19. Siena
Siena
W hen Matti opens the door, he’s wearing nothing but a towel, low enough on his hips that the deep V etched into his lower abdomen is visible.
I flush and redden, unable to stop myself from remembering what’s underneath the towel.
Hoping it helps, I roll my eyes, pretending that I’m as unfazed as Eleanor seems to be.
“Sir, I’m sorry to interrupt you, but Ms. Siena needs some assistance.”
I turn on her sharply. “Do not!” I snap, my voice sharp and defensive. Realizing how childish I sound, I rein it in. “I don’t.” I say again, calmer this time, but I’m unable to meet Matti’s piercing eyes and my gaze drops further south than it should.
Matti follows my eye line down to his towel, then looks back up at me through his eyelashes and smirks. “You need assistance?”
Fuck him. No, not fuck him. Un -fuck him. Jesus Christ, I hope my face isn’t broadcasting the absolute wreckage that is my brain right now .
Gritting my teeth, I consider turning back toward the elevator, but Eleanor shifts ever so slightly, blocking my exit. She’s watching me with a kind, expectant expression, and for some inexplicable reason, I don’t want to disappoint her by stomping off like a petulant teenager.
“I have an IT project I thought Valentina might be able to help with,” I say, keeping my voice cool.
“She wasn’t exactly receptive to the idea.
Probably tired after a long night.” I snipe sarcastically, and he fucking smirks at me again !
FUCK him. “I’m sure you’re tired, too. And you obviously need to clean up, so I’ll just take my project elsewhere.
Eleanor, this elevator takes me back to the ground floor? ”
I move to step around her, but she smiles and subtly shifts again, cutting off my path. Matti swings the door open wider, sweeping his arm out, inviting me in with a mockingly grand gesture.
“Please,” he says smoothly. “I’m already clean. It’s no bother.”
The elevator dings, and the doors slide open. A man pushing a serving cart steps out, a lavish breakfast for two spread across gleaming silver trays. He stops short when he sees us, confused.
Humiliation burns through me as I realize this breakfast is meant for him and Valentina. It’s immediately followed by a flash of anger at myself. I shouldn’t give a single fuck where this man puts his dick, much less who he’s eating with. I really shouldn’t.
I raise an eyebrow at Eleanor, who closes her eyes briefly, then opens them with a tight frown.
“Herbie, no. Not the penthouse. I told you those go to the 39th floor. ”
She’s quick, I’ll give her that, but I don’t buy it for a minute. I try to step around them and get on the elevator, but she pushes Herbie back, blocking me again.
Really getting tired of this game.
Matti speaks up cheerfully. “No, that’s okay, Eleanor. Herbie, drop those here. Maybe my guest is hungry; I know I’m starving.” He moves so Herbie can push the cart into the penthouse, flashing me a wicked grin.
Nice. Okay. I see his game. He wants to piss me off, rubbing in the fact that last night’s workout with Valentina left him famished. Well, fuck that. I can play, too. Plus, I am hungry.
“Sure, sounds great.” I say brightly. Plastering on a fake smile, I brush past him and grab a piece of bacon off one of the plates and pop it in my mouth as Herbie leaves.
Matti closes the door behind me, and I turn, happily surprised to find him glaring at me. That’s more like it.
I stroll deeper into the penthouse, forcing myself not to gape at the sheer opulence—thick carpets, towering fireplaces, a navy-blue stained concrete table surrounded by plush chairs with a sleek matching desk behind it and floor-to-ceiling windows that look down on the lobby below, couches as wide as beds. This place is incredible.
I grimace at what looks like the remains of last night’s dinner barely touched, the bit of red lace peeking out of the garbage can.
Refocusing, I pull Emily’s phone from my bag, slapping it down next to his laptop on the table. “This is Emily’s phone. I found it in her stuff, and I want to access it—texts, pictures, anything that might help me. Obviously, it got wet in the plane crash, so I need help to get it working.”
Matti says nothing. Instead, he drops his towel and strides toward the back of the penthouse.
I inhale sharply, my mind going utterly blank. All I can do is stare as his muscular thighs and ass flex with each step, his strong back shifts with the movement of his arms, tattoos rippling like liquid over his skin. My mouth goes dry.
“What do you think you’re going to find?” he asks, turning to catch me staring just before he disappears into what I’m guessing is his bedroom.
I whip away from him, clenching my jaw. Focus, Siena. Keep it together.
“I don’t know,” I lie. Probably shouldn’t tell him I’m hoping to find evidence against him, if he is the one who killed my sister. “Memories, mostly. Pictures. Maybe some more hints about what happened to her.”
Matti comes out of the bedroom wearing black jeans and no shirt. I turn at the sound, then immediately avert my eyes as he finishes buckling his belt.
Other than last night, I’ve only seen him in a suit, and holy shit, if it’s possible he’s even more devastating like this, relaxed in jeans, still damp from the shower.
The familiar heat coils low in my stomach, like it always does when he’s near me. My traitorous pussy clenches, and I curse myself. Even worse, my heart clenches right along with her, and I feel sick to my stomach.
I stalk toward the breakfast cart, ripping off a piece of toast and shoving it into my mouth. Matti smirks, following suit, standing far too close as he butters his bread and takes a bite.
“What hints do you have?” he asks.
Shoving the rest of the toast into my mouth, I say, barely intelligibly, “I didn’t say I had any.”
Matti raises an eyebrow at me talking with my mouth full, and I chew loudly.
“You did. You said you needed ‘more’ hints. Which implies that you have some already.”
“You inferred. I implied nothing.”
He stares at me for a moment, then steps in closer so that he’s only an inch away. His face is expressionless as he continues to stare. My chewing slows, then stops entirely as I swallow hard. The electricity between us is so thick it stings, the silence punctuated by my stifled breathing.
Reaching around me, he takes a pancake off the plate, rolls it up, and takes a huge bite. The muscles in his jaw work tightly as he chews and swallows, searching my face.
“What is it that you think you have, Siena?”
Every time he says my name like that—dry, detached—it feels like a slap. No more ‘kitten.’ No more sweet smiles. It’s all gone, replaced with cold eyes and thinly veiled condescension and contempt.
My heart sinks. Until I realize what he’s fishing for.
“If you think I have evidence that you blew up my sister’s plane, I don’t,” I snap. “Other than your fucking confession.”
For the first time, he drops my gaze first, but only for the briefest second. When his eyes flick back up to meet mine, there’s something guarded there, cold.
My blood turns to ice in my veins as I feel my chances of getting Matti to help me slip away. No longer do I see the guilt I must have imagined on his face last night. The notion that I had any control over this man was clearly an illusion, and it’s making my head hurt.
Honesty and full disclosure feel like my only options, albeit a last resort. And transparently desperate.
“If you’re worried that there is evidence on this phone of what you did, don’t be.
Unless you know something I don’t, I doubt there are any mysterious texts or pictures on here that incriminate you.
Emily was devoted to Mikey, and she refused to keep other men’s phone numbers in her phone, much less contact them. Not even a plumber or a dentist.”
“She sounds like a good woman,” Matti says softly.
I’m surprised that the way he says that—respectfully, reverently—makes a lump form in my throat.
The distance between our bodies feels infinitesimally small, and I fight the urge to wrap my arms around him and rest my cheek against his chiseled chest.
“She was,” I say, swallowing hard. My voice is raspy, and I can barely speak above a whisper. “If you help me, I will show you everything on it. I promise.”