I curse myself for being so utterly powerless when it comes to him. One look, one touch, and I’m toast. I cannot help myself.
The car pulls up to a smooth stop before the office. The line of Moretti security is subtle enough for an ignorant person to overlook, but not me. I know the quiet, predatory stance of men who are paid to watch for danger. I lived with those shadows for years, and since the attack on me a few days ago, that security has only increased.
Lucien’s driver cuts the engine. I reach for the door handle like it’s a lifeline. I need air. I need to think clearly, which I can’t ever seem to do when I’m around him.
“Briar.”
Just my name. Low. Controlled. A reminder of everything I should be doing. A reminder of what I didn’t want for my life when I returned to New York and yet seemed to have slipped straight into without a second thought.
I inhale. “Yes?”
“You didn’t sleep well last night, and you seem off.” He doesn’t look at me. “What’s wrong?”
My chest tightens. I don’t want him to know that I lay awake replaying every moment of his body on mine, trying to smother the shame and the wanting tangled together inside me. That the hunger for Lucien warred with a part of me that was scared of his world. He was clean, lived a life away from the crime world that once plagued my life and his father’s, but still it hovered in the shadows, forever a threat.
“I have a lot on my mind,” I murmur. “That’s all.”
“Hmm.”
That’s all he gives me. A non-answer that makes my stomach twist. He regrets me and what we’ve done. Of course that’s where my mind goes. Forever insecure after what Matteo did to me. I’m trouble he doesn’t need. Somehow in doing what I thought was right, I’d brought the underworld back to his door.
We exit the car without another word spoken and walk toward the elevator. His stride is smooth, confident. Mine is small, controlled, nervous. The memory of his hands on my hips nearly trips me up.
Inside the elevator, the silence stretches between us. He keeps space between us, but it doesn’t matter. My body remembers him far too vividly for distance to help. How was I to work, pretend that I wasn’t sleeping with the boss? Wasn’tputting everyone who worked here in possible danger, just because I made a mistake and married the wrong man.
When the doors open on the office floor, I step out quickly. Air. I need air that isn’t tainted by his scent.
“I’m going to get a coffee,” I say, waiting for the elevator that’s going down. “Do you want one?”
“No.” His tone is clipped. “And you aren’t going alone.”
I swallow. “Lucien, I’m fine. These are your offices. Matteo wouldn’t dare seek me out here.”
“You’re not going alone.” There’s the edge to his tone. The authority. The darkness under the tailored suit. No, not darkness—protection. But protection always comes with a cost. I learned that the hard way.
I force my voice to stay steady. “I need five minutes. Alone.”
His jaw flexes. A silent war behind his eyes. Then he nods once. “Anthony is downstairs. He’ll watch from a distance.”
I don’t fight it. I’ve fought enough. I simply nod and wait for the elevator. Thankfully a door opens and I jump in without another word. The lobby café is busy enough to feel safe, but I’m still painfully aware of Anthony’s presence twenty feet away. He pretends to look at pastries. I pretend not to notice. I’m reaching for my wallet when someone steps close behind me. Too close. The hairs on the back of my neck prickle.
Not here. Not now. Please, God, not here.
A man’s chest brushes my back, his voice barely above a breath. “Morning, Mrs. Romero.”
My vision swims for a second. I turn slowly. Not Matteo. But one of his henchmen—young, tattooed, smiling with dead eyes.
“I’m not—” My throat tightens. “I’m not her anymore, you need to leave.”
He slips a folded note into my hand. “He wants you home.”
My skin goes cold.
“He knows where you’re sleeping.” The man’s smile widens. “Nice penthouse loft.”
My heart stumbles painfully in my chest. Anthony appears out of nowhere, stepping between us. The man backs away calmly, hands raised in mock surrender, disappearing into the crowd like smoke.
Anthony steers me toward the elevators. “Did he hurt you?” he asks roughly.
