Chapter 6 #2
He moved behind her, his chest a wall of heat at her back.
His hands spanned her waist, sliding up, up, until they cupped her breasts.
Her gasp echoed in the steam as he squeezed, thumbs brushing over her nipples through the soaked lace.
Her knees nearly buckled. He rolled the sensitive peaks between finger and thumb, wringing another moan from her throat, then bent to drag his teeth along the curve of her shoulder, biting lightly before soothing with his tongue.
“Not hurt here,” he whispered against her ear, nipping at the lobe. “But sensitive. So damn sensitive.”
She bit her lip, fighting a moan. The water wasn’t enough to cool her, not with his mouth tracing fire along her throat, not with his hands teasing her mercilessly.
She arched against him, betraying herself, giving him the proof he wanted.
He gripped her wrist and pressed her palm against the slick tile above her head, forcing her to hold herself open to his exploration.
His other hand skimmed down over her belly, resting there as if he owned every breath she took.
“Say it,” he demanded softly, his voice velvet-wrapped steel. “Say you’re mine.”
“No,” she whispered, even as her body leaned back into his, even as her hips shifted against the hard ridge pressing into her spine.
His growl vibrated through her. His hand slid lower, over her stomach, down to the thin lace clinging to her hips.
He stroked once, intentionally, through the fabric, finding her soaked.
Her breath shattered. He dragged his fingers back up, then down again, a deliberate torture that left her quaking.
“Your body confesses it,” he rasped. “But I’ll make you scream it.”
He tore the lace aside with a brutal rip.
The sound echoed, obscene, final. Then his fingers parted her, slick heat flooding them both.
She cried out, leaning against the tile for balance as he stroked her clit with ruthless precision.
Not gentle. Not teasing. Relentless. He alternated between slow circles that built her high and sharp thrusts of his fingers that drove her higher still, until she was keening, head thrown back into the spray.
“Leif!” Her voice cracked on his name.
“That’s it,” he murmured, lips at her throat. “Let me hear you.” He sucked hard at the pulse point under her earlobe, marking her, branding her flesh as thoroughly as fate already had.
Her thighs shook, her breath coming in sobs, her body helpless under his mastery.
He pressed her harder against the wall, his hand moving faster, deeper, until she shattered with a cry, her orgasm ripping through her like the blast they’d escaped outside.
The climax seemed to go on forever, every nerve in her body detonating, her vision going white as wave after wave shook her.
She trembled against him, spasms wracking her body as his mouth claimed her neck, his teeth marking her, his growl sinking into her bones.
When it was done, when her body slumped limp against the tile, he turned her in his arms. His mouth took hers in a kiss that wasn’t sweet—it was conquest. He devoured her lips, her moans, every ragged breath, until she was nothing but heat and hunger and him.
His hands roamed her slick skin, cupping her face, gripping her ass, sliding up her back as though he couldn’t get enough of her.
He didn’t take her. Not fully. He didn’t need to. He’d already proved what he wanted—that she was his, and the Brand would never let her forget it.
By the time the water cooled, they were both shaking for different reasons. Leif shut it off, grabbed a towel, and wrapped it around her like she belonged to him. She didn’t argue.
He dressed quickly, pulling on fresh slacks and a black shirt, then snapped his fingers for one of his men through the open door. “Get her a set of clothes from her apartment. Floor below.” His tone was flat command. No room for refusal.
Mariah stiffened. He was reaching into her space now, sending his men through her things. She wanted to object, but his hand landed firm on her shoulder, a silent reminder that she wasn’t leaving. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
Her pulse stuttered. God help her, she wasn’t sure she wanted to.
Mariah slipped into one of Leif’s crisp white dress shirts paired with a pair of his soft lounge pants, cinched tight at her waist to keep them from sliding.
The fabric was oversized on her frame, the sleeves rolled above her elbows, the pants threatening to tangle her feet.
Everything smelled faintly of him—heat and spice and power—and wearing it unsettled her almost as much as walking into the room half-naked would have.
Alaric and Magnus arrived minutes later, stepping into the vast living area.
