Page 16

“Look at you, not telling me more than the absolute minimum.” Eddie chuckles. That in itself is a rare occurrence, but man, now is not the time.

“Fuck off, you ass.” I tag my laptop from the edge of Christophe’s desk and stalk across the room toward the door. “I told you everything I know.”

“You mean everything you think I need to know.” Eddie’s voice is flat.

I pause in the doorway, turning to stare him down. “Yeah, I do. You’re the one moving the bar, playing the game but constantly fucking with the rules. So yes. I’ve shared what I think you need to know to look out for us and for what’s ours. When you figure out what you want to share about this book—file—then you let me know. Sooner is better.” I throw his words back at him and storm through the lower level of the mansion until I’m inside my suite.

Pissed off and snarling is not the way I want to enter my bedroom, though. Fuck knows, I’ll scare the life out of Truie. The only reason I left her to meet with Christophe and Eddie is because she was out cold and I had eyes on her.

At that thought, I pull my phone out and disable the cameras in my suite. Security doesn’t need to have access if I’m here. I take a breath, and then another, forcing a calm into my raging body. I need to find some semblance of control before I cross this room and open my bedroom door… and I really want to open my door.

I want to rush in and scoop her up, check every inch of her to make sure she’s okay, and then do it again to actually convince myself. But I lean against the closed door and wait until I’m no longer feeling like I could bounce out of my skin.

Eyes closed, my shoulders relax in incremental bits with each measured breath. Jesus, chilling the fuck out is harder work than I’d like to admit. And it’s boring. Silent.

Honestly, it’s unnerving not having my eyes opened wide, taking in everything around me and processing it, filing it away for when I might need it. I feel exposed. Vulnerable. And I fucking hate it.

A noise far too close for my comfort has me pushing off the door, fully aware. My fists clench until they hurt. I’m halfway across the room before the source of the quietly rustling footsteps registers.

Truie stands before me, her tiny frame swallowed by my shirt, her hands stretched out in front of her, defensive and trembling.

I take another step toward her but pull up short when she retreats out of reach. I hold as still as possible, not an easy task for me, and match my breathing to hers. One breath turns into two. Each of the next is more controlled than the one before, longer in and slower to release.

For Truie, I can do breathwork. For her, I can force myself to be still. I can grasp hold of all the control in the world and give it up just for her.

“Little hummingbird.” I say, my voice low and steady. A shiver runs through her. The fact I can see it is testament that she needs more peace in her life. And that I need to buy thicker shirts because her sweet little tits shook with that shudder, her nipples bunched into hard little peaks.

God help me, I want to wrap my lips around the tight pinched buds and suck them in, nibble on them, and see just how hard I can make them. See if she can come just from that. Drop to my knees and taste her. Make her come on my mouth. To see her completely undone, replete with pleasure.

I swallow hard and shove that shit deep down where it’s safe. I don’t want to scare her. And when the time comes and I do give over control to her, I’m desperate for her not to be scared of me.

So for now, I try to keep things light. “Did you have a good rest? You slept? Do you feel better?” Each question is accompanied with a sweep of her features, a check in with the pulse that flutters in her neck.

Moments pass before I get a small nod, and I match it, putting everything I have into making her feel safe and calm.

“Are you hungry?” That’s met with the smallest lift of a shoulder and the way that acquiescence feels like the biggest win is insane. “How about a smoothie? Something sweet for you?”

At that, her eyes light up, and she rolls her lips between her teeth. God, she almost looks excited at the prospect of a fucking smoothie.

I pull my phone and tap a message to the kitchen staff requesting a pineapple-banana smoothie with an extra scoop of protein powder for her and my usual chocolate and peanut butter for me.

“Garrick should be here with those shortly. You want to curl up in front of the fire while we wait?” I ask the question, but I’m already moving toward the fireplace to stack wood and light the kindling. When the flame is solidly established, I slide my suit coat off and fold it over the back of the sofa.

The oversized chair is angled the way it has been since I learned that Truie enjoys a cozy chair, a throw blanket, and a roaring fire. I drop into it to take my shoes off. As quietly as can be, she approaches, perching on the edge of the cushion closest to the warmth.

I shift, making room for her, but also ensure that my body is between hers and the door. Nothing and nobody will get to Truie again without going through me. Literally, if that necessity presents itself.

I wedge myself into the corner, and Truie pushes back, sinking further into the down-filled cushions. She startles when the door opens moments later, admitting Garrick, two smoothies on his ever-present tray.

He hands Truie hers, before tagging the gray knit throw from beneath my suit coat and carefully draping it over her legs. Only when she’s completely taken care of does he hand my smoothie to me. He ducks out the door without a word, leaving us in silence.

I’m learning to love the silence. It’s not natural for me. I grew up with more cousins than I could count and fell into the chaos of Christophe’s world without hesitation. The only time I’ve welcomed silence and stillness is with Truie.

So, we sit in the quiet while bedlam rages outside the nest we’ve built for ourselves.

I watch in wild fascination as she sips at what amounts to a liquid meal, wrapping her lips around the straw, cheeks hollowing out, and the heat from the fire painting her skin in a rosy glow. I fight the flow of want and need that has my smoothie forgotten and my dick getting hard.

Chapter 8