Chapter 15 #2
I’m not proud of the fact that I know Luke has taken the night off. Or the amount of times a day I check the dynamic schedule, just to see where he is.
Everywhere is the short answer to that.
After less than a fortnight, it’s hard to remember what it was like before he took over.
Anatoly’s heavy knock interrupts my thoughts. “Boss,” he says, putting his head around the door. “I forget to say—your apartment, she is done. I haf car to take you home ven you are ready.”
I frown. “The schedule didn’t mention anything about my apartment being done today?”
“Luke keep between me and him,” Anatoly says. I don’t miss the faint note of pride in his voice.
Or the way my insides do an odd turn at the thought that he was there, in my home. Scrutinizing every inch of my private space with those laser turquoise eyes.
Just imagining it gives me feelings. Big feelings that I don’t particularly want to examine.
I force myself to smile at Anatoly. “I’ll be down soon.”
The truth, I think as Anatoly closes the door, is that there’s barely an inch of my life Luke hasn’t been over with a fine-toothed comb.
The only place he has yet to infiltrate is Sophie’s House.
I’m a little nervous about bringing him into that space, especially after my meeting with Niamh. And not only because it’s a women’s refuge, where men are generally not tolerated.
I’m worried he’s going to take over my rescue operations. And I really don’t know how I feel about that.
Sophie’s House has been my goal, and my motivation, from the day my cousin was taken from me. The idea of anyone coming in and trying to dictate how it should run, or what I can and can’t do when it comes to rescue operations, doesn’t sit well at all.
And something tells me that Luke is going to have strong opinions about the Avonmouth Docks rescue.
Which is his job, whispers a tentative voice of reason in my ear. I’d like to ignore it, but I didn’t turn my first billion by thirty by being an idiot.
I know that the work I do in the shadows for Sophie’s House is most likely the reason I’m being targeted. And Luke has been extremely clear that he won’t tolerate secrecy. If I genuinely want our work association to be effective, I need to, at the very least, keep him informed.
Which is more courtesy than he shows me. I have no idea where Luke is tonight, or with who. I don’t even know where the man lives.
I also know there is absolutely no reason at all I should be given any of that information. Just like I know that calling him on his night off is entirely inappropriate.
Oh, but you’re going to do it anyway, aren’t you, Zin?
I pick up my phone and hit his number.
“Zinaida.” Luke answers on the first ring. His low voice and flat Australian vowels give my name a unique inflection that feels oddly intimate, like it’s a name only he and I share.
“I’m sorry to interrupt your night off.”
“It’s fine.” It sounds like he’s walking. “Talk to me.”
Not are you safe. Not where are you.
Because Luke knows where I am. He knows I’m safe. Something tells me he has systems set up that would alert him if I so much as tripped on a stair.
That level of surveillance should feel intrusive, but instead it makes something hard inside me feel strangely soft, just like his rough voice saying talk to me makes me want to curl into him and never let go.
He’s your security guy, you idiot, not your teenage fucking crush.
I clear my throat. “I know we’d planned to go to Sophie’s House tomorrow.” I’ve started walking since I hit his number, and now I’m standing in front of a wall mirror, staring at my own glittering eyes. “Before we do, some information has just come up that I thought you should know about.”
Sure, Zin. And it’s so urgent you just had to tell him tonight.
“I’ll be home in ten minutes,” he says calmly. “Anatoly knows the address. We can talk there.”
“I don’t want to upset your plans.”
Bullshit. The truth is that the thought of Luke out on a date with some random woman makes me want to smash the mirror.
“You’re not interrupting anything.” The faint edge of amusement in his voice tells me he knows exactly what I was asking. “I’ll see you soon.”
He ends the call, and I stare at my reflection, watching the color mount on my cheeks, every nerve in my body strung tighter than a circus high wire.
Mature, Zin, taunts the annoying inner voice. And so professional.
Luke’s apartment is a warehouse conversion right on the Thames.
Makes sense, given that I saw him rowing that morning. I suppress a shiver. There are days when I think the image of his half-naked body cutting silently through the water, huge and supremely in control, will haunt me forever.
The apartment building is dark and silent as Anatoly parks out front. My phone lights up with Luke’s number.
“I’m going to be a little late.” He sounds as calm as ever.
“Twenty minutes, no more. I’m sending you the access code for my apartment and the number.
Have Anatoly take you to the door and wait until you’re inside.
” He hangs up before I have a chance to back out, which I’m more than a little tempted to do.
Anatoly walks me to the door and waits until I’m inside the apartment. “I vill vait in car,” he says stolidly, not quite meeting my eyes.
He knows me way too well.
“Thank you,” I say as coolly as I can manage, given where I am.
Then I’m alone, surrounded by the cool ocean spice of Luke Macarthur, a scent as familiar as it is disturbing.
