29. Brook
The steady beat of music fills the air, but the club is still half empty. It’s too early. The crowds start in an hour, and then it’ll be full of dancing bodies, clinking glasses, laughter and blaring music.
I swirl the paper umbrella in my cocktail and sulk. What an asshole. He disappears and then dares question my whereabouts? Especially after he lied about his trip.
Determined to drown my frustration, I put my glass to my lips, but end up only wetting them.
The idea of partying my thoughts out of my head is unappealing. It worked before, but Baldo gives me a headache without inducing one with alcohol.
Sighing, I put the glass down.
“Trouble in paradise?” Chloe slides onto the seat beside me.
I snort. “No trouble. And no paradise.”
“Oh, I’m sure it’s not that bad. You guys are still in the honeymoon phase.”
I don’t look at her, because I’m sure she would see on my face how wrong her statement is.
I like Chloe—even though I’ve just met her—and I don’t think I can pull the pretense off at the moment.
To my utmost annoyance, I’m also jealous of her. Not because she slept with Baldo way back when, but because she got to be with him throughout the years when I tried and failed to forget him.
The young bartender takes someone’s order and turns her back to us. She pulls a lighter from her pocket.
Holding it close to her hip, hiding it from view, she flicks it a few times, her eyes darting around in the mirror. That’s odd.
“He cares about you, Brook. He cares about you a lot.” She pats my shoulder. “I have to greet a VIP and I’m leaving for the airport in an hour, but I hope to see you soon.”
We hug and I return to my drink.
He returned and made a scene about me being in Madrid.
Saar
Your man is jealous, bask in it.
Why are you my friend?
Saar
Because I’m amazing and you cling. (heart emoji)
I miss you.
Saar
See? Clingy. (devil emoji)
The girl behind the bar drops a glass and jumps. She leans down to pick it up, her eyes constantly scanning the room. For what?
She pats her pocket again, the outline of her lighter bulging slightly.
My imagination sparks with interest, already conjuring several scenarios, but maybe she’s just a heavy smoker, eager for her break.
I turn to watch as the club fills up, but my eyes keep landing on the staff entrance, hoping Baldo comes down in search of me.
Nursing only one drink and not partaking in the clubbing, I observe the crowd and wonder why I used to enjoy it so much.
I mean, I love to dance, but on the floor of Celeste’s studio or at home it brings me peace. At clubs, it was more about quieting the loud voices in my head.
But that noise has fallen silent since… since Baldo returned to my life. The man is infuriating, but I want him around.
And it’s not just for the orgasms. I groan inwardly.
I’m just going to force him to talk. I slide down the chair. Jesus. We haven’t even been married a month, and I’m exhausted from all the emotional whiplash.
I don’t make it far before a shrill alarm slices through the music. For a split second, everything freezes—the dancers, the bartenders, even the very air seems to hold its breath.
And then, as if the heavens themselves have opened up inside this dimly lit room, water cascades down from the sprinklers overhead.
Panic ignites faster than the fire that must have triggered the alarm. The crowd surges, pushing and shoving.
Water soaks through my clothes, plastering my hair to my face and turning the dance floor into a slippery mess.
My first thought, absurdly, is that Baldo is going to kill someone for ruining the polished wood.
I need to find him.
He must be somewhere here, trying to evacuate the club safely. My heart pounds as I push against the flow, my eyes scanning faces for him.
He’s nowhere.
My throat constricts, panic clawing its way up.
I glance toward the bar and realize that’s where the fire started. It seems contained already, but the image of the flickering lighter in the hands of the young woman behind the bar stops me in my tracks.
“Ma’am, you need to leave. Now!” a bulky man urges. I recognize him from the other night, throwing Miguel out.
His voice cuts through, authoritative and impossible to ignore.
I shake my head, water flinging from my hair. “I have to find Baldo,” I shout back.
He doesn’t listen—or maybe he can’t hear me over the noise. With a gentleness that belies the urgency of the situation, he wraps his arms around my shoulders and starts guiding me toward the nearest exit.
As we move, I look over my shoulder, searching the chaos for a sign of Baldo.
The night air hits me like a slap when we finally emerge outside. It’s hot, but I’m shivering, drenched.
The security guide sheds his wet jacket and wraps it around me. It doesn’t help, but I appreciate the gesture, tucking the wet fabric closer to me.
“Stay here.” He runs back inside.
“Where is Baldo?”
I stand there, my heart hammering in my temples. The question, a mixture of worry and frustration, remains unanswered.
Baldo is always in control. For a second, I don’t believe the chaos has swallowed him tonight.
What if he fell asleep upstairs and can’t get down? What if… I force myself to stop overthinking.
As the crowd spills into the night, I keep searching for him, and my eyes land on a group of employees huddling by the side, the bartender among them.
She looks scared, still glancing around as if she’s expecting something else to happen, or someone to arrive—
“Tokyo.” The voice is a whisper of relief behind me, and I whip around.
“I couldn’t find you.” I wrap my arms around his waist. “I couldn’t find you,” I repeat.
“I’m here. Are you okay?” He pulls back, inspecting me.
I nod. God, I’m so happy to see him. “The bartender. She had a lighter she’s been playing with all night.”
