Chapter 13 #2
I do as he says, the adrenaline that’s never far from the surface kicking back into sickening gear.
How long am I supposed to wait?
I put my ear against the door, straining to hear what’s happening on the other side, but I can’t even hear Luke moving around.
What if he’s already been knocked unconscious?
Except somehow I know he hasn’t been.
It would take a fucking tank to knock him down.
And I’m willing to bet that even then he’d face the thing head-on and give it a run for its money.
Eventually there’s a knock on the door. “All clear.” Luke’s voice, calm and reassuring. “You can come out.”
Swallowing hard on the panic I didn’t expect to feel, I unlock the door and stalk out, doing my best to maintain what little dignity I have left. “Why the panic, then?”
“Oh, I don’t know, Zinaida.” He folds his arms. “Maybe it’s got something to do with the fact that someone seems pretty intent on killing you.”
A long silence ensues, filled with all the things I don’t know how to say.
I drop my eyes first.
“Go on, then.” I hear the rather sulky note in my voice, but I’m helpless to stop it. “If you’ve got something to say, just say it.”
I raise my eyes to find Luke staring at me, eyes narrowed, his expression as inscrutable as I’ve ever seen it. But calm as he might appear, I can tell his massive form is poised like a lethal slingshot, every muscle taut with preparedness.
That’s the savage, right there.
The mask is still in place, sure, along with his superhuman control.
But I can feel the riptide surging beneath it, fierce and barely contained.
“That basement carpark is a fucking nightmare.”
He snaps the words like the basement is a personal insult.
“Until I’ve completely reworked it,” he continues, “you don’t go down there.” He glares at the walls around us as if my apartment is an enemy to be contained. “And this place has more security holes than bloody Swiss cheese.” He inhales sharply and turns back to me, pinning me with a hard look.
“You’re not staying here tonight,” he says abruptly. “Get whatever you need. I’ll drive you back to the Mayfair penthouse.”
“What?” I stare at him, my mind whirling. “No. No way. This is my home.”
“Not until I’ve rewired the entire fucking thing, it isn’t.
” He rubs a hand over the shadow on his jaw, glaring at me.
“You hired me to do a job. This is me doing it. You’re not spending another night in here until it’s secure.
Anyone could have—” He cuts off abruptly, clamping his lips together, taking a breath that’s deep enough to be audible.
“You’re not staying here,” he says with grim finality.
I push past him to the kitchen, pouring myself a glass of Disaronno and tilting the bottle toward him.
He shakes his head curtly.
“I need to be up in five hours,” I say. “I don’t have time to move apartments.”
“Then you’d better pack quickly.” His tone is uncompromising, the turquoise eyes boring into mine implacable.
God, I want him.
The thought hits me so unexpectedly it knocks me off-balance. I spin away, swallowing a mouthful of the Disaronno and barely noticing the burn.
His reflection looms behind me in the still, dark glass of my kitchen window, so big he dwarfs the space.
There’s something about seeing him here, one huge hand propped near the wooden chopping board, that feels oddly familiar.
It’s too easy to imagine him lounging against the counter, drink in hand, half smile twisting his rough features as he listens to me talk, his eyes settling on me with that quiet, lethal focus that sends delicious warmth through my veins every time.
I need to get him out of here.
If that means doing a night in Mayfair, then so be it.
“And you’re working out in the gym at your club tomorrow morning,” Luke continues. “Until I’ve upped your security, no more running in the park.”
I look up at him, startled. “You know about that?”
His fleeting eye roll is answer enough. “You will not leave Pigalle Mayfair without a full security detail.” He pins me with a death stare. “I’ve given orders to that effect, and believe me when I say that those instructions will be followed. Even if my people have to physically restrain you.”
“Your people.” I know how pointless my defiance is.
It’s also all I’ve got right now.
“I told you when I took the contract that I would take over every aspect of your security operation.” Luke’s grim expression doesn’t alter at all. “So yes, Zinaida. They’re my people now. And they’ll do exactly as I fucking tell them. I’d advise you not to get in their way.”
We stare at each other across the kitchen.
I could argue.
But the truth is that I’m more relieved than I want to admit.
That’s the funny thing about fear. When you’ve felt it for a long time, you stop noticing how much energy it takes.
All I know is that I feel suddenly flattened by exhaustion.
“Fine.” I walk toward my bedroom, resigned rather than surprised when he follows, barely a pace behind. “But I don’t like sleeping where I work. I want my apartment sorted out as soon as possible.”
“Understood.” Luke stands in the doorway as I pack, his eyes scanning every corner of my room.
It feels more intimate than being at the gynecologist.
I can deal with anyone looking at my body.
But my home is different.
It’s the only place that’s truly me. Having Luke scrutinize it in microscopic detail feels as uncomfortable as the thought of a therapist rummaging around in my head, something that is never going to fucking happen.
When I turn with my bag in hand, he’s still standing in my bedroom doorway, his bulk almost filling it.
I push past him, trying not to inhale.
Breathing him in is as dangerous as being close to him.
In the limo, he pushes a button on the dash, and the barrier between the rear and front seats starts to rise.
“Leave it down.” I blurt out the words before common sense kicks in.
