Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
Sophie
A sharp knock echoes through my apartment door, making my heart jolt.
No one knocks on my door. Not like that.
I walk to the door and peer through the peephole. Even though the angle distorts everything into a fish-eye blur, there’s no mistaking Caleb’s presence.
What does he want?
But there’s no doubt he knows I’m in here.
With a deep sigh, I twist the deadbolt and pull the door open.
He fills the frame with his broader, sharper presence in a way that steals the breath from my lungs.
Lucian isn’t with him.
The realization shocks me, and unease makes my skin prickle.
He sweeps his gaze over me slowly, appreciatively, darker eyes tracing the curve of my hips in the simple black dress.
Where Lucian’s looks always carry that polished, predatory assessment, Caleb’s feel rawer, warmer, like a man who has spent years wanting and is finally letting some of that hunger show. The corner of his mouth lifts, not quite a smile but close enough to send heat blooming low in my belly.
“He was right to want you and insist that we do everything possible to make you ours.”
Part of me wants to reject his possession, but another part—a more treacherous one—flushes with reluctant pleasure.
“You really are perfect for us.”
His shoulders strain the fine fabric of his shirt, and his jaw is shadowed with the faintest stubble. He looks less untouchable and more dangerously human.
“I love a woman in high heels,” he says, voice low, carrying that roughness that always seems to vibrate straight through me.
Appreciation darkens his eyes further, and for the first time, I feel seen by him separately, not just as the woman Lucian claimed first.
I am suddenly, stupidly glad I decided to dress to please them after all. “I thought Derek was picking me up.”
Without waiting for an invitation, Caleb closes the door behind him with a quiet click.
His presence instantly fills my modest living room, making it seem even smaller.
“I was occupied when you visited the office this afternoon…” He takes a step toward me.
Even though I know what’s coming, I don’t step back.
Caleb’s mouth claims mine, deeply, kissing me like a man who has waited in the shadows and is done holding back.
His tongue enters my mouth with rough possession that weakens my knees. And he cups one of my breasts, plumping the soft weight as he squeezes with perfect, deliberate pressure.
His other hand fists gently but possessively in my hair, and he tilts my head back to grant himself deeper access.
Helplessly I moan into his mouth as my body arches into him despite every rational thought screaming that this is too fast, too much, too everything.
How can I be this way with them?
And how can they be okay with sharing me?
The questions spin through the dizzy haze, and he deepens the kiss, stealing my breath until I desperately clutch at his shoulders for balance.
When he finally pulls back, I am shaking and my lips tingle.
He strokes my lower lip with his thumb, the pad slightly rough, eyes dark with intent. “One day soon, I promise I won’t stop there.”
Scaring the hell out of me, I’m afraid I won’t want to stop him.
Looking away, I begin to straighten my dress with trembling fingers.
But he sweeps them aside, smoothing the fabric over my hips where heat from his hand still lingers.
His touch is careful, almost tender, as he adjusts the neckline and brushes a stray lock of hair behind my ear. “Shall we?”
Without waiting for my response, he grabs my clutch from the side table and opens the door.
In the back of the SUV, it is just the two of us, the city lights sliding across his face in streaks of gold and shadow. “Are you going to tell me where we’re going? Or keep me guessing?”
Caleb settles a hand on my knee. With his thumb, he traces a slow circle that sends sparks racing up my leg. “We’re dining in tonight.”
“Dining in?” I frown. “At your place?”
It occurs to me then that I know almost nothing about the way they really live.
I’ve spent so much time reeling from how they turned my life upside down that I haven’t considered how much theirs has changed too.
Minutes later, we’re parked in front of a private elevator that whisks us to a penthouse.
Lucian is waiting in the foyer, devastating in a charcoal shirt open at the throat, midnight-blue eyes lighting with approval as they sweep over me.
Their space is uninviting, decorated in sleek, masculine luxury. Leather sofas are arranged in precise angles, while floor-to-ceiling glass seems to frame the glittering Houston skyline like living art.
Everything feels controlled. Like them.
“Welcome home,”
I shake my head. There’s no way I can imagine ever calling this cold place home, even though something smells amazing.
Lucian comes in closer to press a kiss against my temple, and I pull back.
Annoyance flashes through his eyes, but he quickly forces it away.
I place my purse on a table near the door so it’s ready when I can make my escape. Then I follow him into the living room while Caleb secures the entry behind us.
A woman in a crisp chef’s jacket appears from the kitchen, smiling professionally.
They have a private chef? Why shouldn’t that surprise me?
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, ma’am.” Her white jacket reads Chef Amélie. “Dinner will be ready shortly—seared duck with cherry reduction, if that suits.”
“Sounds amazing. Thank you.”
“Let us show you around.”
The office comes first, and it’s a full-on command center of technology and more dark wood. A bank of monitors lines one wall—live feeds of my own office, their offices, the parking garage downstairs, even discreet angles inside this residence.
Lucian stands close behind me again, and the memory of his touch in his offices makes my breath catch.
Next is what he describes as the primary bedroom.
A massive bed is dressed in crisp white linens and deep charcoal accents.
I turn toward him. “This is yours, right?”
He shakes his head. “It’s ours. Yours, mine”—he gestures to Caleb, who’s watching from the doorway—“ours.”
My knees turn wobbly. He can’t be serious.
Lucian reaches to steady me, and Caleb moves in closer, his broader frame bracketing me from the other side.
More and more, the fragile threads of my old life stretch thin.
There’s no way I can do this.
I can’t.