"And what's that?"
"We told him the truth. We told him the truth and then we let him decide what to do with it." I stand. "You've never let him decide anything."
Her composure cracks for two seconds and in the gap I see fear.
"You'll never see him again." I button my jacket. "You won't contact him or send messages through third parties or appear anywhere he might be present. The restraining order takes effect tomorrow and any violation triggers automatic arrest."
"He's my son."
"He was your son. Now he's my mate. He's carrying my child and he's protected by every legal instrument I can file. Your ability to reach him ended the night you sent Richard to his office." I pick up my jacket from the chair back. "The attorney will explain the terms. I suggest you read them carefully."
I leave without waiting for a response.
I drive in silence. The look on her face when the composure cracked stays behind my eyes. Her perfume clings to my jacket and shirt, the artificial sweetness contaminating every breath. I crack the window and the city air pushes some of it out but not enough.
I made six phone calls yesterday. Two families dropped her from their social circles before I'd finished talking. A third called back within the hour to confirm her country club membership had been suspended. The network she spent years building collapsed in an afternoon. Pull the foundation and the rest collapses.
The apartment hallway smells like home the second the elevator opens. The tension in my shoulders loosens before I've reached the door.
Amos is asleep on the couch with his laptop closed on the coffee table and a blanket draped over his legs. The Percocet took him under sometime in the past hour. Mattaniah's scent is concentrated toward the bedroom.
He's sitting cross-legged on the bed with files spread around him and my shirt hanging off one shoulder. He looks up when I appear in the doorway.
"How was it?"
"She tried the protection angle and I shut it down. The restraining order takes effect tomorrow." I lean against the doorframe. "Her social network is gone. I made the calls yesterday and she's done."
"Did she ask about me?"
"She called you her son."
"She was my mother." He holds my gaze. "Was."
Mattaniah sets the files aside and looks at me for a long moment. His nostrils flare.
"You smell wrong." He says it with his eyes narrowing. "You smell like her perfume and I don't want it on you."
"Then take it off me." I say it from the doorway.
Mattaniah unfolds from the bed and crosses the room. His hands find the lapels of my jacket and push it off my shoulders. The jacket drops to the floor and he's already working the buttons on my shirt, pulling the fabric away from my skin. The shirt joins the jacket on the floor and his hands press flat against my bare chest. He leans in and breathes against my sternum.
"It's still there underneath yours." He says it against my skin. "I can still smell it."
His mouth finds the hollow of my throat and his tongue traces the line of my collarbone before his teeth catch the skin abovemy bond mark. He's marking me and my hands grip his hips without my permission.
"The shower would be faster." My voice comes out rougher than I intend.
"I don't want faster." His hands slide down my chest to my belt. "I want her gone."
He walks me backward until my legs hit the bed. I sit and he climbs into my lap facing me, his knees bracketing my hips, the position mirroring the hospital chair except there's no urgency in his body this time. His mouth finds my neck again and he works his way up to my jaw, his lips and tongue pressing his scent into every inch of skin the perfume touched. His hips settle against mine with a weight that's deliberate.
"Lie back." He says it against my jaw.
I lie back and the unfamiliarity of the position sends something electric through the bond. He strips my pants off with the same focused efficiency he used on the shirt. His own clothes follow, the borrowed shirt pulled over his head. He's bare above me with the late afternoon light catching the curve of his stomach.
"That's better." He says it looking down at me. His hand presses flat against my chest. "You're starting to smell like you again."
"You could speed up the process."
