said it was for me?”
“It’s what he said,” Larry, one of the estate’s groundskeepers, replies, as he props the giant bubble-wrapped package up against my bedroom wall.
Why would he send me a gift? Why would he send me anything? After yesterday, Dax’s feelings couldn’t be clearer. “I’ll have to put you on the first plane back to New York.” It doesn’t matter what else he said. I’m fed up with riddles. He thinks about me going back to New York. He doesn’t see me staying here long term. Not that I was ever meant to. A fact I’m sure he’s ecstatic about.
“You want me to unwrap it?” Larry asks.
I smile at his kind, older face. He reminds me of Dad, a little. The way his eyes twinkle as he smiles.
“No, thanks, Larry. I’ve got it.”
I see him out and then go to my bedroom and stare at the giant object.
I fetch scissors and cut through the layers of protective plastic, tearing them away and discarding them on the floor. It’s therapeutic in a weird way. Like shedding dead skin to reveal the new, smooth, fresh one below. One that hasn’t been scarred with mistakes.
I sit back on my heels as I peel the final layer back.
Blonde hair and blue eyes that almost look too big for the face they’re a part of stare back.
Me.
He’s sent me a mirror.
A giant, gilt-framed mirror that must be hundreds of years old. It’s probably one of the original ones from the main house.
I run my hands around the intricate carvings of the frame, a mix of leaves and flowers. And at the top center—a bird. Like Dax’s neck tattoo.
Taped to the top right corner of the frame is a handwritten note.
Look in it and see what I see. What the world sees.
I stare at my reflection. What is that supposed to mean? What he sees? What the world sees? Dax Silver is the most confusing man, no, most confusing person I have ever met. Why would he send me this? He’s so moody and intense. But then I know he can be tender too. He calms me in a way no one else can. When he holds me and tells me to breathe in his deep voice, it’s like a wave of warmth flows over me, easing all the tension away. It’s like he gets me somehow. Like he gets what it’s like to feel at war with yourself inside your own mind. But then he says and does things that contradict it again and throw me through a loop.
I stand, straightening my white flowy dress. I’ve teamed it with heeled sandals today and have my hair up in a high ponytail with a thin white ribbon tied in a bow. I bought the dress when I went shopping with Jasmin. She said it was too cute not to get, and I agree. I didn’t even realize most of my wardrobe had turned dark in color since losing Dad. Not until I unpacked my suitcase here and my wardrobe looked like it belonged to a grieving widow from centuries ago.
I purse my lips, looking in the mirror one final time as I grab my purse.
Right now, there is only one thing I am sure of.
And that is, the more time I spend with Dax Silver, the less I understand him.
“Did Larry bring the mirror to you?”
“Mmm-hmm.”
I purposefully don’t look up at the open doorway of my office.
“I see,” he murmurs.
I carry on typing the figures into the report I’m working on, but he stays standing in the doorway, so I glance up for a split second, then away again. He’s wearing a suit, his bird tattoo on full show where the neck of his new white shirt is unbuttoned.
He ripped the last one off, remember?
I press my thighs together and bite the inside of my cheek, continuing to ignore him. That was hot. I know he didn’t intend for it to be an act of seduction—he couldn’t get me out of there fast enough afterward. However, a man that looks like Dax Silver ripping his shirt off… I doubt anyone is immune to that. And his tattoos… I’ve never seen anything more beautiful. I could have stared at him all night and traced the curves of ink over his skin with my fingertips had he let me. I found them mesmerizing. So detailed. Each having a story behind it. Marking a moment of how he felt, how he thought at that point in his life. Like a diary portrayed in images instead of words.
“Don’t you like having it in the cottage?” he asks, his deep voice floating over from the doorway and causing me to mistakenly glance up and locking eyes with him.
Light blue meets deep, deep brown.
“It’s a beautiful mirror.” I look back at the computer screen.
“That’s not what I asked.”
I groan internally as he walks into my office, around my desk to where I’m sitting, and leans back against it, crossing his legs at the ankle.
“It looks more like it belongs here. In the main house,” I explain.
“It did. It’s from my mother’s childhood bedroom.”
I stop typing and turn in my chair, giving him my full attention. His lip looks better today, but the bruising across his cheekbone is coming out more, and it’s bizarre, but it works for him. He has a classically handsome face—sharp, strong jawline, high cheekbones, straight nose. Eyes that look equally stunning when they’re either amused or stormy. And those blond strands that he pushes back from his face, but inevitably fall forward a few times a day and dust his forehead.
The bruise only makes him look sexier. Edgy. Protective.
He’s what Casey would call a ‘hot as fuck, pretty, bad boy’.
