12. Delilah
DELILAH
I stay out until nearly midnight on my first full day living with Kane.
Not that I need to. The temporary kitchen closed at eight and Priya sent me home hours ago. But I walk instead of calling Stepan, taking the long route through Riverside Park with Josef trailing twenty feet behind like a particularly well-armed shadow.
Because I told Kane I still want him.
Brilliant move, Delilah. Really keeping that professional distance.
By the time I let myself into the house, my feet hurt and my brain is no closer to figuring out what the hell I'm doing. The front hall is dark except for a single lamp. I kick off my shoes and head toward the stairs.
Light spills from under the dining room door.
I should go upstairs. Straight to my suite on the third floor, lock the door, and pretend I can't hear him moving around two floors below.
Instead, I push the door open.
Kane sits alone at the head of the table, halfway through what looks like takeout from the Italian place on Amsterdam. He's in a t-shirt and jeans, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, and there's a glass of red wine at his elbow.
He glances up when I enter but doesn't seem surprised.
"You're back."
"Observant." I lean against the doorframe. "You always eat this late?"
"When I'm working."
"Looks lonely."
His mouth twitches. "It is."
I don't know why that admission moves me. Maybe because I remember eating takeout with him last night and how easy it felt. How normal.
How dangerous.
"You have an entire household at your command," I say. "But nobody willing to share your dinner?"
"I preferred last night's company."
The words stab me between the ribs. I should leave. Should turn around and climb those stairs and put three floors and a locked door between us.
I pull out the chair next to him and sit.
Kane sets down his fork, watching me.
"What?" I reach over and steal a piece of chicken parm from his plate. "You just said you preferred my company."
"I did."
"So now you have it." I take a bite. It's still warm and tastes like garlic and cheese and every carb I've been too busy to eat today. "You're welcome."
He doesn't move. Just watches me with that unreadable face that used to make me nervous and now makes me want to poke him until he reacts.
I steal another piece.
"Help yourself," he says dryly.
"Thanks, I will." I drag his wine glass closer and take a sip. "This is good. What is it?"
"Barolo. Nineteen ninety-eight."
"Is that expensive?"
"Very."
"Tastes like wine to me." I take another sip just to watch his jaw tighten. "So what were you working on that required sad solo dining?"
"Vetrov's corporate structure. Trying to map the shell companies."
"Find anything interesting?"
"Twelve LLCs that all trace back to the same registered agent. Which means he's probably using one law firm to set up the whole network."
I steal his fork and help myself to pasta. "That's good though, right? Means you can prove it's coordinated fraud."
"If we can get the records. Most of it's attorney-client privileged. Niko's working on it."
I twirl the fork in the linguine, watching him. He's staring at my mouth.
"You gonna let me steal your entire dinner or are you going to stop me?"
"Haven't decided yet."
"What's the holdup?"
His eyes meet mine. "Watching you is better than eating."
The air shifts. Gets thicker.
I set down the fork. "Kane."
"You said you still wanted me." His voice is low and controlled, but I can hear the strain underneath. "Was that true or were you just trying to torture me?"
"Both."
"Lilah."
"What? I'm being honest." I lean back in my chair, putting distance between us even though every part of me wants to close it. "I want you. I also know I shouldn't. So I'm keeping my distance until I figure out which impulse wins."
"And in the meantime, you're going to sit next to me and steal my food and drink my wine like we're playing house?"
"We are playing house. That was the agreement. I live here, we work together, we take down Vetrov." I pick up the wine glass again. "You didn't say I couldn't eat dinner with you."
"No," he agrees. "I didn't."
He's closer now. I didn't see him move but suddenly there's less space between us and I can smell his cologne mixed with soap and a scent that's just him.
"You're doing it again," I say.
"What?"
"That thing where you get in my space and make it hard to think."
"You started it."
"I stole some chicken. That's not the same as—" I gesture vaguely at the six inches between us. "This."
"Want me to move?"
"Yes."
"Liar."
He's not wrong. But I'm not about to admit it.
"I missed this," he says.
My heart does something complicated. "Missed what?"
"You. Needling me. Stealing my food. Making me want to throw everything I said about professional distance out the window."
I swallow hard. "Kane."
"You asked what I missed." He shifts even closer.
"I missed the way you used to walk into a room and immediately make it yours.
I missed watching you eat my food and tell me the wine I spent two hundred dollars on tastes like wine.
I missed arguing with you just because I love the way your eyes light up when you're pissed at me. "
Oh.
"I missed touching you," he continues, voice dropping lower. "And tasting you. And making you laugh right before I made you come. I missed the way you said my name when you were close. I missed every single thing about you, Lilah. Every goddamn day."
I can't breathe.
His hand moves toward mine on the table, fingers almost touching.
"Is that enough?" he asks. "Or do you want me to keep going?"
I should pull away. Should remember that wanting someone doesn't mean you can trust them. That the man sitting next to me is the same man who lied to me for months and used my building as collateral in a game I didn't know I was playing.
But his fingers brush mine and suddenly I'm back at his desk in March, sitting across from him after he gave me the release documents. Before I told him to leave. Before I knew how much it would hurt to want someone I couldn't forgive.
I pull my hand back.
"Did you ever laugh with me while planning to take the bakery?"
The question punches the breath out of me. I watch his expression shift, watch him realize where I'm going with this.
"Yes," he says finally.
At least he's honest.
"How?" My voice comes out sharper than I meant. "How did you sit across from me and make me feel like I mattered while knowing you were going to take the one thing I built without you?"
"Because you did matter." He doesn't look away. "The bakery was the plan. You were the person I fell for despite the plan. Those things existed at the same time, Lilah. I'm not going to lie and say they didn't."
"That doesn't make it better."
"I know."
"You hurt me."
"I know that too."
I stand up, pushing my chair back. "I can't do this."
"Lilah—"
"I want you. I want to forgive you. I want to believe that what you feel for me is enough to make up for what you did.
" I'm halfway to the door before I turn back.
"But I can't reconcile the man I want with the man who would use me like that.
So until I figure out how to do that, I need you to stop looking at me like I'm something you lost. Because I'm not lost, Kane.
I'm right here. I'm just not yours anymore. "
I don't wait for him to respond.
Upstairs in my suite, I lock the door and lean against it, listening.
Part of me wants to hear his footsteps on the stairs. Wants him to follow me up here and push past every boundary I just set until I stop thinking and just feel.
Part of me knows I'd let him.
The other part knows I shouldn't.
I stay there for fifteen minutes, ear pressed to the door like a crazy person, listening for a sound that never comes.
Finally, I push away and get ready for bed.
My phone vibrates as I'm brushing my teeth.
KANE: You're not lost. But you were mine. And I'm not giving up on getting you back.
I shut off the phone without replying.
Because he's right.
I was his.
And I hate that part of me still wants to be.