Luke doesn’t react, of course, just puts the glass down again and pulls into the empty street.
“Can I have a look at the security analysis you’ve done?” I ask, as much to regain the upper hand as for any real professional interest.
Luke doesn’t comment, just passes the laptop back to me, already unlocked.
I flick through the changes he’s proposed, the improvements and adjustments, impressed despite myself at how comprehensive they are, given the limited time he’s had to get his head around the sprawling operation.
He hasn’t missed a damn thing.
He’s even drawn up diagrams showing where the new security measures should be installed.
The bastard must be working even harder than I do.
Actually, while I’m on that, why isn’t he crumbling with exhaustion? Given his early-morning break-in, he’s been on the job since long before dawn.
To hell with asking, though. The last thing Luke Macarthur needs is to be told he’s doing a good job. He’s far too fucking sure of himself as it is.
Oh, and you hate that, don’t you, Zinaida?
I look through the surveillance diagrams he’s made of each premises and his corresponding notes.
I’d thought Mak’s team had been exhaustive when they were setting it all up.
In fact, I’d grown so tired of them crawling up my ass that I’d ordered them out in the end, figuring I could cover any gaps with my own personnel.
But I never did get around to expanding the security teams. Or clearly not enough.
Boots needed on the ground, Luke has written on nearly every diagram. And when it comes to Pigalle Mayfair, he’s typed the words in bold and underlined them.
I don’t like being surrounded by muscle. I like my security tight, discreet, and completely under my control.
But Luke’s incisive analysis makes me uncomfortably aware that my desire for privacy has made it tough for my staff to do their job, let alone protect me effectively.
And his planned changes are as unobtrusive as they are astute.
Reluctant as I am to admit it, I feel a sneaking relief at being able to relinquish control to someone who clearly knows exactly what he’s doing.
Even if he is insisting on more cameras.
He’s marked the proposed locations of them with red crosses and numbered the existing cameras so I can look up where they are.
There’s a number one next to my private suite in Pigalle Mayfair, underscored in red. More needed, he’s written.
More?
I frown. I thought I’d disabled all the cameras in that suite. I click on the number one to access the feed.
Oh, I remember now.
I can see why Luke would want more angles covered.
The camera is useless as surveillance, showing only a far corner of the room away from the entrance.
It used to give a bird’s-eye view of the bedroom, including the entrance, but on the one night I actually slept there, the tiny red light on the camera drove me nuts.
In the end I’d propped a chair on the bed and thrust the camera to one side to get the light out of my eye.
I meant to tell Anatoly to fix it. I must have forgotten.
Wait.
My finger pauses on the screen, then, shaking slightly, I enlarge the view.
Oh, fuck.
Fuuuck!
There’s a long mirror in the corner of that room. The decorator thought I’d like it. I don’t, but I had better things to do than worry about returning a mirror, so I shoved it out of the way and promptly forgot about it, since I always use the floor-to-ceiling mirror in the bathroom anyway.
Except the morning Luke broke in, when I was sprawled across the bed with a vibrator in my hand.
That damned mirror was the first thing you saw when you opened your eyes, Zin, wasn’t it? Remember how stupid you felt when you saw what a mess you were?
Flushed face, tangled hair, and eyes still lost in whatever craziness had overtaken me. I caught one glimpse of my reflection and wrenched myself firmly back under control.
But the camera had been trained on that mirror for every moment of my frenzied, wild ride to vibetown.
Did he watch?
The dark thrill is instant and savage.
Did he know I was behind that closed door with one hand on my nipple and the other between my legs?
The thought of him standing on the other side of that door, close enough to hear me moan, makes me swell instantly. I squirm on the seat, the friction of the leather suddenly unbearably stimulating.
Did he know that the entire time the vibrator was inside me I was imagining it was his cock instead?
Even the thought of it cripples me with desire, hungry for his touch.
What would those huge, calloused hands feel like between my legs? On my breasts?
The breath hitches in my throat.
Did he listen to me come?
I freeze.
My eyes fly up to the rearview mirror.
Luke is staring straight at me.
In the sudden flare of passing headlights, his turquoise eyes gleam, like some dangerous jungle predator lying in wait.
He knows.
Luke saw every minute of that entire performance. He knows exactly how turned on I was, how out of control.
And he knows exactly fucking why.
Worse, now he knows that I know.
I shut the laptop down and toss it carelessly over the barrier between us. It falls onto the seat next to him. “Looks fine,” I say, proud of how steady my voice is.
Luke holds my eyes in the mirror for a long moment.
Then he turns back to the drive.
I settle back into my seat, the pulse between my legs throbbing so heavily it’s almost unbearable.
The game has changed.
And suddenly, I’m not sure at all how I want to play it.
Then again, Luke has made his position very clear.
“I don’t sleep with clients. Ever.”
I need to respect that boundary, no matter what the fuck is going on in my traitorous bitch of a body. Otherwise this will all go to hell very quickly.
The limo pulls up outside Pigalle Mayfair, finally bringing an end to what feels like the longest day of my fucking life.
I head inside as soon as Luke opens the door, barely glancing at him as I pass.
It’s just safer that way.