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‘You know I’m going to come after you, Eleanor,’ he calls, his feet kicking in as soon as the last word leaves his lips. I speed up. Yes, I know that. I also expect he’ll be brushing past me any second and blocking my way. Then we’ll do our usual silly dance, me stepping one way, Becker following suit. And then he’ll touch me. The thought quickens my heartbeat as well as my feet. ‘Life’s too short, princess.’ He’s close, and my determined march turns into a steady jog. ‘And you’re too—’
‘No!’ I flip out, skidding to a stop and swinging around to confront him, but Becker doesn’t anticipate my move and fails to stop in time. He crashes into me, our chests slamming together, his arms locking around me to steady me. An electric current sails through me, sizzling and robbing me of breath. How? How, after everything that’s happened, do I react like this?
Our hearts are pounding into each other. The front of our thighs are pressed together. His groin is pushed into my lower tummy. We’re welded together. Everywhere. Stuck. Negative on positive. My heated breaths are ricocheting off his suit jacket, my eyes fixed on his stubbled throat, watching him swallow repeatedly as he holds me. It’s not Becker’s firm grip keeping us locked together. It’s something else, something powerful and unrelenting.
Something I positively hate. Because it feels like it is out of my control.
‘Curious not to,’ he finishes on a shallow breath of air, his hand sliding onto the back of my head and fisting my hair. He pulls me out of his chest and gazes down at me, face straight. His hazel eyes flit over every piece of my face, a slight frown on his lovely brow. ‘I was meant to find you, Eleanor,’ he whispers. ‘You were supposed to find me.’ He nods mildly, like he’s instructing me to do the same.
But I don’t nod, so he goes on.
‘I know I need to prove . . .’ His words fade, and I wait pensively for him to find his tongue.
It’s a few uncomfortable seconds before I realise that he isn’t going to. ‘What?’ I push.
He looks past me to the wall, evading my eyes.
‘What?’ I repeat, standing firm. ‘Prove what?’ I have to force my breathing to become steady, have to force myself not to hold my breath. The lingering silence leaves space for my mind to warp, to think of what he might say.
‘I . . .’ His mouth opens and closes, his face twisting as the visible evidence of his internal battle holds my attention. ‘I . . .’ A long inhale of air swells his chest and puts extra pressure on mine. ‘It’s . . .’ He shakes his head in frustration, mussing his hair, closing his eyes tightly behind his glasses. ‘Damn it,’ he sighs, his refined body going slack. Everything against me softens. The muscles beneath his suit seem to lose their sharp edges, his tense arms fall limply to his side, his face drops, and his eyes take on an edge of desperation. ‘I need to prove to you that I’m not the bad guy, princess. And I’ll do anything to make you see that. Anything.’
Anything? Would he lie? I don’t know, and that’s a serious problem. Every time I thought I’d figured him out, felt a fraction closer to being safe by putting my heart in this man’s hands, he proved me wrong.
‘I should have told you about my suspicions. I should have told you I thought the break-in was connected to me. You’ll never know how much I regret that, Eleanor.’
‘Do you know who did it?’
‘No,’ he answers assertively. ‘We couldn’t find a thing – no fingerprints—’
‘We?’ I recoil, and Becker bites at his bottom lip nervously.
‘Percy,’ he murmurs, blinking and looking away. ‘Percy was there, too.’
My eyes widen. The geeky tech dude? ‘Where?’
His expression takes on an edge of shame. ‘Behind your front door. He got out undetected.’
‘But why?’
‘Because he studied forensics. If there’s anything to be found, he’ll find it.’
‘So you dragged him in on your crimes, just like you dragged me into them?’
Becker laughs, and it’s all I can do not to slap him for it. ‘I dragged Percy nowhere. He works for me. Think Q.’
For a moment, I’m completely confused, but then . . . ‘As in James Bond?’
‘Yeah, except he’s more qualified.’ He shrugs. ‘I met him at university. Been friends since, although he’s somewhat of a recluse.’
Oh my days, someone wake me up. ‘And your high-tech genius forensic expert employee friend found nothing?’ I ask, and Becker shakes his head. ‘And you expect me to believe that?’ I move back. ‘Like I believed you called the police. Like I believed your pile of horseshit about opportunist thieves?’
‘What the hell did you want me to say, Eleanor? That I was worried one of my enemies had infiltrated your home?’
