Chapter 8 #2
But I know him.
Every part of me knows him.
I turn.
Xavier Blackwell stands behind me.
For one impossible second, neither of us moves.
No screen.
No code.
No disguise.
His hair is wet from the London rain.
Black coat open over a suit.
Chest rising hard.
Almost-black eyes fixed on my face.
Not the room.
Not his men.
Me.
His gaze drops to my mouth.
I see recognition happen.
Those lips.
He knows them.
His eyes lift.
My real eyes.
Cornflower blue.
Something in his face breaks.
Not much.
Xavier Blackwell doesn't break easily.
Enough.
“Vesper.”
My throat closes.
All the years.
All the messages.
London Bridge.
The wedding.
The rose.
The Scotch.
Romeo and Juliet.
Ghost.
Standing three feet away.
Real.
I whisper the only thing that makes sense.
“Ghost.”
His eyes close for half a second.
Then he crosses the space between us.
One hand cups the back of my head.
The other wraps around my waist.
Not romantic.
Not yet.
Protective.
Fierce.
Like he's checking whether I'm solid.
Whether I'm actually here.
My face hits his chest.
His coat smells exactly the way it did at the wedding.
Cedar.
Clean wool.
Him.
A sound leaves me that I would deny under oath.
I fist both hands in his shirt.
He feels it.
His arms tighten.
“You're bleeding.”
“Little bit.”
His jaw hardens over my hair.
“Who did it?”
I almost laugh.
“That sounded very Ghost.”
“No.”
His voice drops.
“This is Xavier.”
I pull back enough to see his face.
His gaze moves over me again.
Caramel hair.
Blue eyes.
Split lip.
No wig.
No lies left to hide behind.
“You found me,” I whisper.
Something dark and furious moves through those nearly black eyes.
“No.”
His thumb brushes very carefully beneath my swollen lip.
“You finally let me.”
Behind him, men are shouting instructions. Someone is being restrained. Another security team clears the hallway.
I barely hear any of it.
Xavier looks at me like we've somehow become the only two people left in London.
Then his gaze drops to my wrists.
Blood.
His expression changes.
“Sabine.”
It's the first time he says my real name.
It feels more intimate than every filthy thing Ghost has ever typed to me.
I swallow.
“They knew.”
“Your name?”
I nod.
“My father. ARGUS. They kept asking about a second key.”
His attention sharpens instantly.
“You don't know what that is?”
“No.”
“I believe you.”
Three words.
No interrogation.
No hesitation.
Something inside me cracks.
“You shouldn't.”
“I know when you're lying.”
Despite everything, I almost smile.
“No, you don't.”
His hand slides into my hair.
Real hair.
My hair.
He studies it for a second, almost as if he's been waiting years to confirm the color.
“Caramel.”
I blink.
“What?”
“I knew it.”
“You absolutely did not.”
“The blonde was ridiculous.”
A laugh breaks out of me.
Wrong place.
Wrong time.
I don't care.
His mouth almost moves too.
Then his attention catches on my eyes again.
He stares.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Xavier.”
“Cornflower.”
My heart stops.
He touches the side of my face.
“Your eyes.”
Oh.
Suddenly I can't breathe for an entirely different reason.
His thumb moves once along my cheek.
“I spent years trying to imagine them.”
“And?”
His gaze holds mine.
“I wasn't close.”
The room seems to disappear.
He is too near.
I am too tired.
Too frightened.
Too relieved.
And this is the worst possible moment to realize Xavier Blackwell is even more dangerous in person because Ghost never had a body.
This man does.
A very large one.
One currently wrapped around me.
His eyes drop to my mouth again.
I feel it everywhere.
Then one of his men approaches.
“Mr. Blackwell, we need to move.”
Xavier doesn't look away from me.
“Car ready?”
“Yes.”
“Police?”
“Your private team has the site secured. Local authorities are being handled.”
Xavier nods.
Then he looks back at me.
“We're leaving.”
I should argue.
I don't.
That frightens me almost as much as the kidnapping.
I let Xavier put his coat around my shoulders.
Let him guide me through the hallway.
Let him keep one hand at the small of my back.
When we reach the exterior door, London rain blows cold against my face.
A black car waits.
His people surround us.
For the first time since Papa died, I am not calculating exits.
Not checking cameras.
Not wondering who is following.
I know exactly who is beside me.
Xavier opens the car door.
I stop before getting in.
He looks down.
“What?”
I look at him.
At Ghost.
At Blackwell.
At the man I've loved in pieces and hated by surname.
“My only love sprung from my only hate,” I whisper.
His expression changes.
“You meant it.”
I wish I hadn't said it.
Too late.
I look away.
“I don't know what I meant.”
His fingers close gently beneath my chin and bring my face back.
“I do.”
My chest tightens.
“This changes nothing.”
“It changes everything.”
“We're still enemies.”
“Then you're going to have to explain why you called me.”
I don't have an answer for that.
He does.
His thumb brushes my cheek once.
“When it was real, Sabine, you didn't call the police.”
My throat tightens.
“You called Ghost.”
His eyes hold mine.
“And Ghost came.”
Then Xavier Blackwell puts me into the car and climbs in beside me.
For once, I don't run.