Selena blinked a few times, trying to understand what was happening. One minute, Mateo had been perfectly fine, asking about her father and eating a sampling of desserts she’d made, and the next minute, he was going completely mental.

Without a word or backward glance, he stormed from the kitchen as if he couldn’t get out fast enough and slammed the door behind him.

Was he…actually leaving? She crossed to the window and looked through the blinds. The rain had really picked up and it was almost full dark, so it took a moment for her to spot him. Surprisingly enough, he wasn’t in the parking lot getting into his car. Instead, he was pacing in front of another business two doors down with his hands clasped behind his head. It looked like he was taking in deep gulps of air.

She wasn’t sure whether or not to go out there to see if there was something she could do to help. In the end, she stayed inside and cleaned up the mess. She still had no idea why he’d turned up out of the blue after so long. It hurt, actually, that he thought he could stroll back into her life like it was no big deal. That they could chat and be friendly despite what had happened. Whatever his motives were for this little visit, she hardened her resolve not to let him affect her.

When she was done cleaning, she pulled the few remaining truffles from the refrigerator and stared at them. These were the rejects. The ones that didn’t look as pretty as the ones that Paula had hopefully taken. Why had Mateo reacted so negatively when he took a bite? She didn’t understand. She’d tasted them earlier. So had Paula. They weren’t that bad, were they?

And then a thought occurred to her. What if her customer had the same reaction as Mateo? That would not be good. As she went to test one again, the door banged open, and she jerked her hand away.

Mateo stood in the doorway, cool evening air pouring into the kitchen from behind him. His hair and the tops of his shoulders glistened from the rain. “Do not touch those.”

“Why?” she asked, more confused than ever. “What’s wrong with them?”

“Throw them in the sink,” he growled. “Better yet, flush them down the toilet.”

The toilet? What the hell? “Mateo, I don’t—”

“You do have a bathroom here, don’t you?” The way the shadows fell across his face, his irises looked almost completely black. It was more than a little unnerving.

“Well, yes, but—”

“Then fucking do it, Selena.”

The harsh language surprised her. When they’d been together, he’d rarely spoken like that. And never toward her.

She took the tray of truffles, carried them into the small bathroom and flushed them. Then she returned to the kitchen. “Better?”

“Now wash the pan and your hands.”

Okay, this was more than just a little weird. “Can you at least close the door?” she said, setting the tray in the sink, turning on the hot water, and squirting it with dish soap. “It’s cold.”

“I can still smell it.”

Oh my God, is he serious?

“Smell what?” Exasperated, she turned on the overhead stove ventilation. “The chocolate? The rum? I don’t get it, Mateo. Have you suddenly developed deadly allergies? Because if you’re allergic to chocolate now, why did you even attempt to eat that truffle in the first place?”

“It’s not the chocolate I’m allergic to,” he said through clenched teeth.

Just then, she spotted a large moth flying in through the open door where he stood. “Ack! A miller!”

He snatched it out of the air with lightning-fast reflexes.

“Don’t kill it,” she demanded. “Just put it outside and shut the door.”

He did what she wanted him to do, and when he turned back around, his eyes looked normal again, if not a little amused. “I forgot how much you hate moths,” he said, the edge in his voice gone. “I don’t get what’s so scary about them. It’s not like they bite.”

She shivered. “Their bodies. They’re just so…thick and furry. And they flutter. And have that powdery stuff on their wings. Ugh. I can’t stand them. Now go wash your hands. You touched it.”

With the shadow of a smile on his lips, Mateo headed into the bathroom. Selena took the opportunity to check her phone. Paula still hadn’t replied.

She fired off another quick text. Everything okay?

He returned a moment later, wiping his hands on a paper towel. “Who made those truffles?”

“I did.”

He frowned. “What’s in them?”

“Not a lot. Just some high quality chocolate—the kind I always use—some cream and a splash of rum. Two different kinds.”

A tiny muscle in his jaw ticked, indicating his inner turmoil. She recalled how he used to do that when dealing with the intense pressure he faced from his parents. His father was some sort of powerful businessman. Banking, maybe. And his mother sat on various executive boards. Attend this exclusive boarding school, they’d tell him. Apply to these prestigious colleges. Do this in order to follow in your father’s footsteps. And for godssake, don’t lower your standards and settle for that townie girl you only see in the summer.

“The rum,” he barked. “Get me the bottles.”

She took them off the shelf and handed them to him. Crossing her arms, she waited for an explanation.

He completely ignored the brand name bottle and focused on the unlabeled one, holding it up to the light. “Where did you get this?”

“My customer provided it for me to use.” She explained that she’d thought it tasted a little strange and that the truffles hadn’t set up like they normally did, so she’d had to use both types.

With a disgusted look on his face, he stared at the bottle. “Yeah, it’s this rum all right.”

A feeling of dread began to form in her abdomen. Why hadn’t she listened to her intuition and not used it? “Something’s…wrong with it?”

“You could say that.”

“Oh my God.” As the potential demise of the business she’d worked so hard to build flashed before her eyes, she pulled out her phone. Having your best customer get sick from your food would not be a good thing.

“Who are you calling?” he asked.

“Paula’s not picking up, so I’m calling my customer directly. I need to warn—”

“No.” He took the phone from her, and before she could protest, he stormed out with it and the bottle.

She stood there in the center of the kitchen, mouth open in stunned silence. He returned a moment later, the bottle gone. A thick thatch of hair hung over one eye, making him look wild and uncontrollable.

“Get your things, Selena.” When she didn’t immediately jump to do as she was told, he growled, “Now.”

Like hell she was. She needed answers. “You can’t just show up out of the blue like this, literally freak out, then order me around like a damned lunatic.”

“Selena. Now.”

“No,” she said, holding out her hand. “Not until you tell me what’s going on and give me back my phone.”

His eyes glinted with an icy, unbending coldness. “You’ve got two choices. Either you walk out with me or I carry you. What is it going to be?”

She’d never seen him like this before. When they’d been together, sure, he’d been passionately protective of her at times, but he’d also been sweet, kind, and very considerate. She’d never felt as if she didn’t have a choice.

Surely, he hadn’t gotten into that gross pickup artist world, where guys treated you like a piece of shit thinking that would help them score. Or maybe he was confused about the BDSM world. Although she didn’t know much about it outside of the erotic romances she loved to read, it seemed to her that he was acting like a bossy-ass Dom who considered her his Sub. Well. If that was what he was into these days, fine, but they didn’t have an agreement or understanding. He couldn’t barge in and expect her to do what he said. That wasn’t the way her world worked. He was going to treat her respectfully, like an equal, or he could get the hell out.

Folding her arms over her chest, she stood her ground. “I’m not going anywhere with you, Mateo Carerra, until you tell me exactly what is going on. Starting with why you came here.”

“Suit yourself.”

In the blink of an eye, he swept her up and slung her over his shoulder like a freaking sack of potatoes.

What the hell!

“Put me down,” she screamed, kicking at his chest with her knees and feet, and pummeling his back with her fists. Screw that he was bigger and more muscular than she remembered. She didn’t care. She kept wailing on him with all her might. How utterly arrogant and appalling of him to do this to her. It was wrong. Humiliating. And so unlike the man that she remembered.

“Fuck,” he said under his breath.

Yay. She must’ve hit a sensitive spot.

Little good that did however, because he only gripped her legs tighter. After grabbing her handbag from the back room, he locked up the place without shifting her from his shoulder.

She literally hated Mateo Carrera with the fiery passion of a thousand blazing suns.

And before she knew it, they were in his car, speeding down the highway.