The Buchanan’s Redemption (Buchanan Brothers #8)(7)
Author: Alexx Andria

Nolan agreed. The ghost of a woman that they didn’t need to name floated between them and Nolan wished he knew how to finally put that poor girl to rest so that Vince could, at last, know true peace and move on.

But if tonight’s show of stubbornness was any indication, Vince was digging in his heels, quite comfortable in his misery.

Vince was changing into a bitter, angry, cruel man — all because of a woman he couldn’t forget.

Eventually, there would be little left of Vince that was Nolan’s beloved twin.

And that scared Nolan senseless.

-4-

Emma awoke, her throat scratchy from disuse and her vision still swimming but at least the bone-shattering pain ricocheting through her body had abated to a mild rumble that she could handle. She forced her eyes to focus and when she realized she was hooked to an IV, she made the assumption that she was in a hospital but it only took a second later to realize she wasn’t in a hospital, but rather in a stranger’s house.

And more specifically, in a stranger’s bed.

“Careful, you’ll rip out your IV,” a low voice instructed with authority, the sound at once familiar yet foreign and sending sparks of awareness though her abused body. She swung her gaze in the direction of the sound and she realized a man sat in the shadows of the room, watching her. She didn’t know why she knew the man was Vince Buchanan but she did. She worked to swallow, her dry throat resisting the movement until she fumbled for the water cup at her left and gulped the liquid with little grace or finesse but she didn’t care. Why was she tucked into Vince Buchanan’s bed? After what’d happened, she should’ve been hospitalized. Her question must’ve echoed in her expression for Vince rose from the chair, unfolding his solid muscular frame like a predator stalking his prey. Good God, he was terrifying. Emma had never been one for the pretty boys or the ones who’d arrogantly taken from the pick of the ladies. She’d always found the bookish, smart guy with the oddly endearing quirks more attractive, if not a little on the predictable side. Vince Buchanan was the antithesis of every man she’d ever dated and even if she’d known that intellectually, watching him stalk toward her with twin eyes burning with something she couldn’t quite define, made her realize her research had completely failed to prepare her for the reality. She shifted in the bed, trying to put as much distance between them as possible but he didn’t seem to care and stopped close enough to smell his aftershave. “Where am I?” she asked, her voice hoarse and small sounding. She cleared her throat and tried again with more confidence but she was at an obvious disadvantage. “Where am I ?”

“You’re in my penthouse. I brought you here to recover so as to afford some privacy. You’ve been out for two days,” he answered, his gaze traveling from the top of her head to the length of her body beneath the sheets as if he could see that was fairly naked beneath the covers. “I will have suitable replacement clothes brought to you,” he said, reminding her of that night. Her cheeks burned with the knowledge that she’d been brutalized and left hanging like a slab of beef for anyone to find.

She wanted to tell him not to bother but that posed a bit of a problem as she couldn’t very well walk from his penthouse wearing nothing but his oversized shirt. She took a surreptitious sniff. Yes, definitely his shirt. Her nose tingled from the faint scent clinging to the collar. Her cheeks burned at the realization that he’d likely peeled the shirt from his own body that night and put it on her. “Thank you,” she replied stiffly, nearly unable to form the words. Her bottom lip was still sore from where that asshole had clocked her and as she darted her tongue along the bruised flesh, she winced when the pain reminded her not to touch.

“Who are you?” he asked, his gaze as hard as each bicep straining beneath the fine cotton of his shirt. “What is your real name and why were you in the club the other night?”

Straight to the point with no detouring down Niceville for appearances sake. She supposed she could expect nothing less from the Buchanan known for his vicious temper when crossed and downright cruelty to those who thought to best him. “I don’t have to answer you,” she said, lifting her chin. “I want to talk to the police. I have rights.”

At that his brow lifted as if amused and he leaned further into her space, sending her heartrate to skitter like a jackrabbit trying to evade a hawk. “You will answer me and you’ll be quick about it,” he said in a steely voice that brooked no argument.

“Or what?” she asked, holding his stare, though in truth she wanted to hide from that intense gaze. She didn’t believe in a lot of woo-woo stuff but at that moment she wasn’t entirely certain that he wasn’t something entirely inhuman. He was scarily mesmerizing. “There are rules that even you have to follow,” she said.

“I break rules for fun.” He stepped away abruptly and stalked away from her, saying with a silky warning his shoulder. “Mind your unruly tongue, little dove, or I might just rip it out.”

#

Vince had to get away from the woman before he did something he regretted. There was something about her that twisted him in knots unlike anything he’d ever experienced. Well, that was not entirely true, a voice whispered, reminding him of a past he wanted to forget.

It was the blonde hair, he argued, irritated with himself and his body’s reaction to her. He doubted she would reach his chest and yet she fairly vibrated with spirit. He’d expected her to be cowed, frightened and traumatized by what’d happened to her but instead, she’d quickly assessed her situation and fired back with questions of her own. If he weren’t so focused on protecting the club he might’ve enjoyed learning every inch of her exquisite body, teaching her carnal delights that were likely illegal in the Bible Belt states, but he didn’t have time for distractions. Especially pretty blonde ones.

He didn’t even know her name. He detoured to the kitchen and put together a tray of food that he’d ordered in. Time to switch tactics. Calm down and think, he told himself when his blood refused to chill. It was as if his body had gone into hyper-drive and everything was ramped up — hunger, anger, lust, impatience — because he wanted to do things that even he knew in his chaotic state of mind were unwise. Vince drew a deep breath and blew it out with deliberate purpose, then grabbed the tray and returned to the bedroom. She had to be ravenous after everything she’d been through. Her body would be weak with only IV fluids.