Page 84 of Wicked Fortune

“Baby,” he murmurs, his voice raw, that single word holding a world’s worth of emotion.

I cling to him, lost in pleasure, as he drives me closer and closer to the edge, his pace quickening, his movements more urgent as his own control begins to unravel. I claw at his back as those glorious, wild sensations build inside me. Wilder and wilder until I can’t contain myself anymore and I shatter, my orgasm ripping through me in waves. I cry out his name even as he cries out mine, his own release exploding on the tail of mine, so that our bodies tremble together and all I can hear is the low, guttural murmur of my name on his lips, and all I can feel is the soft glow of heaven.

For a moment, neither of us moves, the only sound in the room the mingled cadence of our ragged breaths. Then, slowly, he lifts his head, his lips curving into a lazy, satisfied smile that makes my heart skip a beat.

“So,” he says matter-of-factly, “you looking forward to moving in with me?”

I laugh. “You know, I think it’s going to work out just fine.”

TWENTY-EIGHT

Matthew strolled through the cavernous halls of MOCA, his footsteps echoing on the polished floors. The Museum of Contemporary Art’s unique architecture served to keep the guests moving through the skylit galleries, past the dramatic art that kept patrons coming again and again.

He’d gone to the office first, to do what he had to do. But he couldn’t stay. He’d had to get out. Get air.

Get sanctuary. And somehow fill his head with beauty instead of betrayal.

Lila had been at her desk, of course. Just as she always was. Just as she’d always been beside him since they were teens. They’d been friends. Colleagues. She’d been his confidante and his right hand, but she’d always wanted more.

Was that why she’d betrayed him? Why she’d helped Trent, and, in helping, tarnished Hardline?

He hadn’t wanted to believe it. Even with all the evidence he’d gathered, he hadn’t wanted to face that horrible truth.

At first, her story had seemed so plausible. She’d known nothing of Trent’s dealings. She’d been used, just as Matthew had been. Just as the company had been.

But over the last few weeks, the truth had come out, along with the evidence to back it up. She’d betrayed him. The woman who’d once watched his back just as he’d watched hers. And she’d tossed it all away.

At first, he’d told himself that it was only about Elias. That she was lonely, and it was an affair. Just sex. That she knew nothing about the horrible enterprise Trent was running, using his position at Hardline as camouflage.

But he’d only been fooling himself. The bond between him and Lila that he’d once believed was so strong had been slashed long ago. She’d stayed because of what he could offer—a salary, a position, the cache of being at his right hand.

But she’d checked out of their friendship long ago. She’d wanted more than he could give, and—unwilling to settle for less—she’d gotten her own kind of payback by aligning herself with Trent, a reality for which he finally had enough evidence to assure himself that her treachery was real and not his imagination.

And that morning he’d left the bed he shared with Aria to meet with Roger Tate, the Chief of Security for the Hardline Lot.

Together they’d gone to his office where, of course, Lila was waiting behind her desk, her chin high as if daring him to punish her for all the ways she’d wronged him.

She hadn’t caused a scene, thank goodness. She’d simply asked for time to pack her things. That’s when he’d left, leaving this woman he’d once called his friend in Tate’s charge. Tate would radio the waiting Federal agents to come up, then they’d escort Lila downstairs.

He knew what would happen after that, too. The Feds would cut her a deal. The Special Agent in charge had already told him that she’d be offered a reduced sentence in exchange for her testimony, and Matthew knew her well enough to know she’d agree.

He could live with that.

Anything to have her out of his life.

Anything to have a fresh start with Ari.

He’d kissed her cheek before leaving, half-hoping that she would wake up, but mostly relieved that she stayed lost in slumber.

He knew that he’d need this time away from the office. The space to clear his head in one of his favorite Los Angeles locations.

How often did he come here, just enjoying the energy of the place? The precision and imagination of the artists, so often unappreciated by those who considered only earlier, more realistic periods to be “real” art.

But that was the thing about art, be it plays or films or paintings or sculpture: it was always evolving.

And, he supposed, that was the thing with people, too.

God knew he wasn’t the same man he’d been at nineteen when he and Lila were doing whatever it took to find food. And he wasn’t the same man he’d been at twenty-nine, when he was scrambling to launch the nascent Hardline Entertainment into a studio that could hold its own against the established Hollywood monoliths.