“Your mother’s room?”
Dax never takes his eyes off me as he speaks. “What used to be. The entire house has changed as the business has grown. But the mirror was still here. She always said it was the one thing she missed.”
“Not your grandparents, then?” I laugh, stopping abruptly as a shadow passes over Dax’s features, his brows dropping low over his eyes.
“No, they fell out before I was born. Mom hadn’t spoken to them in years. Jasmin and I met them for the first time after they found out Mom had passed away.”
“Really?”
“Really.” He shrugs, crossing his arms over his chest as he continues to pin me with his gaze. “But that’s not a story for now. I want to know why you don’t like the mirror.”
“I never said I don’t like it.” I shuffle in my seat. He’s so close. His aftershave is calling for me to take a large inhale. He always smells so good. But the scent underneath is making my stomach flutter. It’s clean and fresh, and something else. Maybe it’s just him. He smelled like this yesterday when I was close to him. A scent that makes me think of lying together in clean sheets with bare skin when the sun is shining outside. Warm and masculine, and… sexy.
“I sent it to you because the cottage doesn’t have a big one. Jasmin likes a full length one when she’s getting dressed. I thought you might too.” His eyes drop over my white dress and to my bare legs.
I fight to keep my unwelcome shiver at his appraisal small and unnoticeable.
“And the note?”
He lifts his eyes from my legs. “You need to stop looking at yourself through these warped lenses you have in place. Your ex was an undeserving prick. Your brother’s accident wasn’t your fault. And neither was your dad dying,” he says without a shred of empathy in his tone.
Wow.
“I’m not trying to be an asshole, Rose.”
“Aren’t you?”
He doesn’t flinch. Instead, he looks directly at me like he can see things no one else can. Like he can read the hidden parts of me as if they are printed on my skin. Like tattoos.
“I understand what blame can do to you. I left Jasmin. It’s always been the two of us. Then I went and lost my head and got locked up. Away from her.”
I look into his eyes and the hint of vulnerability is there again, like the night he let me in the gates and told me I shouldn’t be alone in the dark. That he knows what men talk about. What they talk about in jail? What they did to be there in the first place?
“What was it like there?”
“In jail?”
I nod.
“I hope you never find out.” He looks at me as I wait for more, then exhales slowly, his shoulders dropping. “It was… long. It felt long. And with all those men? Some days, it… fucking stank.” He cocks a brow and smirks.
I press my hand to my lips to hold in my giggle, and he uncrosses his arms and pulls my hand away.
“You have a beautiful smile. Don’t hide it.”
I freeze, staring at him as he holds my hand, lowering it to the desk inside his. His eyes don’t meet mine, they’re on my hand in his. Fair skin held by bruised and scratched knuckles. He still hasn’t explained what happened to him yesterday. And the more I consider how it is he got hurt, the more my mind has been running away with me. Jasmin said he’s good, that he was protecting her that night he assaulted that guy. Was he protecting someone again last night? Or protecting himself?
My first day here I overheard him on the phone. He was angry and said something about pigs. Cops. But it could be nothing. I mean, why would he like the cops? They locked him up when he was looking out for his sister. And the more time I spend with him, the more I see what Jasmin says and am inclined to believe her when she says he has the biggest heart.
You have a beautiful smile. Don’t hide it. A shiver runs through me.
Dax clears his throat. “I never meant to upset you yesterday. But we work together. And I’m not a man you should want to know any more about than the basics required to do your job. It’s better this way. Believe me.”
What if I’m wrong and he’s right? What if there is a darker side to him I’m better off not knowing?
But despite the conviction in his voice, his eyes tell a different story. Their deep brown shines with genuine remorse as he looks at me. And my gut tells me he’s wrong.
He might think he’s bad, or think he needs to tell me he is. But he did one thing to protect someone he loves. Other people may judge him for it. But I’m finding it hard to let him paint that picture of himself no matter how much he thinks he needs to.
I lift my chin. “I don’t believe you. I’m sorry, but I don’t. You don’t see what I see in you, either.”
His gaze remains on our hands as he traces circles over my wrist with the pad of his thumb.
“You don’t know me. Not really.”
“I know you’re a man who protects his family. Who would do anything for them. That you run an incredible, successful business, which you’ve already doubled the profits of since you came back to work. I know that your staff trust and respect you.”
I wait for him to say something.
His eyes dart up to mine before he looks away, a crease furrowing deep into his brow as he presses his lips together, deep in thought.
He lets go of my hand and places it onto the desk.
“Keep the mirror, Rose.”
He pushes off from the desk and strides out of my office.
