The elevator ride back to my penthouse feels heavy with possibility. I roll my shoulders, letting the weight of the night’s planning settle into my bones. Even through layers of steel and concrete, I feel Eve’s presence above me, magnetic and dangerous.
The doors open to pre-dawn stillness. Everything appears untouched, yet the space feels altered, charged with the potential energy of the trap we’ve laid. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, Chicago spreads out before me, a maze of shadows and lights that echo the complexity of our strategy.
In my bedroom, I check my phone one last time. Marcus’s message confirms: “Operation active.” Three cameras down, strategic blind spots in place. The game begins.
Chapter 8
My body still throbs in places that make focusing impossible, each step a reminder of Remy’s hands on my skin.
The morning sun filters through the penthouse windows as I make my way to the kitchen, desperate for coffee and silence to sort through the chaos in my head. Last night floods back in vivid detail—the shower’s steam, the cold tile against my back, Remy’s mouth hot on my neck.
I shouldn’t have let it happen. But the tension had been building since that kiss in my studio and when I’d stepped into that shower, trying to escape thoughts of him… God. The way he’d followed me in, pressing me against the wall. His hands had been everywhere, possessive and demanding. I’d fought him at first, but resistance crumbled under the assault of his touch, his teeth grazing my shoulder as the water poured over us.
The bruises on my hips ache with each step, souvenirs of how he’d lifted me, pinning me in place while—No. I need to stop reliving it. I need to remember why I’m here and what’s atstake. But my treacherous mind keeps circling back to the fierce possession in his eyes as he—
I pause just outside the kitchen entrance, coffee forgotten as memories flood back. His mouth on my neck, fingers digging into my hips, my back pressed against the cold tile as steam swirled around us—
No. Focus.
But the sensations linger—his teeth grazing my shoulder, my nails scoring his back, the way he’d growled my name against my ear. It had been rough, desperate, exactly what I needed and everything I shouldn’t have wanted. We’d started with me trying to get myself off alone and ended with him storming in, ripping back the shower curtain, still fully dressed. The look in his eyes had made me freeze, caught between fear and desire.
I touch my neck where he marked me, remembering how he’d claimed my mouth before I could protest, one hand tangling in my wet hair while the other—
“Sleepwalking in the hallway, Eve?”
Remy’s voice snaps me back to reality, and I step forward and enter the kitchen. He’s at the kitchen island, watching me with dark eyes that see too much. An older man in an expensive suit stands beside him, analyzing me with military precision. I don’t recognize him.
“Sleep well?” I swear I could see a smirk on his mouth.
I force my features to be neutral, ignoring how my body responds to Remy’s presence. Last night was a mistake. A hot, incredible mistake that has my thighs pressing together at the memory, but still a mistake.
“Like the dead,” I lie, my voice steady despite the flush I can feel creeping up my neck. “Though the shower pressure could use some work.”
Remy’s jaw tightens. He knows exactly what I think of his shower pressure. He sits at the island, perfectly composed ina tailored suit, looking nothing like the man who’d made me scream his name hours ago.
“Eve.” Remy’s dark gaze rakes over my sleep shorts and t-shirt. “Join us.”
“I just need coffee,” I manage, fighting the heat in my cheeks.
“Allow me to introduce Marcus, head of security.” Remy’s smile holds an edge. “He’ll be looking after you as I will be unavailable for most of the day. If you need anything, his number is in your new phone.”
The words land like a carefully crafted threat. I meet Marcus’s analytical stare with practiced neutrality, even as my skin prickles under his assessment. Everything about him screams professional observer—from his precise posture to his sharp eyes that seem to catch every micro-expression.
Great. Another set of eyes watching my every move. As if Remy’s surveillance wasn’t enough.
I reach for the coffee maker, grabbing a mug. The weight of their stares burns into my back. Remy’s presence fills the space like a physical force, making the kitchen feel smaller with each passing second.
“Black coffee still your preference?” His voice carries that infuriating hint of intimacy.
“Some things don’t change.” I keep my tone neutral, though my pulse quickens as his footsteps approach.
“Others do.” He moves closer, and I grip the counter’s edge. “Like your tendency to run.”
“I’m still here, aren’t I?”
“For now.”
The heat of his body radiates against my back before he even touches me. I should move. Should maintain distance. Instead, I’m frozen as his hands settle on the counter, caging me in.
