We finished packing last night, though she was wiped out after that hotter-than-hell blow job. She passed out an hour or two before I finished getting things set for her to move into La Lune Noire today. Then I climbed in beside her, molded my body around hers, and slept in a bed that wasn’t my own but felt like the home I hadn’t realized my soul had been craving.
So, yeah, I’m utterly fucked.
Mainly because I’m still not sure she’s falling with me.
This morning, she was more herself. Confident and sassy, but also a bit guarded. I’d relieved her stress by waking her up with my head between her legs and the promise to adopt that as our morning ritual. Her response was enthusiastic. I can still hear my name spilling from her lips as she rubbed her sweetness over my tongue. But her walls went up as we got ready to head out. I’m aware that once she settles in, her family shunning her is going to wreak havoc on her psyche and any progress we’ve made.
We’re en route to the resort, and she’s in good spirits, so I’ll let the rest go. For now.
Of course, as that resolve envelops me, she glances at her phone and frowns.
I squeeze her thigh, sweeping my thumb over the creamy skin beneath her shorts. She’s dressed far more casually than normal, with her hair in a ponytail—because it’s ninety-seven degrees with a humidity of eighty percent and we lugged some of her boxes down to the car. Thankfully, the guards packed the rest of her belongings in their vehicle, so it wasn’t too brutal.
It’s the Fourth of July, so traffic is terrible. Several streets are blocked off. We’re taking back roads, and even those are clogged more than normal.
When she finally grants me her attention, I ping-pong mine between the road and her gorgeous, albeit solemn, face. “What’s got you upset?”
“Nothing,” she says quickly—too quickly—as she flips her phone over.
I stop at a red light, leaning over the center console to curl my fingers around her neck and seize her mouth. She relents immediately, claiming me right back. Her hand glides over my cheek, cupping my face, and something about that translates her tentativeness into forever. Still, every swipe of her tongue is a lash of both her hopes and her fears. I’ll gladly share them all with her.
A sultry purr escapes her, and a rumble stirs in my lungs. Maybe I should pull over. We’re a good eight minutes away with this congestion. That’s an eternity to keep my hands off her.
I have to remind myself that I’ll have her with me all the time now, so I can wait fifteen minutes and worship her properly. Anywhere I want. Endless possibilities. While she slept yesterday, I ordered some new items for my private Magie Noire room. The vision of all the ways I could welcome her into her new home makes the wait bearable.
Releasing her lips with one last languid swipe before the light changes, I grip her chin as my gaze meanders over her radiant face. “You taste like candy and lies.”
She laughs as the light turns, and I drive forward, but she doesn’t discredit my accusation. We both know she’s holding back, keeping things from me. I’m about to press the issue when my attention snags on a black Ford Raptor with beefy wheels in my rearview mirror. It’s desperately trying to get around the other cars, weaving in and out to force them to squish to the shoulder.
I veer as far left toward the opposing lane as I can to get a better glance at the line of cars behind us. Maybe it’s nothing,probably just an asshole who wants to get to a picnic on time. But there’s an uneasiness settling in my bones.
When I notice Kane’s vehicle is gone, I’m no longer convinced that I’m leaping to conclusions. My gut wrenches.
“What’s going on?” Tessa asks with a fair amount of panic.
She’s obviously learning to read me. Impressive since I’ve got sunglasses on, blocking my eyes.
“Recline your seat and lie down for me,” I order as I hit Kane’s number on my phone.
Ring. Ring. Ring.
“Lie down?” she parrots. “Why?”
“Just do it, baby.” My tone is so eerily serene that she does it, but she meets resistance.
Ring. Ring. Ring.
Two more trucks join the brigade, all three pushing the traffic out of the way.
“You have to move the seat to its farthest forward position, then recline it,” I instruct her as I grab my pistol—a Beretta 92FS Inox—from the console and click the safety off. I’m not really a gun guy, but knives don’t work from inside a car.
Ring. Ring. Ring.
Goddammit.
Once she’s flattened herself below the window without further protest, I take a breath and end that call. I hope Kane isn’t fucking dead. Keeping my eye on the rearview mirror, I flip through my Contacts, pulling up Liam Graves.
While I’m waiting for him to answer, I tap Tessa’s hand, which is fisting her phone. “Call Cash. Tell him we have a tail and that Kane is gone.”
