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“How can I thank you? I mean it.”
I huff out a laugh.
“He’s my best friend, Gloria. You don’t owe me any thanks. I’d lay down my life for him.”
“Fine, then, give me a job. You know me, Sergio. You know I don't like just sitting around. I want to stay busy. What can I do. Put me to work."
Gloria is the most talented fucking detective we have. She’s dynamite.
“Actually… I do have a job for you. Or a continuation of one. I want you to find out everything you can about the fellowship cult in North Carolina. Everything. I want to know who they are, what they stand for.” I stare out the window at the crowd below, not really seeing them. “And find out the name of the man Eden’s married to.”
* * *
CHAPTERFOURTEEN
Eden
I wakethe next morning as if from a dream.
What happened? Where am I?
It takes me a minute, then everything comes back to me in a rush.
Sergio. The club. We aren’t… pretending anymore.
Relief.
I thought that I would have a hard time falling asleep, but I didn't. If I'm honest, I probably slept better than I have in years. I regard myself in the mirror, as if expecting I would somehow look different, because I definitely feel different. I'm just the same old me, though. A little boring if you ask me. Smaller than the other women, plainer… Yesterday, when I saw those women in the club, I felt out of place. I wanted to look glamorous, and beautiful, and brilliant like they did.
Quinn! I need to talk to Quinn.
Sergio said that he would put her in touch with me and I need to know… lots of things. What brought her here. What she likes about this place. What she knows about Sergio…
I look at the clock. 6 a.m. It's a little later than I usually get up because I like to get an early start to the day, and I have prep to do in the kitchen for tonight. I guess I needed the rest. I’m throwing back the covers when there's a knock at my door.
My heart thumps. I swallow. Could it be that the only person in the entire world I actually hope to see is knocking on my door right now?
I open the door.
Sergio stands in front of me, dressed in gray sweatpants and a white T-shirt. There’s something about him dressed in casual clothes, clearly after spending the night here, that makes my heart do a strange little jumping thing in my chest. Sergio is anythingbutcasual. It makes me want to reach out and stroke him. Touch him. The way those clothes fit him makes me feel like he’s made of nothing but muscles, and sinew, andstrength.
He looks almost bashful when he runs his fingers through his hair. "You're up. I'm just checking on you." He catches me staring at his thumb stroking his stubble. I lick my lips and swallow.
And then he's in my room, and I'm in his arms, and everything else around us disappears.
I'm only aware of the way it feels being held by him. How safe I feel when his strong arms come around me. The way he smells like masculinity personified, how I feel small and delicate in his arms. He lifts me up, his hands under my butt, my legs wrapped around him. My heart soars.
His fingers in my hair, he holds the back of my head and brings his mouth to mine. He gives me a kiss, and then pulls back, searching my eyes.
I guess I'm not the only one that missed somebody.
"So, yeah, I'm good."
When his large, rough hand squeezes my butt, I squirm because it sends all sorts of frissons of awareness and nerves to every part of my body.
It's so wrong to allow a man I'm not married to to touch me that I don't even know how to unpack this or justify it.
But I let the man I am married to touch me, and he made me feel worthless. Objectified. Less than.
