I watch him pace, the late afternoon sun gleaming in his dark hair, the glow kissing his tanned skin while I unpack the suitcase. Every minute of conversation adds a new notch to his stiffened posture. An increased hike to the confident set of his chin.
When he walks back inside, the placating smile he gives me is pitiful. “I need to get to Trend earlier than anticipated.”
“Is something wrong?”
“Just loose ends.”
“I thought you didn’t work for him anymore.”
“I don’t,” he grates. “Lorenzo heard there was footage of the shooting. Someone uploaded it to social media. It’s already been taken down, but I want to make sure there isn’t a trace left behind.”
My pulse kicks. “What kind of footage?”
“A blurry twenty-second snapshot. It isn’t a big deal.”
“You’re pacifying me.” I can see it in his eyes. He isn’t giving me the full story.
“No, I’m not. It’s been taken down. It didn’t gain traction and wasn’t picked up by journalists.”
“But we were in it, weren’t we? You can see our faces.” There’s evidence I was with my family’s competition when a shooting happened. “I need to call Cole.”
“What you need to do is be rational. Involving him will only cause complications.” He walks up to me, gliding an arm around my waist. “Let me handle it. If things escalate, which they won’t, then you can call him.”
“If word gets back to him—”
“Word won’t get back. Lorenzo handled the cops. He’s had the video taken down. People don’t care about another drive-by shooting, especially when nobody got hurt. It’s not big news.” He leans in, his lips close to mine. “I just want to make sure it remains that way. Okay? It’s only a precaution.”
I close my eyes, letting his mouth ease my concerns as he kisses me possessively.
“I’ll be home late. I’ll try not to wake you.” He walks from the room, leaving me in a silent penthouse that grows more desolate by the hour.
I order takeout for an early dinner. Shower. Stalk my phone.
When night falls, I help myself to Matthew’s liquor cabinet to ease the constant simmer of apprehension.
I text him for an update before I go to bed. He placates me immediately, pretending everything is peachy when I’m certain nothing could be further from the truth.
But when he arrives home after midnight, his naked body finding mine under the covers, the reconnection of our bodies makes the worries disappear.
We make love in the dark. Slow. Silent. Sensual. There’s only heated eye contact through the shadows and possessive touches beneath the sheets.
I don’t question the new depth of our passion, or how it feels like we’re both clinging to something destined to end.
I fall back asleep with his body spooned behind mine like a perfect puzzle piece, his lips on my shoulder, his arm around my waist.
The mattress doesn’t jostle again until the morning sun beams around the edge of the drapes.
“Matthew?” I roll toward his side of the bed, finding him already dressed in another impeccable suit as he kneels to tie his shoes near the door.
“I didn’t mean to wake you.” His focus remains on his laces. “I’m going to walk to the cafe on the corner and get breakfast.”
“I’ll come.” I fling back the sheet.
“No.” He stands with a frown, still not meeting my gaze as he fixes his lapels. “I’ve got calls to make. Stay here until I get back.”
There’s no offer of clarification. No apology. Just dictatorship that doesn’t have the same appeal as it does when spoken sexually.
“Is everything all right?” I cling to the sheets, wanting to give him space while instinct demands I pry. “Has something happened?”
“We’ll talk when I get back.” His gaze finally meets mine. “It’s time we laid everything on the table.”
He doesn’t glance at me with admiration. Doesn’t rake his attention over my body with his usual predatory hunger. He barely registers me at all before he pulls his cell from his jacket pocket to concentrate on the device. “I won’t be long.”
“Wait.” I push to my feet, dragging the sheet along with me. “Tell me what’s going on.”
“I’m paranoid,” he grates. “Word has spread about the shooting, and I want the two of us to be straight with each other before the world starts firing complications our way.”
“The world or my brother?”
“Either. Both. It doesn’t matter.” His jaw ticks. “Yesterday we said no lies and no secrets. We need to start living up to that promise.”
There’s more to his change in demeanor. Something that sits heavy on my chest. Has he already figured out what the Costas have done to me? To Stella?
“Okay.” I nod, my throat drying. “We’ll talk.”
“Good.” He strides for the hall with no kiss in farewell, no heated promises. “Bishop will be here soon. You might want to get dressed before he arrives.”
“Why is he coming?” I ask the empty doorway.
“I’ll explain when I get back.”
His footsteps don’t pause along the hall. They grow distant, the front door slapping closed moments later.
I’m tempted to spy on him from the balcony. Just for the slightest hint of understanding at his temperamental mood. But I shower instead, quickly scrubbing the remnants of last night’s eroticism from my body while wondering if I’m doing it for the last time.
It can’t be more than ten minutes later, when I’m drying myself in front of the wall-to-wall mirror, that a knock sounds at the front door. My stomach twists.
I don’t want Bishop here. Not for this.
I refuse to discuss my daughter’s abduction in front of his smug face.
“Hold on a sec.” I pad into Matthew’s bedroom and steal his robe from the chair in the corner, shoving my arms through the silk as I continue down the hall. “I’m coming.”
The knock sounds again when I reach the living room, my feet slapping against the cold tiles. “Have a little patience.”
I reach the entry and check the peephole, holding out hope it’s Matthew with arms full of food. Only the shoulder of the shadowed suit I glimpse isn’t his. The size and shape are too damn familiar to Bishop’s frame.
“I’m here.” I fight with the dead bolt, then twist the handle.
When I fling the heavy wood wide, it’s not Bishop who swings around to face me.
The man standing in the dimly lit hall turns my way in a tailored suit, dark thick stubble hugging a tight jawline, his posture holding an air of bulletproof confidence.
He says something. Asks something. Yet the words don’t register. Nothing sinks past the panic rendering me speechless.
It’s Remy Costa—Emmanuel’s youngest son.
My heart sprints, my veins flooding with adrenaline.
They did find the cyanide. They found me, too.
Is that why Matthew was on edge?
“Did you hear me, sugar?” He smirks, his gaze raking up and down my body.
Our first meeting wasn’t meant to be like this. It was supposed to be planned. Strategic. Powerful. Being a few sharp breaths away from hyperventilating wasn’t in the manifesto.