Claimed by the Sicilian Tycoon(43)
He was angry. The possessiveness, the weird nature of his relationship with Lyra, not to mention her flirting with a fucking member of staff, all combining to make him at last—after so many weeks—question what the hell he was doing.
In too deep?
For once an Englishman might actually have alerted him, a Sicilian, to something that had passed him by, something he’d known but refused to accept, and Andros had no idea what to do about any of it.
Chapter Nineteen
Andros slammed the door behind them, pulling his tie free as he entered the living area. His eyes were blazing, his mouth set into a hard line, and Lyra shifted from one foot to the other, her heart thudding uncomfortably. The exit from the club had been hurried, the drive home hideous, and she had no damn idea why!
Once, no twice, Lyra had opened her mouth to say something, but then shut it a moment later. She wasn’t really sure what to say. Wasn’t sure how to approach the Andros now prowling in front of her.
He was angry.
He was formidable.
And he was making her nervous.
Obviously she had done something wrong, for what else could have made him so mad? Only she wasn’t sure what. She evaluated her behavior at the club as he shrugged off his suit jacket, wondering what might have set him off, but could find nothing. Maybe she’d spent too long talking to the stiffs? Flirted too much with one of the other guys? She wasn’t sure.
Or maybe she’d gotten it all wrong and he’d had one of his business deals hit the skids, or even met up with an old enemy…that Mainwright guy, perhaps. Again, she wasn’t sure. The only thing she was sure of was that they needed to talk it through. The drive home had not been the best place obviously, but now they were home…
“Andros,” she began, her tongue tripping over the best way to approach him. “Is everything okay—”
“Do you seek to anger me?” he demanded.
His voice was clipped, the anger clearly seething beneath it, and Lyra’s eyes widened. “You know I don’t.”
“You must, Lyra. That is what I am thinking. That you were purposefully trying to make me angry, no?”
His accent was marked. Lyra shivered. She only heard it like that when he was buried deep inside of her. “Why on earth would I do that?
“I do not know.”
“Andros, what is this about? I don’t—”
He came to a halt in front of her, eyes blazing, and when he spoke, she wasn’t sure she heard him right. “You were flirting with that boy.”
Her mouth fell open. That boy? “Who?”
“The bartender,” he snapped. “The fucking bartender.”
So that was what he was angry about? Jesus. “Mitch?” she said slowly. “I was doing no such thing! I was being friendly is all.”
Andros glared, his fists clenching and unclenching. “How do you know his name?”
“It’s on his name tag,” she said carefully.
“Name tag or no you were too friendly for my liking.”
“For your liking?” She paused, took in his stance and shook her head slightly. How could Andros be so angry over such a little thing? “Are you serious?”
He shot her a glare. “Lyra, my control is shaky right now. Do not make it any worse.”
“Well what do you want me to say?” Lyra threw her clutch bag onto the couch. “You’re being ridiculous.”
“Ridiculous? Whilst you are under my protection, Lyra, you do not talk to other men.”
The shoes followed the bag. “Andros, really? You can’t ban me from talking to fifty percent of everyone.”
“I can and I will,” he growled. “Who placed those jewels around your neck, that silk against your skin?”
“You did.”
“I own you, Lyra. That was the deal was it not, the deal you yourself brokered?”
She frowned at his words, not liking the way they sounded, or the meaning behind them. No one owned her, not now, not ever. “I brokered a deal to become your mistress,” she said slowly. “Not your possession.”
“They are one and the same.”
Lyra opened her mouth to deny that, but closed it a moment later. Pointing out the finer points of mistressdom whilst Andros was in such a bad mood didn’t seem like a good idea. “Look, Andros,” she said instead. “What do you care if I talk to other men? You know that at the end of the night I am coming home with you, that you will be the one taking me to bed.”
“Because you are fucking mine!” he roared, making her jump back—her aching feet protesting the action. “Is that a difficult concept for you to grasp, Lyra?”