“I can’t believe you told him you’ve only had sex once. And it was with Gareth.”
“I know. I feel so stupid.”
“Oh, Ro.” Casey shakes her head at me as we have our daily catch-up video call.
I don’t know what got into me the other night. I think it was seeing Dax hurt, and then seeing all his tattoos. It felt… intimate, I guess. I’m not usually one to overshare, but with Dax, it pours out. Maybe it’s because he listens. He stops talking and he listens. I don’t recall Gareth ever listening like that. But then, we were younger, and it was before Brett’s accident and before Dad died that we were together. Maybe I had less that I needed listening to back then.
And I cannot believe I leaned so close to him, thinking he might kiss me. Hoping he might. I’m not even sure how I feel about him. I have no idea what’s going on in his head. He blows so hot and cold. Yet, in that moment, all I wanted was to see how it would feel to have more than just his hands on me.
I shuffle in my seat. The way his fingers flexed against my hip bones while I cleaned him up, wrapping around me and holding me like I was precious. Like I wasn’t a total screw up. I wanted to keep feeling like that. And more.
“I know that face, Ro. Are you still wondering if he’s in some sort of trouble?” Casey asks.
“No… Yes,” I say with a sigh.
I told Casey about the blood. She thinks Dax must have gotten into a fight. And it makes sense. Someone hit him, judging by his cheekbone. But Jasmin said he barely goes out to bars anymore. And he hadn’t even had one drink as far as I could tell. Which means it wasn’t a stupid drunken fight. But something else.
“Maybe it’s an underground fight club,” Casey suggests.
I adjust the phone on the car’s dashboard so I can see her better.
“What? No.” But… it would explain the bruised knuckles. “I don’t know what happened. And it’s none of my business what he gets up to after work.”
“Yet here you are.”
“It was your idea.” I scowl.
She laughs. “Relax. I’m kidding. You’re not doing anything wrong. If he sees you, just say you were taking a drive to look at the countryside.”
I look out of the Range Rover’s windshield. Jasmin said I could borrow one whenever I wanted, but I checked anyway, and she said it was fine. She’s off on some massage course or something that she wanted to do tonight. And Logan is on another date. So I don’t need to worry about either of them seeing me parked up behind the trees at the turn off for the cottage staking out the main house like a crazed stalker.
“You can just see where he goes and then go home. You want to know he’s safe, don’t you?”
I suck my bottom lip into my mouth and chew on it. She’s right. I want to know he’s safe. Yesterday could have been much worse. If he is going to some fight club to let his anger out, then it could all get ugly. He said the night he beat that guy up who tried it on with Jasmin he lost his head. What if someone else loses their head and takes it out on Dax? I’m sure he can hold his own. I felt just how thick and solid his biceps were yesterday when I was admiring his tattoos. But still. What if some of these guys he might be meeting are actual psychopaths?
“You don’t think he really could be mixed up in something?” My stomach churns. “You know? Like something illegal?” But even as I say the words, I can’t bring myself to believe them.
“Why would you say that? Because he’s been in jail?”
“No… I…” I stare at the estate’s main gate. “When I spoke to Jasmin earlier, she said Dax told her he’d done it at the gym, going too hard on the punch bag. He said it swung back at him.”
“I mean, it could be true,” Casey says.
I shake my head, looking at the phone screen. “It’s not. He would have come home in his gym gear. He was in his suit.”
“He might have showered at the gym.”
“He had blood splatters on his shirt.”
Casey’s brows shoot up. “Check you out, Detective. I’m impressed.”
I give her a small smile.
“Whatever it is, Ro, even if he lied to his sister, it doesn’t mean anything. People have secrets. Some have really bad ones. But it doesn’t make them bad people for lying to those they love. They just don’t want to hurt them.”
I wrinkle up my nose as she watches me.
“I don’t know. A lie is still a lie. Why not be honest? Deal with it together?”
Casey rolls her lips and blinks a few times. “I guess. I mean—”
“He’s coming,” I gasp, immediately lowering my voice as his Range Rover glides gracefully down the driveway and toward the main gate.
“Go,” Casey urges. “Go put your mind at ease. And then call me as soon as you get back.”
I nod, my gaze darting back to the Range Rover as it goes through the now open gate.
“I will. Love you.”
“Love you too.”
I hit end call and wait until the Range Rover turns right onto the road.
Then I follow it.
The road ahead is empty as I exit the estate and turn right. I drive to the first bend, taking it slowly. I’m not used to the roads here in England. They’re all so narrow and bendy. And the grass banks either side of the road are higher than the Range Rover’s roof.
I hit the brakes as I round the corner.