Alaric looked composed as always, black suit immaculate, eyes calm but sharp.
Magnus was rougher, carrying a storm in with him.
His stare cut straight to Mariah with suspicion coiled in every line of his body.
Leif didn’t offer drinks. He didn’t sit.
He stood between them and Mariah like a wall.
“The meeting was targeted,” Alaric began, voice even. “Timing was exact. Whoever planted the explosives knew the schedule, the entry points, the security rotation. This wasn’t sloppy. It was professional.”
“Inside job,” Magnus cut in, his eyes never leaving Mariah. “Someone who knew exactly when you’d be in that room.”
Mariah’s stomach flipped. She set her shoulders, refusing to shrink. The city glared in through floor-to-ceiling glass, the skyline a blade’s edge. Steam still clung to her skin beneath the borrowed shirt as if the shower hadn’t quite let her go.
Alaric slid a folder onto the table. “Prelim footage from the mezzanine stairwell. Two minutes of dead camera. A loop. Whoever did it had access.” His gaze flicked briefly to Leif.
“They also knew the fire door on the west service corridor sticks and needs a hip to pop. There’s a scuff where one was forced. ”
Magnus’s lip curled. “And she’s standing here, untouched. Like she knew.”
Leif’s voice cut like a blade. “She’d be dead, too, if we hadn’t paused in the hallway.” His eyes never left Magnus. “We both would. Don’t be a fool.”
“That hallway pause was what—thirty seconds?” Magnus asked, all jagged edges. “Funny timing.”
Mariah met his stare. “We were discussing the meeting.” Her voice didn’t shake. “If we hadn’t, we’d be on a slab. You’re welcome.”
A beat. Then Alaric’s mouth ticked, the closest he got to approval.
“The blast signature suggests a shaped charge placed at the head table.” He angled one of the photos so the light caught the gray smear of residue.
“Directional, designed to rip legs and take out anyone standing nearby when the meeting was called.”
Leif’s jaw worked once, lethal and contained. “Who has the sophistication?”
“Competitors who buy talent,” Alaric said. “Or someone close who knows our patterns. The call to hold the meeting back fifteen minutes saved a dozen lives, since the device was set for the original time. They misjudged our delay.”
“Or someone texted the bomber you were lagging,” Magnus said. “And the bomber didn’t get the message in time.” His attention snapped back to Mariah. “You showed up out of nowhere in a dress everyone remembers and a name no one can verify. How convenient.”
Heat flared in Mariah’s cheeks—anger, not shame. “Try ‘unfortunate,’ if you’re reaching for adjectives. And ‘boring’ if you want my name. I gave the name Mary at the Alabaster because it makes men underestimate me.”
Magnus took a step, shoulders bunching like he wanted a fight. Leif didn’t move, but the room felt the significance of his decision, the next ten seconds bending to his will like metal under heat. Power gathered dark and quiet, as unmistakable as thunder rolling close.
“Careful,” Leif said softly. “You’re looking in the wrong direction.”
Alaric lifted two fingers, a subtle stay.
“Let’s work the facts. The blast was keyed to the meeting, not to your location in the foyer.
That points to schedule intel, not proximity tracking.
The payload was modest—enough to cripple and cause panic, not enough to take the building.
Whoever placed it wanted survivors who’d talk.
” He glanced at Mariah. “And witnesses who could be framed.”
Magnus snorted. “You’re defending her?”
“I’m weighing,” Alaric said. “There’s a difference.
” He turned to Leif. “Security roster shows three substitutions in the last twenty-four hours. Two sick calls, one ‘family emergency.’ We’re verifying.
Also, the florist added extra arrangements to the conference table after inspection, a detail that hadn’t been cleared through the usual channels. ”
Leif’s hand landed on the back of the sofa, fingers biting the leather. “So we start with the roster and the florist.”
“And the guest list,” Magnus said. “The ones who left early. The ones who arrived late. The ones who changed their plus-one at the door.” He lifted his chin toward Mariah. “Like her.”
