Love Rents A Room
Chapter 105: The Ultimatum

Chapter 105: The Ultimatum

Joanne sat frozen as the news flashed across the screen—Liam had been taken to the police station.

Her fingers trembled slightly as she dialed his number, hoping he was already home. Why hadn’t anyone told her? Guilt gnawed at her. She should have checked on him. She knew he could handle himself, but still... he had been taken by the feds?

The call connected.

"Liam?" she asked, but it wasn’t Liam’s voice that answered—it was Fiona’s.

Joanne’s stomach twisted. "Is Liam back?"

A soft giggle echoed through the receiver, light and teasing. Joanne’s brow furrowed. What’s going on?

"Fiona?" she pressed, listening more intently now. The distant sound of running water met her ears.

Is she... showering?

She barely had time to process that before she heard Liam’s voice, muffled but unmistakable. "Who is it?"

"It’s Jo!" Fiona called out cheerfully.

Joanne exhaled, relief flickering through her. "Liam’s home? That’s great. I’m sorry, I just found out he was taken by the feds."

The moment she said it, she regretted making the call. There was something too intimate about the background noises—water splashing, Fiona’s airy laughter, Liam’s voice growing closer.

"She’s sorry she just found out—oh, just stop it, honey..." Fiona giggled again, her words dissolving into a playful squeal.

Joanne shut her eyes for a second, biting back a groan. I do not have the patience for this right now.

"I’ve called at a bad time, haven’t I?" she muttered. "I’ll call you in the morning."

From the other end, Liam’s voice rose, more insistent this time. "Wait—wasn’t she in the hospital?"

"It’s not a bad time," Fiona purred.

Oh, for the love of—

Joanne sighed, her grip tightening on the phone. "Have a great time, guys," she said quickly and hung up before she could hear any more of their not a bad time.

Setting the phone down, she rubbed her temples.

Speaking of great times...

Where was her guy? Was Philip Winchester still talking to him?

The question sent her moving toward the porch, peering out toward the barn. A shadowed figure strode toward the house—Philip, his pace measured and firm. Behind him, Jeffrey followed, his expression unreadable.

Joanne felt warmth bloom in her chest before she even realized it. Her lips curved in an unguarded smile, and before she knew it, she was rushing down the steps toward them.

Jeffrey looked a little stunned, though whether from her sudden enthusiasm or Philip’s words, she wasn’t sure. Probably both.

Later, he helped her set up her Papaw’s old room for Philip. His assistant seemed content with the couch, and the security guards—well, they insisted on sleeping outside in the tents they brought, claiming they loved the open air.

Joanne didn’t mind offering them Jeffrey’s room—after all, she wouldn’t have minded sharing with Jeffrey. But it would be not possible tonight as Charlotte was in her room.

But the way they so easily refused?

Yeah.

They definitely wanted her and Jeffrey sleeping separately.

*

Jeffrey stepped into the shower, letting the icy water cascade over him, seeping into his skin like a punishment he wasn’t sure he could endure—or escape.

His grandfather wasn’t convinced.

For now, Philip had agreed not to tell Joanne the truth. But the reprieve came with an ultimatum.

"Either you tell Joanne everything and let her decide if she can still accept you—if she does, I will bless your marriage. Otherwise..."

The words still echoed in his head, sharper than the cold water biting into his skin.

"Her child will be better off with her rather than having you as a father!"

Jeffrey had braced himself for disappointment, for anger, for judgment. But he hadn’t expected that.

That his grandfather—the man who had always stood by him, even when he didn’t deserve it—would tell him, without hesitation, that his own flesh and blood would be better off without him.

That Joanne alone would be enough.

The sting of it was deeper than he wanted to admit.

And worse... a part of him feared Philip might be right.

Jeffrey rubbed his chest, wincing as another sharp pain lanced through his torso. His muscles ached, the remnants of a battle fought both physically and emotionally. He stretched, rolling his shoulders before wrapping a towel around his waist and stepping out of the bathroom.

He nearly gasped when he saw her. Almost.

Joanne sat on his bed, her legs crossed, a slow, knowing smile curving her lips.

Shaking his head, he strode toward her. Of course she was here. His grandfather had made it clear—he wasn’t to be alone with Joanne, wasn’t to "be" with her. No doubt, Philip’s men were nearby, watching, waiting. And yet, here she was. Sitting on his bed, looking at him like that.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, his voice gruffer than intended.

Joanne tilted her head, feigning innocence. "What did you talk about with Philip Winchester?"

He knew she was curious, but that wasn’t why she was here. Her eyes betrayed her.

She took him in—his damp hair clinging to his forehead, the broad expanse of his shoulders, the defined ridges of his chest, the taut lines of his abdomen. Her gaze flicked lower, following the lazy trail of a single droplet of water sliding down his skin.

Her lips curved.

With absolutely no shame, she hooked a finger into the edge of his towel.

Jeffrey’s reflexes were sharp—his hand shot out, catching hers before she could tug. He clenched his jaw. His grandfather was right next door, the walls thin, ears everywhere.

Leaning in, he let his breath graze her cheek, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous purr.

"You’re playing with fire, Ms. Smith," he murmured. "Are you sure you want to distress the old man next door? And there is a child in this house..."

Joanne scoffed, releasing the towel with an unimpressed look. "Coward."

Jeffrey stilled.

Did she just...

His lips twisted in a smirk.

Oh, she thought he was a coward?

With a swift, deliberate motion, he pushed her down onto the bed, catching her gasp with his mouth.

Joanne barely had a moment to react before his lips claimed hers, fierce and unrelenting. His towel slipped away. Her shirt lifted. His hands found her, tracing the curves he had memorized in dreams.