He frowns and then looks above my shoulder, assessing the situation. The police have arrived and people are dispersing, but I’m sure there is a lot of work for Baldo.
“I’ll be fine. Do what you need to do. Let me know if I can help.”
He smiles at me, but then narrows his eyes. He removes his jacket and tugs at the one over my shoulders. “Don’t wear another man’s jacket.”
He wraps his dry, thousand-dollar suit jacket around me. It swallows me in the warmth and scent of the man, and instead of rolling my eyes at his caveman display, I smile at him.
“Relax, it’s your ring I’m wearing.”
* * *
The door of Baldo’s office clicks and I scramble to sit up. I fell asleep on his leather sofa.
He brought me here, got me dry clothes, and put a bodyguard at the door despite my protest before he left to deal with the police and the early investigation.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.” Baldo looks at me, his gaze cold. “We need to review the security footage. Let me take you upstairs.”
“I’d rather stay here. I won’t disturb you.”
“Let her stay.” Chloe pushes in behind Baldo.
He studies me with hooded eyes, a line marring his forehead. His eyes look darker with circles of fatigue under them.
The way he’s looking at me squeezes at my stomach, worry souring it. He’s retreating before I even got him to open up.
He shakes his head ever so slightly and sits behind his desk. Chloe stands beside him.
I guess her plans to leave were postponed yet again.
I want to join them, but somehow I feel I have no right. So I sit there with an uneasy feeling.
Baldo’s jaw ticks as he drums his fingers on the desk. Other than that, he’s in complete control.
Dressed to perfection—he must have changed—his hair is perfectly mussed, his features tired but composed.
I can’t claim I know the man anymore, but I’d bet my yearly royalties the composure is just a mask.
After a few clicks on the keyboard, they both lean closer to the monitor and Chloe swears.
Then they turn to me, and I swallow. What the actual fuck? There isn’t accusation in their eyes but there are questions.
“How do you know Miguel Oliviera?” Baldo asks.
“Who?”
“The man you came in with a couple nights ago and Baldo had thrown out?” Chloe asks.
“I don’t know him. I was having a drink at a bar, and he came over to talk to me.”
Baldo lets out a long sigh and Chloe rolls her eyes. “So I guess it checks out, and it seems your jealousy cost you, boss.” She pats his shoulder and walks to the door. “I’m going to oversee the cleanup. You look like shit. I’m not sure when you last slept, but fucking do it now because I want to go home. Good night, Brook.”
When the door closes behind her, I stand up. “Is Miguel—”
“The arsonist? No, you were right—the bartender started the fire. He paid her to do it. It was supposed to be a diversion, so he could rob my safe.”
“I don’t think she wanted to do it. She was so nervous…”
Jesus, I brought this to his door. Not intentionally, but still. No wonder he’s looking at me like I’m a nuisance. Inconvenience he called me before. “Baldo, I’m sorry.”
He rounds the table and pulls me to him, holding me close. “You have nothing to be sorry about. He blackmailed the girl, and he didn’t succeed with the other part of his plan because I intercepted them when I was coming down after the alarm.”
“You faced them?” I jerk back, the vise on my insides gripping tighter.
“I wasn’t alone. My men were still here. He didn’t time it very well.” He kisses the crown of my head. “Let’s go to bed.”
We head upstairs in silence that speaks volumes. I don’t understand what it’s saying, only that it’s loaded with pent-up energy.
We exit the elevator and Baldo picks me up and carries me to his bed. He takes off my clothes, and then his.
I watch his every move, enthralled by the sight of him and panicked by his aloof presence.
He climbs in beside me, nudges me to my side, and pulls my back to his chest. Wrapped in his arms, I feel slightly better.
Our breath synchronizes quickly and Baldo’s evens out. While my mind is swirling with uncertainty, the fatigue is stronger.
The heavy hands on my hips.
Warmth between my thighs.
A shiver of pleasure startles me from my sleep.
“Baldo…” I sigh and arch my back as he does that thing with his tongue that has my entire body trembling with need.
“Good morning.” He continues his delicious assault, adding two fingers. It takes no time before I get there, screaming his name.
He climbs up and positions himself at my entrance. I’m still dizzy from sleep and my orgasm when our eyes meet.
There is determination and adoration in his gaze. He moves slowly. Too slowly, but I don’t dare argue or demand. If this is what he needs, this is what he gets.
The least I can do after causing—unintentionally—so much damage to his club. And he’s in charge in the bedroom, after all.
But this slow pace and his disarming expression are too much. Too intimate. Too dangerous.
And somehow eerie. It’s like he’s saying goodbye.
“Stop it, Brook. Let me make you feel good.”
As if he could hear my thoughts. Jesus.
“Harder,” I challenge.
And he obeys me, which should feel like a win, but it doesn’t, because Baldo not reminding me he’s in charge is only further confirmation that something is broken.
But his pace gets relentless, and soon I can’t think anymore. Only feel. My body thrashes in a tornado of sensations, battling with my heart that weeps at the contrasting emotions.
I come and Baldo follows me shortly after, my name on his lips as he pours himself inside me. He rolls off and leaves for the bathroom.
I prop myself against the headboard.
He comes out, dressed in his robe. “I have the plane ready to take you back to the States.”