Page 23 of Every Last Breath

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Maddox zipped through a shower, lathering and exfoliating with a textured loofah—no need to shave, since she was religious about waxing—moisturized, and redid the makeup covering the bruise on her cheek. Lickety-split. Standing in front of her bureau, she contemplated attire. After her inability earlier to carve out her heart and serve it to him bleeding on a silver platter, she needed to show him a hint of softness, a willing vulnerability.

The aqua lounge set she picked out matched her eyes. The pants clung to her curves. A soft cami with lace trim accentuated her cleavage without flaunting it. Not sleeping with him didn’t mean she couldn’t reel him closer with the bait God had given her. He was a man, she was a woman, and their magnetic attraction had been so wickedly powerful, it’d altered the orbit of her world.

I’m a pro. I’ve got this. She unlocked and opened her bedroom door.

Cole sat on the sofa, shoulders slumped. His head tipped up, and he looked at her, taking her in from top to toe in a slow perusal. His gaze stroked her with the intensity of a physical touch.

A shimmer of awareness licked her spine, but when his eyes caught hers with undeniable interest, her toes curled. She snatched her gaze away and headed for the kitchen. “Want a drink?”

“No. I want answers.” He lunged off the sofa and stalked up to her. “How did you know I was alive? Why did you rescue me? What does your employer, Sydell, want from me?”

Shit, the background check came back fast. Don’t break your cover.

“I could use a drink.” She stepped around him.

Activity centered her. Making a drink would give her hands something to do and her eyes a focal point other than his savagely handsome face.

“Still slithering through cracks when faced with slippery questions.” He swooped in front of her, slapping a hand to the wall, blocking her. “Be honest. What the fuck is going on?”

She dropped her gaze to the buttercream carpet, collecting her thoughts, and he snapped his fingers in her face, forcing eye contact.

He pressed two fingers to her carotid artery, sending her pulse skittering. A manual technique to monitor her heart rate and breathing to better detect lies. Was he serious?

“Is this necessary?”

He cast her a distinct hell yes look. “Are you in trouble? What are you caught up in?”

Her training fired the perfect, calculated words to mind in a tight-shot group. He was primed to accept her cover story. Even with his innate ability to sniff out lies, his intimate knowledge of her inside and out, if she could beat a polygraph, she could beat him.

Problem was she didn’t want to.

They had once laid themselves bare, not a secret between them. He had treated her as though she’d been the most important person in the world, had worshipped her body and appreciated her mind and admired her spirit.

Cherished her completely. Before she’d ruined it.

Reducing him to nothing more than an asset made him a pawn. Desecrating the memory of their rare connection with a lie was the kind of wrong that went against the laws of nature.

“If you’re in danger,” he said, “you can tell me without zip-tying me to a chair. I won’t run.”

Ha! “You might. You’ve no idea what you’re dealing with. Don’t make promises you won’t keep. Not again.”

His mouth set in a hard line. “I deserve that. I swore to always be there for you. To stand by you, no matter what. And when the shit hit the fan, I—”

“Cut and run,” she taunted, feeling him out.

The tic in his jaw popped. “Don’t. It wasn’t that simple.” His voice vibrated with tension. “You dug me up somehow for a reason. Put all your cards on the table, and I swear, I’ll help you.”

For him to swear was no trivial thing, but he had no good reason to bind himself to help. Not one. Guilt indebted her to him, not the other way around. He owed her nothing, while she owed him an entire life.

She hadn’t even been able to slice open a vein, hemorrhage her pain, and wheedle him to forgiveness with her remorse. Yet still, he was willing to help her?

“Why?” After all this time of playing dead and pretending she didn’t exist—nine years of not giving two shits about her. “What do you want in return?”

He cupped her neck with a familiar and fierce tenderness, bringing their bodies flush, their gazes clashing. For one insane and reckless moment, she thought he’d kiss her. Even more insane and reckless, she hoped he would.

“I want closure. To be free of you.”