Chapter 20
“Shit.” I scramble off the bed, wincing as my overused muscles protest the sudden movement.
The sheet tangles around my ankles, almost sending me face-first onto the carpet.
Lena calls out again, her footsteps coming closer down the hallway. “Hello?”
Rowan stays on the bed, his mouth curving into a lazy smile. “She’s aware of what a Heat is, precious. You’re not corrupting her innocence.”
“Not the point.” I snatch a T-shirt from the floor, sniffing it before discarding it with a grimace. The garment reeks of sweat and sex. “Where are my clean clothes?”
I yank open a dresser drawer, rifling through its contents while keeping one ear tuned to Lena’s movements in the apartment. My hands shake with an urgency I can’t quite explain.
It’s not shame exactly. Lena knows what Heat means biologically, but the thought of her seeing the physical evidence, the marks of possession scattered across my skin, crosses a line of vulnerability I’m not ready to reveal. As if her seeing my loss of control will somehow lessen me in her mind.
“Closet,” Rowan offers, stretching with a languid ripple of muscles on the bed. “Left side, second shelf. I had the laundry service bring fresh clothes yesterday.”
I lurch toward the closet, yanking the door open hard enough for it to bounce off the wall. True to his word, a stack of folded clothes waits on the second shelf. I grab a turtleneck to hide the worst of the bruises on my neck and a pair of sweatpants.
“You’re cute when you’re flustered.” Rowan rises from the bed, unselfconscious in his nudity.
His skin bears its own constellation of scratches down his back and bite marks on his shoulders as proof that my passion matched his.
“Shut up and help me.” I hop on one foot, struggling to get my leg through the sweatpants.
Rowan crosses the room, his warmth surrounding me as he places a steadying hand on my waist.
“I could get used to this,” he murmurs, his lips brushing the shell of my ear.
“Used to what?” I tug the turtleneck over my head, the soft fabric sliding down to cover the evidence of our three-day frenzy.
“You.” His palm flattens over my stomach, pulling me back against his chest. “No walls. No masks. Just you, precious.”
The words sink through my defenses, warm and dangerous. With anyone else, I would stiffen, pull away, and rebuild the barriers that keep me safe. With Rowan, I let myself lean into his touch for several heartbeats before reality intrudes.
“Lena’s waiting.” I step out of his embrace, running fingers through my tangled hair in a futile attempt at order. “Can you distract her while I finish getting decent?”
Rowan huffs a laugh, reaching for his own discarded pants. “Fine. But this conversation isn’t over.”
I watch him dress, his body a landscape I’ve spent three days mapping with my hands and mouth. When he’s presentable, he moves to the cracked door, pausing with his hand on the knob.
“Take your time, precious.” His tongue sweeps over his bottom lip in appreciation as he watches me. “You’re beautiful even when you’re panicking.”
Heat burns my cheeks at the praise, but he’s gone before I can form a retort, the bedroom door clicking shut behind him.
I finish dressing, running a quick hand through my hair again. My reflection in the mirror shows a man I barely recognize, with flushed cheeks, kiss-swollen lips, and eyes bright despite the exhaustion lurking behind them.
Three days of Heat have stripped away more than physical energy. They’ve peeled back layers I’ve spent years reinforcing.
As I take in the destroyed bed, Rowan’s tablet on the nightstand catches my attention, and I remember the upcoming job I’d been prepping for before my Heat hit.
I lost three days, but I’m pretty confident that I have the details down. I should check the schematics one more time, though, to ensure I haven’t missed anything in my preparation.
I cross to the nightstand and pick up the device, tapping in the passcode Rowan shared weeks ago. The screen unlocks, displaying his home screen with its minimalist layout. I select the secure folder where we’ve kept all the planning documents, blueprints, and security details for the Harmon job.
The folder opens, but instead of the familiar list of files, an empty screen greets me. My stomach drops as I pull up the search function, entering “Harmon” into the field.
No results.
I check the main document folder, thinking maybe they were moved.
Nothing.
The photo gallery, in case the blueprints were saved as images.
Nothing.
The downloads folder, the trash bin, and any other possible location where the files might have been relocated.
Nothing.
Confusion mixes with the first stirrings of alarm.
It took weeks to compile data on security rotations, guard schedules, and bypass codes I’d called in favors to obtain.
I double-check the account I’m logged into, verifying I haven’t somehow accessed a guest profile or restricted version of the system.
