He walks toward us, curious, his gaze flicking between my face and Keira’s. Confusion creases his brow. There is no twitch yet,no wild shine. Just sharp intelligence and the faint tension of someone who senses a shift but has not yet decided where to aim his suspicion.
“What is this?” he asks, voice low.
Keira goes very still beside me. I feel my own pulse trip into a sprint, my guilt and anger swirling.
Because I know I am standing between a man who kills to protect me and a woman who orders hits to protect him.
And for the first time, I wonder if I did cross a line with Brutus. Am I like my mother? I can’t imagine cheating on Gustav, but—
“Peighton,” he says colder. “What the fuck are you two arguing about? Tell me.”
Chapter 40
Peighton
Gustav’s question still hangs in the air when Keira moves first.
She steps slightly forward, crossing one arm over her waist in a posture so casual and feminine that it makes her look almost bored.
Then, with a perfectly timed sigh, she says, “We were debating something stupid. Whether women should age gracefully or get injections like Americans do often.”
Her tone is so light, so dismissive, that it almost sounds believable.
Almost.
I shoot her a quick glare, but she lifts one brow in a silent command: roll with it.
My heart is still racing from the confrontation, but I force myself to inhale. “I think women have the right to age however they want. Botox is normal where I’m from. It’s not… immoral.”
Keira scoffs dramatically and tosses her hair. “And I was explaining she is wrong.”
Then she waves a hand and turns away, muttering something about “face-freezing witches” as she sashays off down the corridor.
She plays her role well. Maybe too well.
Gustav’s posture loosens. He accepts it. Thank God.
His attention shifts back to me, and all the air leaves my chest when his arms suddenly circle my body, pulling me flush against his tall, hard body. He lowers his mouth to my ear, breath warm and intimate.
“I missed you,” he whispers.
Those three words detonate inside me like fireworks. Soft. Warm. Uncontrolled. My palms slide up his back. I lean into him, cheek brushing the hard line of his chest, letting myself shiver when he presses a small kiss beneath my ear.
For one suspended moment, nothing exists but him.
Then he pulls back enough to look at me.
“We are leaving St. Andrews.”
“Leaving?” My voice cracks. “Why?”
His jaw tightens with purpose. “I have a meeting in Ukraine. Missile and guns negotiations. You will come.”
“Now?”
“Da.” His thumb strokes my hip. “Not a long trip.”
I nod, my stomach twisting with nerves, excitement, and dread.
