Jarek methodically placed the roast chicken and pasta meal that Georgia had prepared onto the table. The ordinary, everyday task, lining the napkins carefully with the silverware, filling the water and wine glasses, gave him something to do when his emotions were shaken, tumbling through him.
Leigh was so much a part of him now—and she hadn't trusted him. She sat across the table from him; the candlelight flickered on her pale face and glittered on his family's necklace. Her hand on it, over her throat, was a protective gesture.
Did she think he would hurt her?
Jarek sat back in his chair. "How long has Lars been bothering you?"
