15. Kane
KANE
I make it home before doing something stupid like chase her back inside.
Anton takes one look at my face when I walk in and disappears into the kitchen without a word. Smart man.
Upstairs, I strip off my coat and sweater, then stand in the middle of my bedroom trying to decide what the hell to do with the anger and frustration coiling in my chest.
She invited me to see her future bedroom.
Showed me where her bed would go.
Asked what I'd do if she said yes to me coming back once she had furniture.
Then accused me of trying to buy my way into her life the second I offered to help with construction costs.
I can't win. Every move I make gets twisted into evidence I'm manipulating her, and I don't know how to prove otherwise without sounding like I'm making excuses.
The rational part of my brain knows she's right to be cautious. I earned her suspicion by spending months lying about the corridor while planning to take her building.
The rest of me just wants her to stop punishing me for it.
I head into the bathroom and turn the shower as hot as it'll go, then step under the spray.
My hand moves to my cock without conscious thought.
Fuck it.
If I can't have her, maybe I can at least get her out of my system for a night.
It doesn't take long for my cock to go from half-hard to fully erect.
The water slams against my skin, steam rising.
I close my eyes and see her new apartment, the bare walls of it.
I step forward in my mind, grip her hips, press her against the wall the headboard will rest against.
In my mind, Lilah gasps.
Her breath hitches as I rub my cock between her cheeks.
"Please, Kane."
I thrust forward. Her pussy clamps around me, hot and wet.
She arches. Moans my name over and over, “Kane. Kane—”
I grind harder. Each slap of my balls against her ass echoes.
Her nails dig into my shoulders, and she grinds back, urging me deeper. Wanting me, for once, instead of pushing me the fuck away.
I give her what she's asking for.
Her whines turn into loud, desperate cries.
The fantasy tightens. The pressure builds.
I feel the heat coil, the need to explode.
"Tell me what you want." I fuck her harder, faster, deeper. "Tell me, Lilah."
"You," she gasps, so close I can taste it. "I want you."
That's all it takes.
I come with her name caught in my throat and immediately feel like an idiot.
Because this didn't fucking help.
If anything, it made it all worse.
I'm still thinking about her. But now I'm thinking specifically about fucking her in her new living space, and I just know I'm going to get a raging hard-on the second she invites me back there.
If she invites me back.
The shower water washes me clean. I stand there for a minute, panting, my cock softening.
Then I open my eyes and let the reality settle back in.
I finish my shower and get dressed, then spend half an hour staring at my phone and resisting the urge to text her.
I head downstairs to the office and pull up the Vetrov files. At least I'll be doing something useful instead of brooding over a woman who keeps changing the rules on me.
Niko's report from this morning is waiting in my inbox. I open it and scan the summary.
Three shell companies. Two registered agents. One law firm handling the corporate filings.
All of it circumstantial unless we can prove coordination.
My phone lights up.
NIKO: You back yet?
ME: Yeah.
NIKO: How'd it go with Lilah?
ME: Don't ask.
NIKO: That bad?
ME: What did I just say about asking?
NIKO: Fine. Be that way.
NIKO: You want to come by the yard? I've got something.
I should say yes. Get out of this house and focus on work instead of sitting here listening for footsteps on the stairs.
ME: What kind of something?
NIKO: The accountant. I think I found him.
That gets my attention.
ME: How?
NIKO: Cross-referenced the payment Marat made to Boyd with the Halyard Group inquiry Lilah overheard. Same signature on both documents. Some guy named Thomas Fisk who works out of an office on Seventy-Eighth. Handles books for half of Vetrov's fronts.
I sit up straighter.
ME: How sure are you?
NIKO: Eighty percent. Enough to pull him in for a conversation.
I should call Lilah. Bring her downstairs and brief her on this before we move.
It would be a good excuse.
It would also be just that. An excuse.
Like the one she used with me today, when she called me to tour her new apartment and pretended she didn't know what she was doing.
She asked for space.
So now that's what she gets.
I open a new message.
ME: Niko found the accountant. He's pulling records now.
I hit send before I can second-guess it.
Her reply comes back two minutes later.
LILAH: That's great. Thank you for letting me know.
Polite. Professional. Absolutely fucking maddening.
I type without thinking.
ME: Seriously? The customer service tone?
ME: I preferred you when you were insulting me.
The three dots appear immediately, then disappear.
Then my phone rings.
I answer before the second ring. "Hey."
"You want me to insult you?" Delilah asks. "Because I have several available."
Despite everything, I laugh. "Go ahead."
"You're stubborn. Controlling. Completely incapable of taking no for an answer. You offer help like it's oxygen and then act surprised when people get suspicious." She pauses. "Also, you wear too much cologne."
"I don't wear cologne."
"Then it's just your smell and that's worse."
"How is it worse?"
"It's distracting."
"That's not an insult."
"It is when I'm trying to stay mad at you."
"Are you? Staying mad?"
"I'm trying." She sounds tired. "But then you text me like a good boundary-respecting roommate, and I can't figure out what that means."
"It means I'm no longer giving you an excuse to reject me."
"Kane—"
"What do you want from me, Lilah? Because I'm trying to figure out the rules and they keep changing."
"I don't know what I want." Her voice is small. "I just know I wanted you there with me this afternoon."
"To get my opinion on the building?"
"No," she admits. "No offense. I'm sure your architectural prowess is nothing to scoff at."
"Architectural prowess."
"It's probably a thing in some manosphere podcast."
I lean back in my chair, closing my eyes. "So why did you lie to me? If you just wanted to spend time with me, you could have said so."
"Because admitting I wanted you there felt like admitting I was ready to forgive you.
And I'm not. I'm still angry and hurt and I don't trust myself around you.
" She hesitates after that. "But I also don't want to keep pretending I don't miss you.
So I thought we'd hang out a bit. See what the vibes were like. "
"Then I fucked it up by offering money."
"You didn't fuck it up." She lets out a deep sigh. "I did. By making it mean something it didn't."
I want to be upstairs with her right now. To see her face instead of just hearing her voice.
"You still angry?" I ask.
"A little."
"Good. Be angry. Just don't stop talking to me."
She falls quiet, as if processing everything. "Niko really found the accountant?"
"Yeah. His name is Thomas Fisk. Same signature on the Boyd payment and the Halyard documents. Skye can probably get a subpoena if we give her enough to work with."
"That's good. You want to brief me on it?"
"Thought you needed to focus on work."
"I do. This is work."
She's right. But I can hear the edge in her voice that says what she's really asking.
Do you want me to come downstairs?
I do. Badly.
But it would be one more boundary broken, and that's not what our relationship needs right now.
"Nah. You're good. All briefed up." I close my eyes and force myself to stand my ground. But fuck, it's hard. "Tell me about the bakery."
"Okay." She sounds a little disappointed, but also a little surprised in a good way. "I found these really cute tiles for the kitchen. Hold on, I'll text you the picture, just let me find—"
I let her talk about tiles. About shades of paint, lilac and mauve and lavender, and how they all look the same even though they're labeled differently. Anything, really. Just as long as she keeps talking.
All throughout, I sit there holding my phone. Listening. Wanting more than her voice.
Dreading the moment she says goodnight.