Elijah stood, signifying the meeting was over. “She’ll reach out in the morning. I’ll handle the rest.”
Butch opened the door, leading us out. We walked past the offices again, tension still alive in the air.
Just before we reached the door, I asked quietly, “How’s your wife?”
Butch slowed. Looked at me.
“She’s... not good. Lost so much on that lower level. Artifacts she’d been collectin’ since we met.”
My chest ached. “If she has any photos or lists, tell her to send them. I’ll keep my eyes open. Might be able to help replace some of it.”
His brow softened. “You always been kind. She’ll appreciate that.”
Tariq opened the door, letting me out first. The night air hit like a slap.
I turned to him as he locked eyes with me.
“I’ll follow you home,” he said.
I nodded.
We didn’t need to say more.
In the car, my hoodie dress clung to the back of my thighs, and I shifted, uncomfortable with the way I could still feel the press of his palm on my lower back from earlier. Tariq had touched me like a man who still claimed me. Not just physically,but with that heat in his eyes—mad, wild, full of questions. And love. So much fucking love it made my chest tighten.
He was still behind me. I watched the headlights in the rearview mirror and didn’t exhale until I pulled into my parking garage and saw him follow. He parked beside me, taking his time getting out. When I stepped out, the night air caught my legs and reminded me how bare I was beneath this soft cotton. No bra. Just a tiny thong. I hadn’t been thinking about him when I got dressed—at least, not on the surface. But maybe I was always thinking about him.
Tariq didn’t speak. Just walked around the hood of his truck like he had every right to follow me inside. And I didn’t stop him because he did. Here is where I wanted him.
I unlocked the door to my condo and stepped inside. He closed the door behind us with a slow, quiet click, like he was sealing something in. Or out.
The silence throbbed.
I turned to speak—to say something stupid, maybe mean, to keep distance between us—but he was already in front of me. All 6'3 of him, thick and broad and beautiful, and all that pain and fire swirling in his dark eyes. He looked down at me like I broke something in him… but he wasn’t willing to let me go.
Tariq didn’t say a word. Just wrapped his arms around my waist, lifted me onto my toes, and kissed me.
My fingers clutched his jacket, my mouth already open for him, the kiss slow and deep and devastating. I could taste the ache in him. His hands were everywhere—cupping the back of my head, sliding down to squeeze my ass, holding me like I might run.
When he finally pulled back, he pressed his forehead to mine, breathing hard.
“I’m mad at you,” he whispered. “Fucking furious, Sanaa.”
“I know.”
“You deal with people who don’t deserve your loyalty.”
“I know that too.”
He looked at me like he wanted to shake sense into me—and then kissed my brow.
“I want you safe. That’s it. I just want you here. Breathing. Whole.”
“I’m here,” I whispered.
His hands flexed on my hips.
“I love you,” he said it low, rough, barely controlled.