A few meters ahead, there’s a small passing place where the road widens. And in it, Dax’s Range Rover.
He leans back against it, legs out in front of him, crossed at the ankle, arms folded over his broad chest. His head is turned in my direction.
Waiting for me.
I roll the car forward until I am level with him, and then lower the front passenger window.
“Hi. Nice evening for a drive.” I laugh nervously.
His eyes glitter and he arches a dark brow. “Isn’t it? And it looks like we are driving in the same direction as well. Even though town and practically everything you would drive to is that way.” He tips his chin in the direction we’ve come from.
“I wanted to look at the view.” I stare at him, blinking as I fight the urge to look away. It will only make me look guiltier. Do not blush. Give nothing away.
“You’re a shit liar, Sunbeam.” He exhales, tipping his chin up and looking at the sky.
I tighten my hands on the steering wheel as I stare at him. He’s in all-black tonight. Black sweatpants, black t-shirt, black hoodie.
Because he’s going somewhere dark? Like an underground fight club?
I inhale slowly. I’m being ridiculous.
“Back up.”
“Sorry?” I look at him in confusion.
He brings his eyes back from the sky and onto mine, and my breath hitches as they make contact, a trace of amusement making fine lines appear at their corners.
“Back it up. And park it behind mine.”
“The car?” I glance over my shoulder out of the back window at the widened area of road.
“You want to know where I’m going, right?” He unfolds his arms and straightens up from his car.
“I… that’s not what—”
“Park it. Unless you want me to climb in there with you and sit you on my lap so I can show you how to make it fit.”
“I can do it,” I snap back. How dare he insinuate I can’t park. Make it fit… Sit me on his…
My cheeks are hot as I swing the Range Rover back into the space and slide out, walking over to him. I glance at his face as he holds the passenger door open for me, but it’s set. No hint of anything that might give me a clue over how pissed he is that I followed him.
I should have stayed further behind. He wouldn’t have seen me.
He climbs into the driver’s side. “I knew you were there before I left the house. If you wanted to know where I was going tonight, you should have just asked me.”
He puts the car in drive, and we continue down the road.
“Would you have told me the truth?” I look over at him as he drives.
His brow creases. “Of course I would.”
“And what about where you were last night? Before you came home with blood on your shirt?”
A muscle in his cheek twitches.
“Yeah. Thought so.” I sigh and look out of the side window.
“It’s better you don’t know where I was, Rose.”
“Better for who?” I huff.
God, he’s infuriating. I hate being told what is good for me. Everyone around me thinks they know what I need. The only reason I am even here, in England, with him, is because my family thinks they know what is best for me. They’re all trying to fix me. Because I am a problem. I’m THE problem. The root cause of all the family shit.
“You’re overthinking it.” Dax glances at my face as he drives. “I just go to some places that are not the kind of places you should be.”
“And what sort of places are those?” I snort.
He flicks his gaze over me. “The kinds of places where the men there won’t be content with only looking at those incredible legs of yours.”
I look at my over-the-knee boots. I’m wearing them with an oversized sweatshirt dress. It almost meets the top of them when I’m standing. I only have skin on show right now because I’m sitting.
“The way you like to look at them, you mean?”
My stomach flips. I did not just say that out loud.
I’m bluffing. I’ve seen Dax glance at my legs before. But I assumed it was my outfit choice. Not my legs.
Those incredible legs. Why would he say that?
His chest rumbles with a deep laugh and I turn to him in surprise. His brilliant white teeth are visible as his lips part. I’ve never seen them like this before. They look even whiter against his dark clothes and inked skin.
They’re perfect… like the rest of him.
“What’s so funny?” I blurt.
“You.”
“Me? What’s funny about me?”
He looks straight ahead. “You’re right. I have looked at them. I’m not going to lie and say I haven’t. I’ve looked at them and thought a whole host of things I shouldn’t be thinking. All of which include them being wrapped around me.” He shakes his head, his laugh gone. “But that’s never going to happen.”
My core flutters, then promptly crashes and burns. Was that an admission of being attracted to me? Or just another of his riddles?
“Why?” I push.
He shakes his head. “Because I will never allow it. That’s why,” he hisses, back to moody Dax again.
Oh.
Then he turns up the radio, drowning out the confused whirl of my own voice in my head.
Dax hot-and-cold Silver. Telling me things that evoke entire butterfly armies to leap into life in my stomach in one breath, and then blasting them all with toxic bug poison the next.
He’s right. We should never happen. He’s far too complicated. And I came here because my life is already complicated enough. I don’t need to add to it.
I stare out of my window, and we drive the rest of the way in silence.
