Chapter 1
one
. . .
Thisbe
I smell Armin before I see him. That crisp sandalwood and vetiver scent takes hold of my mind, and I’m back at the cabin in East Greenwich, up on West Mountain, my hands on his chest, straddling him in front of the fireplace, his mouth on mine.
A shiver pulses through me. I try like hell to ignore it.
I stir my martini and sneak a covert glance at him in the mirror behind the bar.
Fancy suit, and he’s grown back his mustache.
Not a handlebar like the first time we met, back when he was a sheriff.
Keeps a tidy beard now, too. Very modern.
He doesn’t look out of place up here at the rooftop bar, the walls overblown with glass and mirrors, columns and orchids, so the clientele can hide and spy and gawk at themselves and each other.
Here he is. My mountain man, my accidental billionaire. He’s changed since our time at the cabin.
Makes sense that he would.
He promised me everything. I bolted the very next day. In the new SUV he’d bought me.
My breath catches in my throat at the memory. I gulp at my drink, wanting more than anything to run from the man who’s been hired to protect me.
“Is this seat taken?” He leans on the bar. Doesn’t look directly at me.
“Who’s asking?” Damn, it’s good to see him. My lips turn up at the corners. I can’t stop myself from smiling. I drag an olive off the cocktail skewer with my teeth.
“Pyramus. And you are…?” He keeps his eyes on the mirror behind the bar. As do I.
“Thisbe.” I let the silence lay for a long moment. I’m not prepared to see him again, not now, not here in Halo City. And I have no idea how he feels about seeing me. But I can guess, after the way I’d left him. “Who came up with these absurd code names?”
“Vance.” He plunks down heavily on the bar stool and props up both elbows on the bar. There’s my mountain man. I can see him now, the old him, despite the suit and the over-manscaped facial hair. He shrugs. “Rules are rules.”
“Welcome to Halo City.” I imagine the scruff of his beard between my thighs again.
Feels like a lifetime ago, but couldn’t be more than a month.
Two months? I’ve run from Armin twice now, and I’ll do it again, and yet, it sure is good to have him sitting here at the Aerie next to me.
His eyes are red-rimmed, the creases in his brow more pronounced, and if I didn’t know him I’d guess that he hasn’t gotten a good night’s sleep in weeks.
But I do know him, and I know that my newly enlisted bodyguard never sleeps much. Or at least, not around me, he doesn’t.
He signals to the bartender, who scurries over to us with a glass of water as if the bar’s caught on fire, and he sets the offering down in front of my protector.
“I’ll have what she’s having.”
“Dirty martini.” I hold up the glass. “Extra vodka, extra olives.” I finish mine off in one long gulp. “Extra dirty. I’ll have another.”
Armin pulls out his wallet and lays down a few bills behind the bar to cover our drinks. He can afford it, I remind myself. And then he could buy the bar and this whole city block besides. Which always makes me wonder why he’s spending his time tailing me.
“Let’s get a table.” He skulks off before I can answer.
I follow his broad shoulders, breezy in my movements though I’m struck with a nervousness about everything he’ll say to me at that table.
And a few things he won’t.