper arm in a firm, purposeful but not painful grip before he began to drag me toward the kitchen.
Or he would’ve had I not let out a little whimper of pain.
You see, the grip itself would not have been painful had I not had bruises on the exact spot he gripped. But I did. Therefore, the whimper I couldn’t control.
The whimper that stopped Rowan dead in his tracks and made him let go of my arm like it had burned him. His eyes zeroed in on the spot that was thankfully covered by cashmere. Delicate cashmere that thankfully could not be dissolved by the fury in his gaze.
I froze, unable to stop staring at him, unable to say anything.
Rowan was quiet for a moment too. It seemed the entire bakery held its breath.
Well, until his palm landed on my lower back—feather light, barely there, yet I could’ve sworn the imprint of it seared into my skin—and gently guided me to the kitchen.
I let myself be guided because I didn’t know what else to do. Because it seemed the safest option, away from all of the spectators. I was not used to being the focus of town gossip, and I knew the black eye plus this interaction with Rowan would have people talking about me for days.
The kitchen was my safe space. And here he was in it. All large, imposing and furious.
“Take off your sweater,” he said quietly. He may as well have roared it for the impact it had. Although his tone was velvet smooth, it was threaded with pure fury. The fury that shone in his eyes, that made the cords of his neck stand out, made his hands fist at his sides.
It was the fury that should’ve had me shrinking into a tiny, terrified ball. Not just because of last night but because of who I was as a person in general. Skittish. Afraid of most things. Anxious to submit to most situations.
But inexplicably, I folded my arms across my chest, jutted my chin upward and narrowed my eyes at him. “No,” I snapped.
He blinked slowly, once, regarding me. The fury did not dissipate, not in the slightest. The air seemed to vibrate with it. “Nora.” My name came out through clenched teeth. “Take off the fucking sweater.”
It was the first time he’d said my name. And although he was doing the whole intimidating, alpha male thing, the thing that should’ve turned off the staunch feminist in me, it made my fingertips tingle. And not entirely unpleasantly.
“Rowan,” I seethed right back. “Do not order me to take off pieces of clothing like you have the right to.”
His body jerked. “Oh, I have the fucking right,” he said, voice low.
My knees trembled of their own volition.
“You have a black eye.” He motioned to my face.
“I’m aware,” I told him.
“A black eye,” he repeated as if I hadn’t spoken. “And because this town is a huge fucking gossip mill, I know that yesterday was the day you were supposed to marry that piece of shit.”
The venom in which he referred to Nathan surprised me. As I had mentioned, Nathan was not well liked. And I definitely didn’t think he was the kind of guy Rowan would ever hang out with. But I didn’t think he knew him well enough to speak with such passion.
Apparently, he did.
“Yesterday, when I saw you, that perfect skin was flawless,” Rowan continued, voice threatening, posture tight. “Today, the day after your scheduled wedding day, that perfect skin is marred. And you just yelped in pain when I touched you. Which leads me to believe that that,” he nodded to my face, “is not your only bruise.”
“I did not yelp,” I argued, my mind still processing what he said about my perfect skin and the tone in which he’d said it.
Rowan pinched the bridge of his nose, taking a long, audible breath before speaking. “You take off the sweater, or I’m calling the station and gettin’ Finn down here to take your statement.”