He waited silently for me to give him more.
I heaved a deep sigh and admitted, “I wasn’t sure if I did something wrong. Umm…last night.”
It only took two strides for Reeve to close the distance between us. He braced one hand on the mattress beside my hip, and the other lifted to cup my chin with so much gentleness. His thumb skimmed the edge of my jaw before he forced me to meet his gaze.
The heat there made butterflies swirl in my belly.
His voice was rough with disbelief as he murmured, “Nothing about last night was wrong, baby.”
“Really?” I whispered.
“It was fucking perfect, and it’s taking everything I have not to rip this sheet away and take you again.” His gaze dropped briefly to my mouth, and I thought he was going to kiss me. Then his fingers flexed like he was fighting the urge to pull me closer. “But we need to talk.”
“About what?” I asked, my brows drawing together.
He looked at me like he was barely hanging on to his control, which was its own reassurance. But my shoulders slumped when he replied, “Not here.”
“Okay,” I whispered, unsettled by the serious gleam in his dark eyes.
Reeve stepped away long enough to grab a folded pile from the dresser. “Put this on.”
The black T-shirt and pair of sweatpants looked like they could fit two of me. Heat crept up my neck as I tugged them on beneath the sheet, feeling shy even though he’d done more than see every inch of my body last night.
When I stood, the sweats sagged until I rolled the waistband three times, and the shirt hung off one shoulder.
Reeve’s gaze flicked over me, his eyes flaring as though the sight of me in his clothes did something to him. Then he jerked his chin toward the door. “Sorry, baby. We gotta go.”
He stuck close as he escorted me through the clubhouse. A few people glanced our way, but all it took was one look at Reeve for them to look away just as fast. I appreciated him staying at my side like a shield, but I was worried about what we were walking toward. Judging by the tension rolling off him, it wasn’t good.
When we reached the end of a long hallway, Reeve opened a door and guided me inside. King sat behind a wide desk, while Wizard and Ace were seated at the round conference table on the right side of the office. All three men looked grim.
My pulse raced as I sank onto one of the chairs across from King. Although I’d met each of the guys while working at Hellbound Studio, I felt out of place.
It was a little better when Reeve chose to stand beside me, one large hand settling on my shoulder.
Wizard was the first to speak. His elbows rested on his knees, and his expression was sober. “Those designs you’ve been sketching?”
My stomach tightened. “What about them?”
“They’re identifiers. Syndicate markers.”
I blinked at him, my brows drawing together. “I don’t understand.”
Wizard explained, “The symbols aren’t decorative. They communicate things like rank and territory.”
I shook my head. “That’s not possible. Jareth is part of the Atlanta art scene. Why would he have me draw or tattoo stuff like that?”
Reeve’s hand tightened on my shoulder.
“That’s a longer story.” Wizard leaned forward. “But there’s no denying that he’s used your inherent talent to reconstruct underground symbols.”
“Perfectly, from incomplete sources,” Reeve muttered.
My pulse skipped. “You’ve seen me draw. That’s just how my brain works.”
“Exactly the point.” King strummed his fingers on the top of his desk. “That pattern ability of yours lets you rebuild these markers better than the people who invented them. Marks knew that when he offered to mentor you. He used it.”
My breath caught painfully in my chest. “Used it how?”
