Chapter 14 – Lance
14
SHOW, DON’T TELL
LANCE
It had been nearly a week since our encounter in the stairwell, and neither of us had brought it up. Or the whole reason she hated me in the first place.
I hadn't touched her since, like I promised. We were doing this careful dance around each other, pretending nothing happened, but every morning, I woke up with Morgan sprawled on top of me. Her legs tangled with mine, her head on my chest as if she belonged there.
This morning had been the worst. We’d been involuntarily spooning and she'd been making whimpering sounds in her sleep, her hips rolling back, pressing that perfect ass into my dick. It took everything to keep my hands off her. I stayed still, clenching my fists against the sheets, fighting the need pulsing under my skin.
I thought about waking her, making some excuse to move, but I wasn't sure I could trust myself. Her scent hung in the air, and every time I caught a whiff, my self-control slipped. Her perfume was subtle, but now it seemed to seep into everything. Into me.
When she finally stirred, I rolled out of bed, mumbling something about coffee and putting distance between us.
I took another ice-cold shower and dressed in record time.
By the time she came downstairs, I was on my second cup, my back turned, trying to ignore how my skin prickled under her gaze.
She padded past me to the cabinet, grabbing a bowl. "I can't believe you don't have any sugary cereal in this house," she snapped, slamming a cupboard door.
"That's because I told Maria not to buy any," I replied, keeping my voice calm.
The last thing I needed was to escalate this. My gaze swept over her, and I bit back a moan. She wore a fitted crew neck and a pink skirt that flared slightly. Perfectly appropriate for work, but with every swish, all I wanted was to flip it over her ass and eat her from behind.
She crossed her arms, glaring. "If you're forcing me to stay here, the least you could do is be hospitable."
"Forcing you?" I turned, eyes locking on hers, patience wearing thin. "Who knows where you'd be if it weren't for me? Remember that."
Her lips pressed into a line, and I thought she might fight back. Instead, she looked away, jaw clenched. The silence felt heavy, filled with everything unsaid. Tension hung between us, thick enough to choke on.
I raked a hand through my hair, trying to pull myself together. She was more than a complication. She was a catastrophe, and the worst part was I was in too deep. Every second she was near, I was on edge, waiting for something to tip over the line.
And the way she kept looking at me—like she was daring me to break first—it was only a matter of time.
"Get ready," I said, my tone sharp. "You're riding to the office with me."
She arched a brow but didn't argue.
The drive was tense. I could feel her eyes on me, watching my every move. My hands tightened on the wheel, knuckles white as I forced my focus on the road.
Her perfume filled the car—sweet, with that lime undertone that had wormed under my skin. It was driving me insane. Every breath was laced with her, and I could feel myself slipping, my control unraveling.
By the time we arrived, the tension had only grown. I parked, cutting the engine, and glanced over.
"We're late," I said flatly.
She shrugged. "Not my fault."
I didn't respond. I got out, slamming the door harder than necessary. She followed, heels clicking against pavement as we headed inside. The moment we stepped into the elevator, we were surrounded by people. The space was cramped, and Morgan was pushed back, her body pressing flush against mine.
Her ass rubbed against my dick, and I sucked in a sharp breath, instantly reacting. I felt her tense, but she didn't move.
I leaned in, lips brushing her ear. "Careful, Spitfire," I murmured, voice low and rough. "I'm starting to think you like torturing me."
She didn't respond, but I felt her stiffen. I could feel the tension radiating off her, the way her body reacted to mine. It was torture, and I wasn't sure how much longer I could take it.
The doors opened, and she slipped out, putting distance between us before I could say another word. My body was still thrumming with the aftershock of having her pressed against me.
Once inside the office, I threw myself into my chair and scowled. She'd been with me less than a week, and I was losing it. It was like my brain had forgotten I had a company to run, another to dismantle, and a legacy to destroy. Morgan shouldn't be at the forefront of my mind.
For the next two hours I tried to focus, telling myself I wasn't looking for her in every person that walked by. That I wasn't searching for that pink skirt or the cascade of braids down her back.
My phone buzzed, and Silas's name flashed on the screen.
I answered anxiously. We'd been trying to place another young family that had run afoul of my grandfather, and he wouldn't call unless there was a problem. "What's up?"
"The safe house has been compromised," Silas said, voice tight. "It reeks like someone took care of a problem and forgot proper cleanup protocol."
My blood ran cold. "The penthouse?" Where I'd taken Morgan after the wedding. "What do you mean it's been compromised?"
"I mean it smells like death in there. Rancid. The place is completely unusable. I moved the Reynolds couple. But thought you should know. We'll need remediation." Silas paused deliberately. "Did you get careless?"
"You know me better than that." I didn't do that...anymore. I also wasn't stupid enough to leave evidence. "No. But I'll check."
Hector.
"If it's your brother, we'll need to deal with him."
"I'll deal with it."
The timing. It was careless if he'd left anything behind. But why wouldn't he just have told my grandfather? I hung up and pulled up the security app.
It took seconds to find what I was looking for.
Morgan. In the hallway of the penthouse. Not Hector.
My fingers flew over the keys as I typed.
Me: We need to talk. Now.
A few seconds later, her reply came through.
Spitfire: Busy. Try again later.
Goddamn it. I took a breath, forcing down my temper.
Me: Did you do something to the penthouse?
There was a pause, longer than I liked. Then her reply came, dripping with sarcasm.
Spitfire: Penthouse? I've been in so many lately. You'll have to be more specific.
My jaw clenched. She wasn't going to give me a straight answer. She wanted to play games? Fine.
