Chapter 12 #2
After my hair was dry, I emerged. Shawn hadn’t moved. He was sitting upright and staring vacantly into space. Still shirtless and still dangerous, even when he looked less like the polished businessman he normally was.
While I’d gotten dressed, a thought had hit me like a ton of bricks. “My fingerprints are all over the murder weapon.”
His brow furrowed. “First of all, you didn’t murder him, it was self-defense. And second, there’s no body. Jason sent a man to your apartment, and it was empty.”
“Oh.” I wasn’t sure how to feel about that. Had my attacker recovered enough to slink away? Or had someone else come to recover the body before Jason’s man got there? “What happens now?”
“You’ll stay here where you’re safe, until we have a plan.” He stared at me as if waiting for an answer.
Was there any other option? I drew in a deep breath and nodded. “Okay.”
I expected him to get up, to go to the shower, but he continued to sit there like he’d been sewn into the mattress.
“Thank you,” he said, “for agreeing.”
Annoyance bloomed inside me. “Can you stop doing that? Treating me differently?”
“What?”
“How you’re being nice to me. I don’t like it.”
He blinked. “I’m sorry, you’re asking me to be mean?”
“No, just treat me like you used to. I can’t handle it when you come at me all . . . sideways.”
“Sideways?” he repeated. “Are we in combat?”
I scowled.
He exhaled and then a slow smile grew on his lips, and I could see it in his eyes. The game was back on. He finally moved, but it wasn’t how I wanted it to go. He had on the smallest pair of boxer briefs I’d ever seen, and they clung to every inch of him.
“Want to take a closer look?” he asked, looping a finger under the waistband.
“God, no!” I spun in place, turning my back on him. Why had I asked for this? I was so stupid. It didn’t matter what version of him I got. The result was the same—I wanted him either way.
His footsteps padded across the floor, and I breathed easier when the bathroom door shut and he was gone.
The wardrobe choices in my suitcase were growing small, and I’d had to dress in the same outfit I’d been wearing the day he’d come to my office.
The gray pencil skirt and black silk top with a matching gray suit coat.
It had been a bit of a calculated move. If I dressed in my work clothes, I could wear my heels and be almost the same height as him.
I’d just happened to pack my sexiest heels that were fire engine red. Perfect for walking all over him, I told myself.
Yeah, maybe in your dreams.
When he finished his shower, he reappeared wearing a stone-colored dress shirt and black slacks, shaved and his hair damp. It was annoying how good he looked. His gaze lingered on my shoes for a moment.
“Those aren’t exactly inconspicuous.”
“Am I going somewhere?” I muttered. His expression said I had a point.
We’d slept so long it was too late for breakfast, so he ordered lunch and had it sent up.
We sat on the couch and ate at the coffee table, talked about simple things over the meal, purposefully avoiding the fact that Jason’s and Laurel’s lives were in danger and that I had potentially killed someone.
Once the dishes had been set outside the room, he sank down beside me on the couch and his phone chimed for the hundredth time.
“You’re a popular man,” I commented.
“I was supposed to be in the New York office today.” He scrolled through the emails and tapped out a response. “An issue with the drivers’ union has come up.”
“Do you need to go?” I asked it just as sincerely as I’d meant because he ran an enormous company, and I didn’t expect him to drop everything for me.
“No, it’s fine. My mother stepped back when she turned sixty but still sits on the board.” He gave a lazy smile. “Gisela Osterh?gen couldn’t let all that control go at once. She’s happy to fill in for me when needed.”
I had yet to meet Gisela, but from what I’d heard from Laurel, this wasn’t surprising. The Osterh?gen gene was one that liked to be in charge, and obviously the Dunn DNA had done little to dilute that.
“What’s the issue with the union?” When he hesitated, I understood and added, “You don’t need to give me specifics.”
He considered how to answer. “They want to renegotiate contracts because there’s been some theft recently.”
I pulled my shoulders back, confused. “How does your loss of product impact the drivers?”
He looked surprised at how quickly I’d cut to the problem.
“Because the theft has been of an entire shipment, including the truck itself. Since the drivers own the trucks, they’re victims of the theft, too.
They say carrying Osterh?gen product is a risk to them, and they feel they should be compensated for taking that risk. ”
“What are you going to do?”
He scrubbed a hand over his face in a contemplative gesture. “I’ll try to show them that this was an isolated incident. If they’re not satisfied, I suppose I’ll walk. I’m not interested in renegotiating million-dollar contracts because a few trucks went missing.”
My eyebrows lifted. “A few trucks? Maybe your head of security should look into that.”
“Believe me, he is.” His expression morphed to one of concern, signaling he was about to change the subject. “I’m still struggling to understand why your place was trashed. I don’t know which I find more worrisome.”
My breath caught. “Meaning?”
“The man with the knife showed up five minutes after we did, which was hours earlier than you were supposed to. That tells me he knew we were there,” he paused, “because he was watching your place.” His gaze pinned mine.
“That, on its own, is bad, but it sounds like he was watching because he expected Juric to be there. Why?”
My throat closed up. I’d struggled with the same question, but I had no answer, and that made me feel powerless. “Can we . . . ? I’m not ready. Let’s find something else to talk about.”
“All right. What do you suggest?”
I laced my fingers together in my lap and skewed my lips to one side. My mind stumbled to come up with a new topic, but Shawn abruptly shifted in his seat. The corner of his mouth lifted with an idea, and it was one he found exciting.
“How, exactly,” his tone dipped low and seductive, “were you and Paul incompatible?”
A warning siren blared in my head. “It’s none of your business.”
“Hmm. I disagree.” His expression was determination. “Tell me. I want to know.”
I swallowed hard. “Paul and I wanted different things.”
My generic answer only opened the door for him. “What did you want that he didn’t?”
What I had wanted to feel was desired. For there to be a different goal than the one Paul always had. In the end, it had become so routine he didn’t notice I wasn’t mentally there beneath him.
Could Shawn read my mind? His hand slid onto my knee, just where my skirt ended, and goosebumps burst down my legs.
“He didn’t like to touch me,” I said.
His eyes widened, giving me a great view of the circle of warm brown that hung at the edge of his irises. “How is that possible? I can’t keep my fucking hands off you.”
“I’ve noticed.” It was meant to sound strong, but it didn’t. His hand inched upward, and my heart beat erratically with excitement.
“What else did you want that he wouldn’t give you?” He leaned over, his lips brushing the shell of my ear. “Tell me, so that I can.”
Oh, my God. A pleasurable shudder seized my whole body. His hand crept up further, buried beneath my skirt, and the heat of his touch rapidly burned away my reluctance. My knees parted to give him more room.
“He . . .” I couldn’t bring myself to say it, but the pads of his fingers were on my inner thigh now. “Paul didn’t like when I enjoyed it. It made it difficult to continue if I got too loud.”
He went still as if every muscle in his body had tensed, his face frozen halfway between outrage and disbelief. There was only my rapid breathing between us.
“What the fuck was wrong with him,” he said, “to think giving someone else pleasure is a turnoff?” The blacks of his eyes dilated and slowly filled with desire. “You know he has that backward, yes?”
I didn’t have a response. My focus was on his hand and the look he gave me, the one that made my insides melt.
“Let me show you how wrong he was,” he said.