“Talia already has it handled. You’re getting a delivery in about ten minutes. Something simple. Clean underwear. Jeans and a sweater.”
“She knows my size?”
“She guessed.”
Silence settles between us. It’s awkward, charged, full of everything we didn't say last night.
"About yesterday—" she starts.
"We have an appointment at ten," I cut her off because I can't have this conversation. We need to stay focused. "DNA verification. Talia found someone we can trust. Well, sort of."
"Sort of?"
"He's a forensic specialist who owes me a favor. Discrete, professional, won't ask questions we don't want to answer." I drain my coffee. "But first, we need to stop at the club. I've got some additional documents regarding Kingsley finances there that Talia pulled. You'll need them so that you know what you’re talking about when you make your claim.”
"Why didn’t you bring them here last night?"
"Because last night I was focused on keeping you alive. This morning, I'm focused on staking your claim.” I grab my jacket and check my gun. "We’ll go as soon as the clothes get here, before Silas realizes where you are. Quick in and out."
“I’m pretty sure Silas already knows I’m here. It’s the obvious place.”
“Allowing a strange woman to spend the night in a place where I lay my head is not the obvious choice for men who know me.”
“You don’t bring women home?”
“This hasn’t been home in a long time.”
“Still, when it was home, you didn’t bring women here?”
“No.”
She sets down her cup, studies me with those eyes that see too much. "You're avoiding talking about what happened."
"Nothing happened."
"Liar."
"Peyton—"
"It's fine." She moves past me toward the door, and I catch a trace of my body wash on her skin. It’s clean, simple, nothing like the expensive perfume from last night, and somehow more devastating. "You made your choice. I'm respecting it. Let me know when the clothes get here.”
She grabs her cup and heads back into my bedroom. I should be grateful she's dropping it. I should appreciate that she's being professional, practical, and focused on survival rather than whatever this heat between us is. Instead, I'm irritated that she's giving up so easily. Women typically throw themselves at me or run from me, but this feels different. Almost like she can take me or leave me.
We take the back stairs down to the club's private entrance. At night, the Frost & Flame is full of mystery and shadows. During the day, it's just a building with good bones and a questionable history. Marcus is already behind the bar doing inventory. He glances up when we enter, takes in Peyton with one assessing look, then goes back to counting bottles like beautiful women show up with me every morning.
They don't.
"Boss," he greets. "Didn't expect you this early."
"Need to grab some files from the office. Anyone been asking around?"
"Your cousin stopped by last night. Nico. Said to tell you Silas wants a family meeting." Marcus wipes down the bar with methodical precision. "Also said if you don't show, they'll come find you."
“They can all kick rocks.”
"Blake." Peyton's voice carries a warning. “He’s being persistent. Maybe we should.”
"No." I don't look at her because I can't. If I do, I'll see the worry, the fear she's trying to hide, and I'll start making decisions that will feel more territorial than protective. "Silas doesn't get to summon me like a dog. Not anymore. I’ll talk to him when I’m ready.”
