I move the first piece, steepling my fingers on my mouth, and wait as if any moment now a piece will move, starting to play with the ghost of my father.
Throwing my head back, exhaustion tugs at my lids. Nothing has helped ease me. Sleep calls on those nightmares, making me feel like a little boy once again—helpless, biding his time, and learning patience. Learning to channel his anger into something productive.
That child should have long been vindicated. He’s not, and I think nothing will help in soothing him.
The wind lashes at the window just like agony howls inside me. Taking another gulp, I watch the chessboard once again when my phone rings. My right hand is calling me. In my absence, Connor takes care of things.
“Yes,” I snap.
“Good evening to you too, Boss.”
Nothing fazes this guy. I asked him once why, and his answer was family.
“It better be important.”
“The construction will start on Monday as planned.”
“Good.” I hang up.
Usually, I’m glued to my laptop, doing something productive. Instead, I stare down the damn chessboard as if it’s an enemy I want to cut apart limb by limb.
Emptying the glass, I am about to move his piece when I feel her, obliterating the gloom with her sunny presence, my heart picking up at sensing its match.
I cock my head toward the door where she watches me, wearing my shirt that falls to the middle of her thighs, looking sexy yet adorable.
Mine.
“Playing alone?”
“Haven’t found better competition,” I say, feeling lighter. Her presence alone calms the demons rioting inside me.
She sashays over to me. “Hmm, we’ll see about that.”
I don’t know who seduces whom, but her confidence does inexplicable things to me.
Viviana takes the seat across from me and puts her chin in her palm, perusing the board. She makes a bold move by bringing in the queen. She never ceases to impress me.
Grinning, I move my knight.
“This is the second night you haven’t slept.” Caution threads through her soft voice.
She’s good at reading me, damn it—too well. I have been raised by a monster, thrived in the lair of the most cunning men, and learned to school my features, yet she peers through my defenses with uncanny ease.
I applaud her for trying to manipulate me into answering her.
“You’re distracting like that,” I say flippantly.
She purses her lips, not liking my answer at all. “Why can’t you sleep?”
I lean back and cross my arms over my chest, the game forgotten. “Changing tactics?”
“Adapting.”
“Monsters under my bed,” I say, tone etched in sarcasm.
Buried, but still bringing nightmares to haunt me.
She tilts her head, her eyes not breaking eye contact. “What kind?”