Me: The one where I fucked you until you screamed my name over and over again. Did you go back and do something to it?
Another pause. Longer this time.
Spitfire: Maybe. Just some justifiable payback. What are you going to do about it?
I stared at the screen, blood boiling. I could practically see her smirking. She was daring me to react, to come at her, and God help me, I wanted to.
Me: I ought to put you over my knee for that.
Morgan: You keep threatening that.
Me: You're right. You'd like it too much.
I waited, tension tightening my chest. Her reply was immediate.
Spitfire: You think you've got me figured out, don't you?
A smile twisted on my lips.
Me: Oh, I know I do. And you know what else? You're going to beg for mercy before I'm done with you.
I imagined her face, those eyes narrowing, her lips pressed tight as she thought about what to say next.
Spitfire: In your dreams.
I could almost see her squirming, almost hear the catch in her breath. She was pissed, but there was something else there, too, something beneath the anger that called to me. That dared me to push her further.
Later that evening, pounding echoed through the loft—a rhythm I recognized instantly. My jaw tightened as I crossed the hardwood floors, knowing exactly who I'd find.
Silas filled the doorframe in his signature all-black ensemble—a lightweight Brunello Cucinelli sweater and dark Tom Ford jeans. Without waiting for an invitation, he shouldered past me, pulling a manila envelope from inside his jacket. The familiar scent of leather and gunpowder followed him.
"You've got problems," he said, voice low but with anger simmering beneath.
He tossed the envelope onto my coffee table. The light from office buildings cast shadows across his weathered face as he watched me pick it up.
Inside were surveillance photos—crisp, professional shots of Hector lurking around the penthouse, his silhouette unmistakable even in grainy night shots. My stomach twisted at the timestamp from two nights ago—the same night Morgan had her adventure.
"The penthouse reeks like someone died in there," Silas continued, eyes never leaving my face. "The girl is unpredictable. Hector knows you're alive. He knows where to find you. And I'm betting he saw her."
I shut the door, feeling tension creep up my spine. "I have it under control."
"Under control?" Silas turned, his Patek Philippe catching the light as he gestured sharply. "Like you had Morgan under control? Christ, Lance." He pulled out a sleek laptop. "We need to talk about that flash drive. Tell me you've at least made progress there."
I moved to the kitchen island, reaching for the Macallan 25. I needed a drink for this. "There are trap doors in the code—lots of them. I'm almost into the DuLac discretionary accounts, but I haven't had as much time since Morgan's been here."
"That's exactly the problem." Silas's expression darkened. "You're losing focus. One wrong move and?—"
"I know what I'm doing," I cut in, pouring two fingers of scotch. "I'm good at this. I need to find a way in that won't trip any alarms. I know what's at stake."
"Do you?" His voice cracked, aging him in an instant. "Because right now, all I see is a man letting his guard down at exactly the wrong moment. Cut her loose, Lance. She'll be safer."
My fingers tightened around the crystal tumbler. "I can protect her."
"Like you protected her from your brother finding her?" Silas stepped closer. "You didn't spend twenty years keeping me alive just to watch you throw it all away for a girl."
"She's not just some girl," I shot back, voice hardening. "And you, of all people, should understand that."
His expression darkened. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"You loved my mother. You were her bodyguard, her confidant—her lover." The words cut through the air as I stared into my scotch. "You knew exactly what it meant to want someone you shouldn't."
"And look how well that turned out." His voice cracked.
"Five years ago, you came to me with a plan. You wanted to take down your grandfather's empire piece by piece. Repair the damage he'd done. This is the closest we've been. And now what? You're going to throw all that away because you can't keep your hands off Gwen's little sister?"
When I'd left home ten years ago, I'd left because I didn't want to be the killer he'd trained. Five years later, I'd learned what he'd done to the people I'd left behind. "I'm not throwing anything away," I growled, downing the scotch in one burning swallow. "I can do both. I can protect Morgan and finish what we started."
Silas shook his head, disappointment etched in every line. "Your brother knows about the safe house. How long before he tells the old man? How long before they come for her to get to you?"
"Let them try." My voice dropped dangerously low as I set down my glass with more force than necessary.
"You sound just like her." His eyes softened. "Your mother said the same thing. She thought she could pretend, too. The facade is not reality, kid. Your mother didn't understand. Look where that got her."
The words hit me like a physical blow. I turned away, unable to face the truth in his eyes, staring instead at my reflection in the windows that had drawn Morgan to this place. The laptop screen glowed behind me, lines of code waiting to be cracked.
But the truth had been slowly locking into place. "It's too late," I whispered. "I can't let her go. I'm in too deep."
"Then you're going to get her killed." His words hung heavy between us.
I spun around, my control finally snapping. "What do you want me to do? Push her away? Pretend this isn't real?"
"I want you to remember why we started this." His voice was steady now, almost gentle as he tugged at his sleeve—a nervous tell I recognized from childhood. "Your grandfather has to be stopped. You know what he's capable of. If he finds out about Morgan, he'll use her to control you. Just like he used your mother to control me."
The silence stretched, broken only by the distant hum of the city and the soft whir of the laptop fan. Finally, I looked up. "I can't walk away from her. Not now. Hector has already seen her, which means she needs me. And let's not forget, I'm deadlier than he is."
Silas studied me for a long moment, his expression unreadable in the fading light. "Do her a favor. Walk away."
"No. Let's put men on her. I want her covered at all times. In the meantime I'll deal with Hector. Something tells me if he's still lurking, he hasn't told the old man yet. And if he hasn't told the old man, then he's up to something. I'm going to find out what it is and use it for leverage. He's not touching Morgan."