But no, it’s Rowan’s account, the same one I’ve been using to review the job specs since Rowan green-lit the job. But the files are gone.
My pulse quickens as I set the tablet back on the nightstand, possibilities cycling through my mind. Was there a security breach? Or were the files moved to protect the sensitive information while I was compromised during Heat? Or did something more concerning happen?
I need to talk to Rowan and figure out what happened to those files. The job is scheduled for tomorrow night, and without the schematics, we’re flying blind.
I shove my feet into my slippers and head toward the kitchen, unease building with each step. This isn’t right, and after years of survival depending on my ability to sense threats before they manifest, I’ve learned to trust that feeling.
Laughter comes from the kitchen, mingling with Rowan’s deeper rumble. When I enter, I find Lena perched on a stool at the island, her dark hair swept into a neat ponytail, her fingers wrapped around a steaming mug.
My steps falter as I register the brand-new outfit she wears.
Subtle gold threads catch the light in her cream sweater.
Designer jeans mold to her lean frame, with what appear to be real leather boots hugging her small feet.
Around her neck sits a new nape guard, a match for mine in quality, the sleek black leather with silver hardware obviously from a specialty shop.
Rowan leans on the counter beside her, his own mug in hand, their postures mirroring each other in a way that causes my chest to tighten. They both turn as I enter, conversation ceasing. I sense that I interrupted a private moment between them.
“You are up! I thought maybe you’d be passed out.” Lena bounces off her stool, crossing to me with arms outstretched, but stops short, her nose wrinkling. “You still smell like Heat.”
Embarrassment warms my neck. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”
She waves a hand. “No! Sorry, I didn’t mean—”
“It’s fine.” I step past her to the coffee pot, and my hands shake slightly as I pour myself a cup, the rich aroma failing to settle my nerves. “New outfit?”
Lena tugs at the hem of her sweater, a shy smile playing on her lips. “You will not believe Saint’s home! Did you know he’s mated to a billionaire? And they live in a mansion. His cousin-in-law, Milo, brought in a stylist for me, and we had a spa day!”
A new thread of unease slithers through me. I’ve never met the people she’s talking about. When Rowan said Saint would take care of my baby sister, I thought that meant Saint would be the one who actually took care of her, not some random stranger.
Lena, unaware of my thoughts, twirls to show off the ensemble. “Isn’t it gorgeous?”
My throat tightens as I calculate the cost of what she’s wearing. It has to be a week of wages from my old jobs, probably more. Money I could never spare when we were struggling to keep the heat on.
“Very nice,” I say, the words ashy in my mouth.
Rowan’s hooded eyes track the exchange, picking apart the tension in my shoulders and the careful way I sip my coffee to hide my true thoughts.
“I did tell you she’d be receiving the billionaire experience,” he says, moving to the refrigerator. “Are you still hungry? I can cook you a more substantial breakfast.”
The casual reminder grates on my already fraying nerves. Yes, he’d said it while I was half delirious with fever, but he understands how serious I am about Lena’s safety. Or at least, I thought he did.
I set my mug down harder than necessary, coffee sloshing over the rim to pool on the counter. “No, I’m fine.”
I grab a paper towel and wipe up the spill in jerky strokes. “Did this Milo person buy you the new nape guard, too?”
Lena’s fingers rise to touch the leather at her throat. “No, that was Leo. He said the clinic-issued ones are garbage.”
Another person I’ve never met, stepping into the provider role I’ve filled alone for years. Another reminder that what I gave was never enough.
“You didn’t need to replace it.” The words come out sharper than I intend. “The clinic one worked fine.”
Lena’s smile falters. “It was chafing my skin. Besides, you replaced yours. Why can’t I replace mine, too?”
I ball up the paper towel. “If it was chaffing, you should have told me, and I would have gotten you a different one.”
“Are you doing okay?” Lena asks in an obvious attempt to change the subject. “I was worried when Rowan said your Heat came out of nowhere. Are the new suppressants not working?”
“The suppressants are fine. I just pushed my Heat off for too long.” My attention switches to Rowan. “I’m more concerned about missing work.”
“The Blue Note security upgrades are ahead of schedule,” Rowan responds. “Nothing urgent is waiting for you.”
“Not the Blue Note.” I toss the sodden paper towel into the trash. “The Harmon job. The files are missing from your tablet.”
A brief flicker crosses Rowan’s face, too quick to name but enough to confirm my suspicions.