Missed call notifications filled the screen, every single one of them from Mrs. Solveig. “Fuck!”
He stuffed his phone in his pocket and shoved his feet into his shoes.
When he entered the living room, Portia was seated in a highbacked chair, her legs curled under her, the computer on her lap.
“I’ve got to go,” he said abruptly. He had to leave before he said something that he’d regret. Maybe when they were both cooled off, he could get her to see his side of it.
“Okay, bye,” she said, not looking up from the screen.
“Portia.” Her name was a plea, though he wasn’t sure for what.
She looked up then. “Oh, are you waiting for your shirt?” She stood and in one smooth move pulled it over her head and dropped it to the floor.
Aleks nearly swallowed his tongue.
Dressed in wispy panties—pink instead of the black ones he’d peeled off her last night—and nothing else, she stared at him defiantly. Shoulders back, head proudly raised, she asked, “Is there anything else you need?”
Damn, she was magnificent. The light filtering in through the shades lit her like a goddess and illuminated the love bites he’d left on her breast and collarbone.
“Portia, please.” He’d said those same words in a very different context last night.
“Aleks,” she mocked. “You’re the one who said you needed to leave. So, go. No one is stopping you.”
Was that a waver he heard in her voice?
“We can talk about this later,” he said, as he stopped to pick up his shirt. He curled his fist around the fabric to keep from caressing her smooth skin.
“There’s no point,” she said. “I’ll be meeting with the scientists and the street cookers this morning. If everything aligns, they’ll get the surgery later today.”
She met his gaze then. He read turmoil and determination in her eyes.
“It’s the best option for the company,” she said. “And it will save countless lives by getting Vyne off the street.”
He saw her point, of course he did. But brains were delicate instruments. Why couldn’t she understand that?
“This isn’t over,” he said. “We’renot over.” They couldn’t be, not when he’d just found her.
“We’ll see,” was her only response.
She didn’t move when he shrugged into his shirt. Or when he said goodbye.
“Lock up behind me.” Though every instinct was telling him to stay, Aleks forced himself to leave. He paused in the small hallway leading to the front door and turned back toward the living room. It was empty. Her laptop sat on the chair, but Portia was nowhere to be seen.
Heart heavy, he took the final few steps to the front door. This wasn’t the end. It couldn’t be.
He was just reaching for handle when the door started to vibrate.
Pound, pound, pound.
“What the hell?”
“Open this goddamn door, Portia!”
Aleks whipped open the door and came face-to-face with Phillip Tremaine. Sure, the man looked a bit rougher than he did in the Solveig dossier, but Aleks would recognize him anywhere.
“What do you think you were doing having dinner with the Solveigs last night? Why are the newsies reporting that you’re involved with one of their...” Tremaine’s words trailed off as he finally realized that it wasn’t Portia at the door.
“You’re the Solveig bastard in that video. What the hell are you doing here? Is it true? Are you fucking her?” The vileness spewing out of the man’s mouth was unending.
