He Searched Three Years For The Girl Who Vanished From His Bed

Dawn broke behind the sheer curtains, throwing pale gray light over the wrecked sheets.

I sat on the edge of the mattress, my back turned toward him, hurriedly pulling my torn blouse together. My fingers shook so hard I couldn't slide the fabric over my skin. Every muscle in my thighs throbbed with a dull ache.

"Still doing this, Wren?"

The low voice sliced through the silence.

I froze.

A rustle of linen signaled his movement. Rook propped himself up on one elbow, his dark hair disheveled, a line of fresh scratches marking the curve of his chest. His slate eyes were clear, sharp, without a trace of lingering sleep.

"Just like three years ago," he murmured, his gaze sweeping over my frantic hands. "Scrambling to get away before sunrise. Except this time, you ran to the wrong floor."

My throat went tight. "What did you say?"

"Your reservation was for room 904," Rook said, completely unfazed. "Jasper told me which hotel he drove you to before I even got into my car. It took my assistant ten minutes to buy out the fourteenth floor, swap the keycards at the front desk, and have the bellhop send your bags up here instead."

A spike of raw heat rushed into my cheeks.

"You planned this?" I snapped, clutching the ruined fabric against my chest. "You hijacked my booking, trapped me in a hallway, and broke into my room?"

"Technically, it's my suite." He sat up, the duvet falling away to his waist. "And you didn't exactly fight your way out the door last night, did you?"

"You cornered me!" I pushed myself to my feet, my knees trembling slightly under my weight. "You have a date! You were parading Chloe around that restaurant three hours before you forced your way into my bed!"

Rook’s brow furrowed, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "Chloe?"

"Don't play dumb. She was hanging off your arm all evening."

"Chloe is my business partner’s daughter," he answered flatly, swinging his legs over the side of the mattress. "Her father controls twenty percent of the shipping docks I'm acquiring. She attends dinners when her father asks for a family representative. That’s it."

"I don't believe you." I backed toward my suitcase resting against the luggage rack. "Men like you always have convenient explanations. You take whatever you want, whenever you want it, and call it networking."

"I haven't touched a woman in three years, Wren."

The words landed between us like heavy lead.

I let out a short, mocking laugh, refusing to look at his naked chest. "You really expect me to buy that? A billionaire in this city, living like a monk? Save the fairy tales for someone stupid enough to believe them."

"Believe whatever helps you sleep," Rook said, his tone turning cold. He stood up, towering over the carpet, completely unbothered by his lack of clothes. He picked up his slacks from the floor, stepping into them with effortless composure. "Where are you going?"

"Anywhere away from you." I yanked a fresh sweater out of my bag. "I’m getting a cab. I’ll check into another hotel."

"No, you aren't." He zipped his trousers, his knuckles grazing his belt. "You don't have an apartment lined up. Jasper mentioned you're starting a freelance interior business from scratch. Staying in random hotels downtown is absurd."

"It's none of your business where I live!"

"Pack your bags," he commanded, stepping toward me until his shadow fell over my luggage. "You're moving into my villa in the northern hills. There's an entire west wing sitting empty. You can work from there until your lease clears."

"Are you insane?" I stared at him, incredulous. "I am not moving into your house!"

"It wasn't a request, Wren." He grabbed my chin, his fingers biting lightly into my skin, forcing my eyes to his. "You vanished once. You aren't doing it twice."

Before I could swat his hand away, a chime broke the tension.

My phone buzzed violently on the nightstand.

Rook let go of my jaw, stepping back to let me reach it.

The screen lit up with a name that made my stomach drop: *Jasper.*

Rook's eyes narrowed instantly, locking onto the glowing screen.

I swiped the icon and brought the phone to my ear. "Hello?"

"Wren! Good morning," Jasper’s cheerful voice spilled through the receiver, bright and full of easy warmth. "Did I wake you? I’m so sorry if I did."

"No," I answered, turning my back on Rook’s lethal stare. "I’m awake."

"Great! Look out your window. Or well, come down to the lobby when you're dressed."

"What?" I frowned, walking toward the sheer curtains and pulling them aside.

Down fourteen floors below, parked directly near the front entrance, was Jasper’s open-top roadster. Beside it, a man in a beige cashmere jacket stood waving up at the tower, holding two paper cups and a massive bunch of pale blush peonies.

"I bought those almond croissants you said you missed from that bakery in Paris," Jasper said, his tone eager, completely genuine. "And extra hot matcha. I figured jet lag would hit you hard today, so I wanted to make sure you had breakfast before you tackled house hunting."

My chest tightened with unexpected guilt. "Jasper, you really didn't have to do that."

"I wanted to," he insisted softly. "I haven't stopped thinking about our conversation last night. Let me drive you around today? I know three brokers who have lofts open in the arts district. You won't have to lift a finger."

Behind me, the air turned freezing.

Rook stepped right up behind me, his chest pressing against my back, his warm breath fanning across the shell of my ear. His fingers reached around my waist, resting heavily on my hipbone, a silent, vicious reminder of what had occurred on that bed an hour ago.

"Tell him to leave," Rook whispered, his voice dangerously low.

I stepped forward, breaking Rook's hold, and gripped the phone tighter.

"Give me twenty minutes, Jasper," I said clearly into the receiver. "I'll come down."

"Take your time, Wren. I'm not going anywhere," Jasper replied happily before ending the call.

I turned around to face Rook.

His face was an unreadable mask of tightly wound fury. The muscle along his jaw ticked, his eyes turning nearly black in the morning glare.

"You think playing with my brother is going to protect you from me?" Rook asked, each word clipped and sharp.

"Jasper is polite, kind, and doesn't trap women in hotel rooms," I snapped, zipping my luggage shut with a sharp pull. "He’s twice the man you are."

Rook didn't shout. He didn't grab my arm again.

He just tilted his head, watching me with a possessive, chilling focus that made the hair on my arms stand up.

"He's a boy playing at romance," Rook said, his voice dropping into a register that made my pulse stutter. "And you know damn well what kind of man you actually belong to."

I lifted my chin, picked up my handbag, and wheeled my suitcase toward the door.

Downstairs, one brother waited with flowers and soft promises.

In this room, the other brother stood like an inescapable trap, watching my every move with eyes that promised to tear down whatever sanctuary I tried to build.