He turned, and I reached out a hand to grab his arm. “That’s it? You’re not going to tell me anything?”

Rix met my concerned gaze. “There ain’t nothin’ you can do right now to help your girl. I’m the one who’s got a lock on that. Get home. Set your alarm. When I’ve got news, you’ll hear it from me in person.”

I cocked a hip, not altogether sold on Rix’s non-informative decree. “And what if I’m not okay with that?”

One move. That’s all it took for Rix to reach out and yank me against him. “Thought we were on the same page, duchess.”

I pressed both hands to his chest. “I’m starting to wonder if we’re in the same story.”

His silver gaze was determined. Unyielding. Possessive. “There’s only one story. The one where you’re mine, and you chose me. You didn’t say jack shit to the cops, and you cemented that choice. I’m gonna protect you and your girl, but I’ll do it my way.”

In my peripheral vision, I could see the men working on the window. Rix must not care about our audience because he didn’t release me.

“We clear now, duchess?”

I wasn’t used to this level of caveman behavior in any man of my acquaintance, but Rix had been different from the beginning. He didn’t ask permission. I wasn’t even clear on whether he asked forgiveness. He wrote his own rules, and instead of being completely put off by that, I was drawn to it like metal to a magnet. Something in me responded to his constant display of confidence.

How a man could be that sure of everything all the time, I didn’t know. But not having to have all the answers and be expected to make all the decisions . . . it freed a part of me. Yet that didn’t mean I didn’t want to have some say, and it surely didn’t change the fact that I wanted to be kept informed.

I broke the stare with Rix and flicked a glance over his shoulder to the men who were already almost finished boarding up the window.

“We’ve got an audience.”

“Don’t care. Just waiting for one word from you, and we’ll be on our way.”

“Okay. I get it.” His grip on my arms loosened, and I added, “But I want you to fill me in on everything when you get to my house.”

His fingers flexed, and I could tell he was frustrated with me.

Rix leaned in close, his breath brushing my ear. “You make me want to turn that ass of yours red, duchess.”

A shiver worked down my spine as he pulled away, pressed a hard kiss to my lips, and released me.

Turning, he nodded toward his guys who were packing up their tools. “Let’s go.”

THE DOORBELL RINGING THREW ME off completely. I’d been expecting Rix to magically show up—despite my active alarm—and find me in my studio where I was covered in more paint than I probably should be. But I’d thrown myself into my work so I could try to stop worrying about whatever might be happening with Rix and Trinity. It wasn’t working.

It wouldn’t be my parents. They’d called to invite me to stay in their guest room, and when I’d declined, my father had tried to tell me I needed a bodyguard. That hadn’t gone far, and not only because I couldn’t have a bodyguard because said bodyguard would find out about Rix. And then there was the fact that I didn’t need a bodyguard because I had Rix.

So, who in the world was ringing my doorbell—I glanced at the clock on the wall—after ten o’clock at night? I cleaned my brush, killing time and hoping whoever it was would give up and go away. But they didn’t. The doorbell rang again.

I need to get that gate latch fixed. And maybe electrify it. Would that be bad? With my luck, I’d zap some Girl Scout selling cookies, and she’d have curly hair for the rest of her life.

With that random train of thought winding through my head, I paused at the kitchen counter where I’d laid my purse to pull my gun out and stuff it in the back waistband of my yoga pants. After the events of today, I wasn’t taking a chance with my safety. I knew all too well what could happen if I wasn’t careful.

Not thinking about that. I’ve moved on.

And I had. The last week held the longest stretches I’d gone without thinking about that night. I took that as a huge win.

The doorbell rang again and a strong, steady knock followed.

I peeked through the sidelight. Crap. Rhett.

He’d had way too many questions in his eyes when he’d stood in the gallery earlier today. He knew that Trinity had been missing, and then I’d dodged answering when he’d asked if I’d found her. Tack on a picture of her wrapped around a brick, and anyone would be suspicious.

I unlocked the dead bolt and pulled open the door.

“A little late to be stopping by to invite me for coffee,” I said, shooting for breezy and carefree.

He didn’t smile. His gaze dropped to the paint on my hands and clothes—and probably on my face.

“How many of the paintings in your gallery are your work?”

Of all the secrets I had, that one used to be my most closely guarded. Oh, how my life had changed recently.

“None.”

“But there was. The anonymous artist. That was you.”

It didn’t seem worth the effort to lie about that anymore. “Yes, but no one knows.”

“Why were you so surprised to see it there? Hell, you were straight shocked.”

Dammit, his perceptiveness was really starting to become a pain in my rear.

“Because I didn’t know it was there. Someone decided to push me into showing a piece to prove a point.”

“Who?” His gaze narrowed.

“Does it matter?” I countered. “Because that can’t be why you’re here.”

“Are you going to invite me in?”

I glanced out the front door to see his Jeep parked on the opposite side of the street. Would Rix notice? Or would he sneak in unaware?

My heart thumped in my chest at the thought of Rhett and Rix coming face-to-face in my house. In my head, Desi Arnaz’s voice said Lucy, you got some ’splaining to do. I really didn’t want to do any ’splaining tonight, but what choice did I have?

“It’s pretty late, Rhett.”

“I’ll make it quick.” His expression stayed blank. This was not a social call, or at least not a lighthearted one.

I opened the door wider and stepped back. “Then come on in.”