When I lick my lips, his gaze follows my tongue. “That’s not what I meant.”
I start to look away, but he grips my chin with his finger and thumb.
“Then explain, Emmy,” he growls quietly. “Whatdidyou mean?” He flicks his eyes between mine, searching, then grits his jaw when I don’t answer. “We have no use for people who don’t want to be here.” He drags his thumb along my lower lip, something flickering in his eyes, and he rasps, “If you’re having second thoughts—”
“No. I want to be here. With you.” My words hang between us. It scares me how true they are. “It’s not me. I just ...” My voice trails off, and his eyes burn with frustration.
“You just what?” he grits out. “What are you keeping from me?”
My eyes widen. “I’m not keeping any—”
“Bullshit.” His hand dips below my jaw, his body tensing and his breath skating over my lips.
A warm shiver rolls through me. “What do you want from me?”
“What do I want?” His nose skims my cheek, then his smooth, deep voice reaches my ear. “Loaded question for a mouse.” My skin warms when he pulls my earlobe into his mouth and sucks, and Jesus, I wonder what I wouldn’t give him. “For now, however,” he murmurs, pulling back slightly, “I want to know what you’ve been hiding.”
“I told you. It’s not me—”
“Who is it?”
“What? It’s—it’s—”
“Who. Is. It?”
“My sister,” I burst, and my eyes fall shut.
Shit.
A long pause stretches between us, and I don’t open my eyes again until I hear his low voice. “Your sister?”
I nod, my neck stiff. My confession either saved Frankie. Or destroyed her.
He drops his hand from my face. “Francesca Highland.”
My lungs squeeze. “You know her.”
“No.” He shakes his head and steps back, running his palm down the side of his jaw. “Her name is in your file.” I frown, but he doesn’t wait for me to respond. “What about her?”
“So ... you don’t remember her?”
He arches a brow and pulls his phone from his pocket when it buzzes, glancing down. “Why would I?”
Blowing out a breath, I shift a few steps to the right and lean back against the wall. My secret’s out. It’s all or nothing now. “She came here about nine months ago. She was one of your hires.”
His eyes narrow when he looks back at me.
“She went by Frankie.”
“Tall? Blonde? Tanned?”
“Yes!” I’m nodding my head up and down like a bobblehead until his lips slowly tip up. Pausing, I glare at him. “Funny.”
Slipping the phone back in his pocket, he shrugs. “If it isn’t Aubrey or Stella, I don’t deal with them. And if I don’t deal with them, I have no reason to learn their names.”
Silence spreads between us as unspoken words fill the gaps. He didn’t ‘deal with them.’
Until me.
