“I know.” I stroked her buttocks. “But I used you hard. I don’t want you to have to cook.”
She dropped a kiss to my chest. “I used you right back.”
“You sure did. And I liked every second of it. You’re a hot fuck, Lark Smith.”
She grinned.
I glanced at the messy bed. “My housekeeper won’t be happy with the state of these sheets.”
“Let me guess, they’re a billion thread count and expensive.”
I made an amused sound. “Contrary to popular belief, thread count doesn’t necessarily determine quality.”
She rolled her eyes. “But I bet they’re Italian.”
“They are. Sferra. Over a century of Italian textile craftsmanship and they were the first to introduce the world to Giza 45, the highest grade of Egyptian cotton.”
She laughed, a bright, pretty sound, then her smile faded as she studied my face. “The sheets, the food, the fancy penthouse, the tailored suits… They’re all because you didn’t have them growing up.”
I tried not to stiffen. I didn’t talk about my past. Ever. Even Nash and the guys knew very little.
“Yes.” I played with her hair. “Living on the streets, food was never guaranteed. Sometimes it was just stuff I found in trash cans.”
A stricken look crossed her face.
“I went hungry a lot. My clothes were charity. And I definitely didn’t have a comfy bed, let alone nice sheets.”
“Were you alone?”
“I made some friends. But life expectancy on the street isn’t high.”
“What was your name? Before.”
I pressed my thumb to her bottom lip. “Cameron. The firefighter who found me named me Cameron. But I left him behind a long time ago. I vowed to escape the streets, escape poverty. To one day have more money than God.”
“And now you do.” She pressed her cheek to my chest. “I’m glad.”
“Took me a while. I didn’t know how to escape it at first.” I sighed. “Ed was a big part of that.”
She stiffened, and I stroked my hand up her spine.
“He discovered me on the streets, running a very successful pickpocketing gang. Saw potential. I’ll always be grateful for that.”
She nodded. “My name was Hannah. Before.”
“You’re not a Hannah.”
“No. Ed let me pick my new name. My mom, dad, and I used to feed the birds each day at the cabin. There were larks there. I loved spotting the horned lark, with its little, horn-like feathers on its head. So I became Lark. Lark Smith.”
I nuzzled her. “I like Lark a lot.”
She gave me a small smile.
“Come on.” I pinched her buttock. “Get this fine ass dressed while I make us some coffee.”
Soon, I was at my kitchen island with a coffee mug in hand. The lobster omelets had just been delivered. Lark was on her laptop, pouring over Ed’s files.
She froze, her coffee mug halfway to her mouth.
