Knots Between Us

Chapter Three

“Put me down!” Emma yelled, pounding her fists against his back. Her blows were more stubborn than strong, but Sebastian felt every one.

He finally released her when they reached the half-finished kitchen.

“Sit.” He pointed to a stool.

Emma clutched her bag to her chest, refusing to move. The moment he left, she tore through her things, panic rising when she realized her phone was gone. Why does this kind of crap always happen to me?

The sound of his footsteps made her spin, her eyes darting for a weapon. The only thing within reach was an unopened bottle of champagne. She snatched it up just as Sebastian reappeared, his gray eyes locking on the bottle in her hands.

“Really?” His tone was mocking, but his stare was sharp. “Going to brain me with vintage?”

“If I have to,” she shot back, trying to steady her voice despite the tremor running through her.

“Was it Lorenzo?” he pressed, ignoring her answer. “Did he send you?” He dropped her sketchbook onto the counter with a hard slap.

“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.” Her fingers clenched tighter around the bottle. Fear prickled her skin, but beneath it was anger—anger that he thought he could bully her into submission.

Sebastian studied her, his jaw ticking. Then he pulled out his phone. “Fine. We’ll do this the hard way.”

Before he could dial, Emma hurled the bottle to the floor. It shattered with a deafening c***k. While he flinched at the noise, she lunged for her sketchbook, clutching it to her chest and bolting for the door.

“The hell—?” His disbelief quickly turned into pursuit.

She made it halfway across the hall before iron-strong arms wrapped around her waist, dragging her off the ground. She shrieked, kicking wildly, losing one of her shoes in the process.

“Cut it out,” Sebastian growled into her ear. His breath brushed her skin, sending a confusing shiver through her.

When he finally set her down, she stumbled, crying out as pain shot through her foot. Blood welled where glass had embedded itself in her sole.

“Jesus,” Sebastian muttered. Frustration warred with something else in his expression—something softer—as he swept her up again, carrying her back into the kitchen. He set her on the counter, stopping her when she reached for the shard.

“Don’t. You’ll make it worse.” He crouched, tearing paper towels, then disappeared briefly before returning with a first-aid kit.

Emma watched him warily as he knelt and cradled her injured foot in his hands. His touch was unexpectedly gentle, his brow furrowed in concentration as he teased the shard free.

“That was really dumb,” he murmured.

Tears stung her eyes, more from humiliation than pain. But when she looked down at him—at the hard planes of his face, the determined set of his mouth, those storm-gray eyes that seemed to carry both rage and grief—her breath caught.

“I just need answers,” he said quietly, gaze lifting to hers.

Her voice was barely a whisper. “No one sent me.”

“Then why are you here?”

“I come to study. I’m at Vanderbilt. The sketches are mine—my project. Inspired by this place.”

Sebastian searched her face, looking for cracks in her story. He found none. With a sigh, he disinfected the cut, wrapping it with surprising care. His large hand lingered around her ankle a second longer than necessary, his thumb brushing her skin before he pulled back.

“It’s not deep,” he said gruffly. “Keep it clean.”

Emma slid off the counter, limping toward her shoe. But before she could slip it on, his voice stopped her.

“You won’t be needing these again—if they’re yours.” He flicked her sketchbook onto the stove, flames curling up its edges.

Emma gasped. “No!” She lunged forward, but he caught her, holding her back as her hard work disintegrated into ash.

“Why would you do that?” Tears spilled freely now, hot against her cheeks.

“Because I don’t trust anyone,” he said, his voice rougher, lower. Then—almost without thinking—his hand lifted to brush her tears away. His thumb lingered against her cheek, softer than she expected. Too soft.

Emma froze. The world seemed to narrow to that single touch, his stormy eyes locking with hers. For a fleeting second, it wasn’t anger between them—it was something else, something dangerous.

She swatted his hand away, her cheeks burning. “No wonder you’re such a jerk.”

His jaw tightened, but there was no venom in his retort, only weariness. “Yeah. And don’t forget it.” He turned away, voice hard again. “Get out. Next time I see you on my property, I’ll call the cops.”

Emma grabbed her things and limped to the door. But before slamming it shut, she looked back at him, her voice steady despite the tears.

“I pity you.”

The words hit harder than she realized. Sebastian stood frozen, fists clenched, fighting the urge to go after her. Instead, he stalked to the bar, poured himself a double, and threw it back in one swallow.

But later, when the storm rolled in, and he parted the curtains, there she was—drenched beneath a flimsy tree, waiting for help. And when that boy, from earlier, arrived and wrapped her in his arms, jealousy burned hotter than the whiskey in his veins.