“She was with me,” Leif said. Simple. Absolute. “Track something else.”
The words landed inside Mariah like a brand gone hot, claimed and defended.
Dangerous. “I walked into your world for personal reasons, not because I was paid to light it on fire,” she said, keeping her tone flat.
“And I bled in your hallway. You can still see it on the marble if you need a keepsake.”
A knock sounded and one of Leif’s men stepped in, carrying a garment bag and a small tote.
“From her place,” he said, eyes respectfully averted.
Leif nodded. Mariah reached for the bag by reflex and then paused when the man added, “Door was locked. No sign of entry.” A breath she hadn’t noticed holding eased out. The man withdrew.
Alaric’s attention tracked the exchange. “We’ll pull the tower pings for the Alabaster and adjacent blocks,” he went on. “Cross-reference devices that went dark during the loop. People turn off their phones when they’re doing something they shouldn’t.”
“Do it,” Leif said. “And lean on the club manager. He knows more than he’s said.”
“He’ll talk,” Alaric answered mildly, which meant he’d already started making him.
Magnus folded his arms. “If she’s a leak, keeping her here is a mistake.”
Leif shifted, a fraction. The room changed temperature. “She’s not leaving.” The words weren’t loud. They didn’t need to be. “Until we know who did this, she stays with me.” He let the implication sit. Not protection alone. Not logistics. Choice.
“Not a hostage,” Mariah said quietly, because the distinction mattered. “A decision.”
Leif’s gaze cut to her, heat and something darker moving there. “Exactly.”
Magnus’s mouth twisted. “And when the rumor mill gets a whiff that the Boss kept his latest iteration of trouble under his roof the night the alliance nearly went up in smoke?”
Leif’s answer was all ice. “Then they’ll know I’m not rattled. And that I finish what touches me.”
Silence stretched, edged with the faint grit of traffic far below.
The skyline glittered like shards of glass.
Mariah’s palm heated—an answering pulse where the Brand lived.
She slid her hand into her pocket to hide the telltale glow, but Magnus’s eyes flicked there, quick as a hawk.
For a beat, his gaze sharpened, and she wondered what he saw—instinct, suspicion, or a truth he wasn’t ready to name?
Leif prowled a step, restless energy caged in muscle and will. “Work every angle. I want a name before midnight.”
Magnus lifted his chin. “And if the name is standing in this room?”
Leif’s smile was spare and lethal. “Then I’ll handle it.”
For a long second no one breathed. Then Magnus looked away first, the concession small but real. “Fine. I’ll start with the service corridor and the fire door.” He jabbed a finger at Mariah on his way past. “Stay where I can find you.”
“Try your eyes,” she said, sugar over steel.
He huffed something not quite a laugh and stalked out.
Alaric lingered. He studied Mariah like a puzzle, not a target, then tipped his head. “If someone wanted you dead, they miscalculated. If someone wanted you blamed, they overcalculated.”
“Or they wanted both,” she said. “Dead is clean. Blame is leverage. Having both options is control.”
His eyes warmed a degree. “You think like us.”
“I think like someone who’s had to survive being around you.” It came out before she could sand the edge off it. She didn’t take it back.
Alaric accepted the hit with a faint nod. “I’ll send updates. Lock your doors.” He looked to Leif. “Call if she sneezes.”
“She won’t,” Leif said, not looking away from her.
Alaric’s mouth curved. “Don’t turn that into a rule.” He left them to the quiet, the door clicking shut behind him.
The apartment went still again. The hush pressed in, broken only by the distant hum of the city beyond the glass.
Leif turned to her, eyes dark, voice final. “You’re staying here. until we find who tried to kill us.” He let the pause stretch, heavy with meaning. “But we both know that’s not the only reason.”
Mariah’s breath caught. The Brand pulsed in her palm, a perfect mirror of his. Her body still ached from the orgasm he’d torn from her, from the way he’d marked her, claimed her. She should’ve said no. She should’ve fought.
Instead, she whispered the truth she’d been running from since the moment she met him.
“I’m more afraid of not wanting to leave.”