I don’t know what I was expecting.
A man cave full of black leather, maybe?
A sports bro kind of vibe?
Whatever expectations I might have subconsciously formed, Luke’s apartment fits none of them.
It’s peaceful. Sparse, yes, but tasteful and surprisingly elegant.
Hardwood floors, with plants and rugs that wouldn’t look out of place in my own apartment.
Books instead of a TV. A chair on the balcony set just far enough back that I can imagine Luke with his long legs resting up on the railing, contemplating the river over a drink. It’s an oddly endearing thought.
One chair. I’m secretly relieved there’s no evidence of a Mrs. McTasty in the apartment.
I have to stop calling him that.
He clearly uses the kitchen, given the overflowing fresh fruit bowl, multiple appliances, and an entire window box of very healthy-looking herbs. There’s something delicious about imagining him here, cooking. Perhaps it’s because of the way I felt when he was in the kitchen of my own apartment.
As if he belonged there.
I can picture him here, too.
Walking around in sweats.
Bare chested.
Jesus, Zin. Get a grip.
Somehow my explorations have led to the bedroom.
Not somehow. I think I was always headed here.
The bed is huge.
Not surprising, really. If I was Luke’s size, I’d want a decent bed, too, especially after years of army camps. The scent of him lingers in here, fresh as an ocean breeze. I find myself smiling. I can imagine him walking out of the rain shower, toweling himself off.
I can imagine myself waiting for him on the white Egyptian cotton sheets.
A bolt of heat hits me between the legs.
Luke, hard as an iron bar, his rock-solid bulk looming over my naked body.
I’m instantly wet. I stare at the vast, neatly made bed, unable to think of anything but Luke taking me on it until I can’t fucking breathe.
I need to get out of here.
I’m turning to leave when a photograph in a silver frame on the bedside table catches my eye.
Luke is standing with his arm around a smiling pretty woman with dark hair who leans her head on his shoulder.
She has her hands clasped over the chest of a young boy standing in front of her.
Another, younger boy is sitting up on Luke’s shoulders, his ankles held by Luke’s huge hands.
They’re all sporting deep outdoor tans and grinning like maniacs.
Going by the white sand, surfboards, and deep blue sea in the background, the picture was taken on a beach somewhere in Australia.
It’s the most wholesome, happy family snap I’ve ever seen.
It makes me want to kill something. Or throw up. Or both.
He’s got a family.
I don’t know why that should surprise me. It’s not like I asked Mak for a personal deep dive on the man before hiring him. I was more interested in Luke’s professional capabilities than his private life.
But it still upsets me far more than it should.
I pick up the photograph, scrutinizing it closely. Luke is wearing a wet suit that is peeled down low on his hips, exposing the length of his torso.
He’s a fucking machine.
His broad, powerful body is hard and scarred, shaped by life and war, rather than carefully sculpted in a gym mirror.
He has no tattoos, which isn’t surprising, given that he’s spent time in the SAS.
I can’t imagine it would be helpful having identifying features when you might get captured at any moment.
But even grinning on a beach, surfboard at his feet and child on his shoulders, Luke is unmistakably a warrior.
It isn’t just the solid wall of muscle, or Luke’s dinner-plate-sized hands gripping the boy’s small ankles.
It’s the wariness that lurks behind his turquoise eyes, the shadow of secret battles that live inside him.
It’s the way the woman and boys instinctively lean into him, like he’ll shelter them from any storm.
It’s not a photo tacked under a fridge magnet, not some casual happy snap.
Luke has this photograph in a frame by his bedside. One of the young boys even looks like him, with the same tousled curls and turquoise eyes.
They’re definitely a family.
I feel almost sick with humiliation.
I came here to find out who Luke really is.
Well—now I do.
No wonder he has rules about sleeping with clients.
All this time, I thought Luke’s superhuman control was about some kind of moral code, trying to maintain a professional line.
And if I’m honest, it’s been more than a little bit hot to watch him exert that kind of restraint.
I guess I thought we were heading toward an inevitable ending. Especially after that look in the rearview mirror the other night.
I thought it was only a matter of time until I ended up here, naked, with Luke inside me. Soon, if I’m honest, because after my little vibrator session, I’m way past the point of being able to pretend I don’t want him.
But Luke wasn’t ever playing games.
He really meant it when he said he doesn’t sleep with clients.
Luke has a pretty wife, and two sons he takes surfing at the beach.
I really am just a contract to him.
All the while I’ve been imagining some kind of sexual tension between us, he’s been trying to diplomatically create space to do his job.
Shame and humiliation rush over me in a burning wave.
I shouldn’t be here.
Whatever I told myself about wanting to learn more about Luke or gaining the advantage is bullshit.
Coming here was an invasion of his privacy.