“I ride efficiently. Traffic doesn't wait for caution.” I took the helmet from him and stored both in the compartment. “And you relaxed into it after the first few turns. You know you did.”
“Resigned to my fate is not the same thing as relaxed.” He looked up at Ravenswood's dark stone walls rising ahead of us, then back at me. “You enjoyed terrifying your passenger.”
“You weren't terrified. You were exhilarated. There's a difference.” I'd felt it in the way his grip had changed after the second corner, the way his body had stopped fighting the movement and started reading it instead.
Cal huffed out something that might have been a laugh. “Bloody adrenaline junkie. No wonder you fight the way you do.”
“Says the man who backflips off crates while stabbing people.”
“That's tactical acrobatics. Entirely different.” He was grinning now, the tension from the courthouse finally bleeding out of his shoulders. “Your whole way of moving through the world is just controlled chaos.”
“Controlled being the operative word.” I gestured toward the entrance. “Come on. Before someone notices we're standing out here analysing my riding style.”
I led him through passages that smelled like stone and age, up stairs that hadn't seen regular foot traffic in years, and into the wing that had been mine since I'd moved into Ravenswood five years ago. The door opened onto a space that was bigger than most people's entire flats — a living area, a kitchen, a bedroom through a door I kept closed, and a bathroom that could comfortably fit six people.
“This is your quarters?” Cal moved into the space and studied everything with the particular focus that meant he was memorising layout and exits. “This is a house.”
“Ravenswood has thirty bedrooms. Adrian doesn't notice if one gets converted into something more practical.” I moved to the kitchen and pulled two beers from the fridge. “Make yourself comfortable. We're not going anywhere tonight.”
Cal loosened his tie but didn't remove his jacket, still in courthouse mode, still performing control even though we were alone and nobody was watching except me. I handed him abeer and gestured toward the fireplace where I'd laid wood that morning out of habit.
“Help me start this.”
“I'm not here to play house with you, Dom. We need to plan our next moves. Figure out how to use what we found before Harrow moves against us.”
“We will. After we eat. After we breathe.” I knelt by the fireplace and started arranging kindling. “Take an hour to be human.”
“Being human doesn't solve problems. Work solves problems.” But he set his beer down and knelt beside me anyway. “You brought me here for security. Not bonding.”
I lit the kindling and watched flame catch and spread. “Watching you almost get shot today made me realise I give a damn whether you live or die. Which is inconvenient but apparently unavoidable.”
“How touching.” His voice dripped sarcasm. “Does this usually work? The protective routine? Bring them to your fortress, light a fire, wait for them to fall into your arms?”
My jaw tightened. “I'm trying to have an actual conversation. You're being an arsehole.”
“I'm being realistic. We're two people using each other to get what we want. Don't romanticise it into something it isn't.”
“Fine. What do you want from tonight?”
He stood and paced away from the fire. “What I don't want is to sit here pretending we have some deep connection because we both lost people and we're both obsessed with the same corrupt prosecutor.”
“You think that's what I'm doing? Manufacturing a connection?”
“I think you're lonely.” He turned to face me, those mismatched eyes catching the firelight. “I think you've built yourself into this perfect instrument for Adrian's organisationand you're realising that instruments don't get to have lives. Don't get to have relationships.”
I stood slowly. “You're full of shit.”
“Excuse me?”
I moved closer and watched his spine straighten defensively. “You're lashing out because I got too close to something real and you don't know how to handle people who actually give a damn about you.”
“You don't know anything about me.”
“I know enough.” I closed the distance between us. “And I know that every time we're in the same room you look at me like you're calculating whether I'm worth the risk. So don't stand there and tell me this is nothing when your actions keep proving otherwise.”
“Everything I do has a reason.”
“So does this.” My hand came up and gripped his jaw, steady, and held his gaze there. “You're just as compromised as I am. Just as desperate for someone to watch your back. Just as tired of pretending you're fine when you're not. The difference is I'm honest about it.”
