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“How does he make his money?” I turn to find Leonid’s concentrated gaze and fuck me, I’m caught again.
Caught fidgeting, unable to control my nerves.
Caught staring, unable to look away.
Caught blushing because, dammit, I’ve never gone this long without sex, and my body turns into an inferno every time he stares at me with that dark, predatory intensity.
With his thumbs hooked in his front pockets, he casually leans against the doorjamb, looking for all the world like he belongs at the helm of a Viking ship. It’s not just the twisty knots and braids in his hair. It’s the warrior build, the plethora of scars, the piercing glare, and the aggressive bearing, even when he’s at ease.
“When Denver’s parents died,” he says, “they left him an obscene amount of money. He invested some of it in his inventions, sold the designs, and quadrupled his net worth.”
“Inventions? Like the hydroelectric generator that powers this place?”
“Yes, and other engineering marvels. I don’t know the extent of what he’s created. I just know he’s loaded.”
Monty is loaded, too. It was a turn-off when I met him. I thought he was like every other rich guy—a giant, shallow douche—who bought his way through life. I got over that bias, obviously. Or maybe Monty just fucked all logic and reason out of me. Fucked me so hard I moved to the private island and married the multi-billionaire.
Not that any of that matters now.
Makes me wonder, though. What will happen to Denver’s money when he dies? It’ll probably go to his sons, but who would manage that? Who would even know that arrangements need to be made?
When Denver dies, his sons won’t last long if they can’t fly that plane.
They know that. I saw the worry on Leonid’s face tonight when Denver flew away.
Lost in that thought, I rummage through the closet, bathroom, nightstands, and dresser, removing drawers and digging for false panels. No artwork hangs on the walls. Nothing hides behind the cabinets, mirrors, and drapes. My search is so anti-climatic I feel like screaming.
“Don’t look so disappointed.” With the lazy gait of a lion, Leonid crosses the room and lowers into the chair by the fireplace. “You found human bones today. Hard to top that.”
His casual indifference about my discovery slides a chill down my back.
If only he regarded me with the same indifference. I can’t concentrate with his unwavering gaze tracking my every move, blatantly exploring my body, and setting me on fire.
Ignore him. Focus on returning to your husband.
I need to ask him about the bones, but I already know he’s going to shut me down again.
Or maybe he won’t. Things have changed, haven’t they? He’s watching me snoop through Denver’s shit and hasn’t threatened to kill me once since Denver left.
He threatened to fuck me, though. Against the wall in the basement, he made it very clear what he wanted.
He also said he wouldn’t force me.
I want to believe him, but we have a long way to go in the trust department.
Shifting my attention to Denver’s bed, I tackle it next. The bedding comes off, followed by the mattress. With the frame bare, I investigate every corner and seam.
“Nothing.” I drag a finger along the wooden base. “Not even dust. What kind of freak doesn’t have dust under his bed?”
“The kind who has skeletons in his backyard.”
“Is that a joke? We’re joking about this?”
“Too soon?”
“Yes, Leo. Considering I don’t know who died, how they died, or if my bones will end up there next.”
“Say it again.”
“Which part?”
“My name.” His voice scratches, husky and dark.
Damn, he’s trouble. So much scary, sexy trouble. Terrible for my health.
“I’m not doing this with you.” I swallow.
“You will.”
So confident. So goddamn intense. He makes me a nervous wreck.
Inching away, I start to reassemble the bed. The king-size mattress tests my strength as I shove and heave it into position.
“Spaghetti arms,” he says against my neck, and the weight disappears from my hands.
He finishes the task, making it look easy with arms three times the size of mine.
We make the bed together, putting everything back the way Denver left it. All the while, our eyes remained locked, communicating without words, expressing our wants.
I want to be heard, and he wants…
Sex.
I can play dumb and pretend I don’t see the desire smoldering in the bonfire of his gaze, but there’s no hiding from him.
He steps closer, his intention blazing hotter. Standing inches apart, I feel his heat, his body like a furnace, crackling and humming against mine.
No part of him touches me. That’s deliberate, I think. A wicked tactic meant to lure me closer.
I fight it, holding deathly still as my skin tingles and sizzles, hyperaware of every almost-brush of contact between us.
“You can’t deny your attraction to me.” He stares down at me with hooded eyes, one gold, one blue, both heart-stopping.
