Cerberus comes pounding over. “Zit,” he says next, and I notice his pointer finger is pointing up.
It’s pretty obvious what he means with these, but I still turn to Cyrus for clarification on the hand gestures.
“Kom means come. When I give the verbal cue, I also use hand gestures.”
That makes me lean forward. “Really? Why?”
Cyrus looks at Cerberus and then with his right pointer finger traces a command in the shape of an L. Cerberus lies down on the floor by his feet. “If it’s loud, and he can’t hear my words, he will still come. He will sit, and he will lie down.”
That’s what he was just commanding him without words, down. The shape of an L, the lower part of the letter, tracing the floor.
Interesting.
I nod because this all makes sense to me. “And zit? I must assume that means sit.”
“Yes. Correct.”
“Those were easy. I could have figured that out eventually. What else can you tell me?”
“I won’t teach you all my tricks, Sun.” The corner of his lip tips up into a smirk. A very sexy smirk that I shouldn’t think is, but it doesn’t stop it from being true. Cyrus Reed should smirk more. Rewind. No. No, he shouldn’t. He’s way too sinful for him to be making me think that.
“Fine. What about what you told him the first day?”
“Bescherm?”
“Yeah. That one. You told it to him before you left me.”
Cyrus looks over at the dog and then back at me. His features seem to soften. “Protect. I was telling him to protect you.”
The words make me feel light-headed. I’m on the top of a roller coaster, about to spin out of control. I should be scared, but instead, I’m excited.
Standing from my chair, I try to get distance, but the room feels too small for all the emotions propelling around inside me.
“Why are you pacing, Sun?” His question has my movements stopping. I hadn’t realized I was.
Cyrus is now standing right in front of me.
His large and masculine frame, pulling in all the oxygen from the room. He’s too close, and I need air.
“Was it something I said?”
I look up at him. What I see is unnerving, he’s watching me, but it’s the look in his eyes that has my pulse pounding in my ears. He’s stares into my soul as if he can crack it open. What he’ll find is unknown. I’m treading in deep and dangerous waters and I’m sure I’ll drown.
I know I need to pull my gaze, but as we look into each other’s eyes, there is an electric pulse between us.
Silence stretches with a million unspoken words. I have so many questions, but the only one I can ask is…
“Why?”
“Why what?” He steps closer, and our bodies are practically touching now.
“Why did you tell him to protect me?” I whisper, tilting my head down to the ground to not look into his eyes, but he’s not having it. His hand reaches out, his fingers brushing against my jaw, then my chin.
He draws my gaze back up. “Because you’re mine to protect.”
“I’m not yours to protect.”
“That’s where you’re wrong.”
My pulse skitters alarmingly fast, and I lick my lips. I don’t mean to, but Cyrus doesn’t miss it. His blazing stare now lingering on my parted mouth, I try to ignore how my heart flutters as he looks at me, how it ping-pongs in my chest.
But it’s impossible.
There’s no way.
He’s larger than life.
He’s too much.
He’s everything I shouldn’t want, and yet the way he stares at me makes me feel alive. It scares me. It scares me so much; that before I can think better of it, I run.
I don’t get far.
I don’t even bother to leave the house. Instead, I open the door to the library and slip inside. He needs to leave the island. Once he’s gone, I can rein in these emotions that have taken on a life of their own. I shouldn’t want him, I shouldn’t crave him, but I do, so he needs to get back on that boat of his before I do something, I know that I shouldn’t. I can’t have him on this island, not in this house, and definitely not near me.
He does strange things to my body whenever he is around. I feel warm and tingly. I hate it.
I’m like a bad romance novel.
He’s my captor, and I refuse to have Stockholm syndrome. The problem is, he hasn’t gotten the memo that he needs to stay the hell away from me.
I swear he’s everywhere I am.
When I’m in the kitchen, he’s there. When I’m taking a walk . . . there.
What does he want from me?
And after all this time, he still refuses to talk. To tell me about his cryptic words.
Protecting me? From who?
It makes no sense, and I refuse to find him and ask. Because even though I am so starved for attention at this point, I don’t trust myself with him near me. As if summoned by my thoughts, he steps into the library. The room I was hiding in.