These past few weeks they’ve been indifferent to Evie. Cold. Professional.
But now there’s curiosity.
A curiosity that has the potential to become very deadly.
“No.” His smile this time has a glimmer of warmth to his eyes that makes my blood run cold. “I’m sure there’s a reason you thought of me when you read it. I’ll try it.”
Evie’s smile is masterfully happy, and a small blush touches her cheeks that I know doesn’t go unnoticed. From the start, her golden eyes and dark freckles made her beautiful, but it feels as though Philip is looking at her now for the first time.
As though a kind girl with a bruised wrist may just need him to save her.
Sick bastard.
Christian’s going to be even more on edge now in the coming weeks. God, now I really have to find a way to get him to relax for Christmas.
Evie checks the book out for him and the whole time Philip’s eyes are on her. They part ways without much more conversation and the moment he’s out of sight she releases a sigh before returning to her work as normal.
“Great job, Evie.” Xavier’s voice in her ear is full of praise and the proud smile that slips onto her face is so genuine, I can’t help but feel guilty for using such a good kid.
“Keep it up until you get home.”
I’m sure Christian is barely holding himself back. But now that I think we’ve gotten results, I don’t know if to punch Xavier in the face or if to just go to where Christian is and try to comfort him.
If it were my call, I’d do both.
But if it were my call, I think I would’ve shot Philip Warren between the eyes already.
This long-haul thing isn’t exactly my style.
Plus, it’s cutting into my first Christmas with Christian. It’s the first time ever I’ve been upset with work for getting in the way of my personal life.
When night falls, Xavier and Gabriel are the ones keeping their eyes on Philip, while Tobias, Christian and I are the ones tasked with watching Evie in the apartment close by, two houses away from hers.
Christian hasn’t said a word since Evie showcased the bruise on her wrist. Even now, his professional mask is on, in all its inexpressive, poker glory… but I know he’s worried. Anyone would think she was his sister with how attached he is to her, but having brought her all this way, it’s only natural, I suppose. That he feels responsible for her.
Every day, I itch to kill Philip Warren, if only to end this mission faster and erase his worries.
Not surprisingly, Xavier went behind my back to set up that scene in the bookstore between Evie and Philip, and I’m grateful at least, that he’d prepared Evie for it beforehand. If he’d scared her, or made the actor do that to her without any notice, I would’ve definitely hit him and maybe even benched him from this operation to handle it my way.
I’m almost wishing now that he had, because then Philip would be dead and I would be lying in bed with Christian.
He’s started clinging to me in his sleep, on the days that we get to retire to the hotel.
Turns out, he gets cold easily, so he’s always plastered onto me because of how warm I am. His hands are always in my shirt and—just recently—he was actuallyinmy shirt—his head was flush against my chest when I woke up and his grip was a force of nature.
So on those mornings—on all counts—it’s his fault that he wakes up with dick inside him.
He’s just so vulnerable and soft and though he’s still sensitive, his ass hasgotten used to taking me in. He does this little whimper when I slide into him, this sleepy moan that always sounds so sexy in my ears. I love rocking back and forth inside him, like that, with my teeth in his skin and my fingers stroking his firm dick when his eyes are barely open—
“Reuben!” Tobias’ voice snaps me out of my reverie forcefully.
“What?!” I snarl.
“I’m fucking starving.” Tobias slinks down into one of the couches with a bored look on his face and so help me—
“I’m starving too.” Christian’s indifferent voice breaks my irritation, drawing my attention to his seat by the desk. He’s bathed in the dim glow of the camera monitors, slouched in the chair, absentmindedly swivelling from side to side, with his cheek resting against his fist. His eyes are distant, unfocused. Lost somewhere far from here.
As much as I hate his obvious displeasure, his quiet pouting is absolutely darling.
