Elijah brought me in for a deep, drugging kiss, his final parting words sending yet more flurries of need through me.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Then he was gone.
I wandered through the living room, curiosity pulling me over to a huge window that overlooked the Thames, London Bridge upstream and skyscrapers opposite. What a luxury that view was. Yet I wasn’t hung up on how expensive the apartment had to be.
It carried Elijah’s scent, plus something floral I couldn’t quite place. Probably a fancy cleaning product.
My chest tightened with an unexpected wave of ridiculous affection. We’d known each other barely a couple of weeks. Still. The idea of him living here alone felt wrong.
He should have someone. Someone who fit beside him. Someone who?—
A faint sound drifted through the space.
I paused, listening hard.
“Elijah?” a woman called from the hallway that led to the right.
My stomach dipped. Confusion prickled through me. Maybe housekeeping? Except the accent had been American, I was almost certain.
I prowled to what had to be his bedroom and pushed the door open.
My world stopped.
A woman lay tangled in the sheets of Elijah’s bed. Blonde hair spread across the pillow. Bare shoulders. Her sleepy eyes blinked open as the door creaked.
For a second, neither of us moved.
Then she frowned. “Who are you?”
The words barely reached my ears. Shock roared through my head. Because there was no mistake or misunderstanding.
He’d told me a woman lived here, and there she was, in his bed.
And I had just walked straight into a setup.
Chapter 17
Elijah
Meetings had never taken this long before.
That wasn’t technically true. I’d endured eight-hour negotiations with lawyers who billed by the minute and bankers who believed oxygen should be monetised. But this particular meeting crawled.
Every second ticked past with the nagging awareness that Bonnie waited in my apartment.
My home.
The thought stirred something warm in my chest. Possessive and protective. Ridiculous after only a couple of weeks since I’d become aware of her existence, yet impossible to ignore.
Across the glass conference table, three men in tailored suits argued over projected returns.
“…which is why the London branch needs restructuring before the next quarter,” one of them finished.
I nodded once and stood, so over the detail. “Send me the numbers tonight.”
Relief rippled around the table. Chairs scraped back. Papers shuffled. The meeting broke apart in a rush of handshakes and murmured thanks.
