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“How much money?”
“Almost three million U.S. dollars.” I held my breath and waited for his verdict.
“Thank you for telling me,” he murmured, stroking my hair back.
“That’s all you have to say? After everything I just told you.”
“I knew already. But I wanted to hear it from you.”
I sprang up so quickly the bed bounced. “What??!”
He pulled me back down and nestled me in his arms. “You’ll wake the house.”
“What…I…how long have you known??” I asked in fits and starts.
“It took a while to get all the details…about three days after I found you crawling around my floor.”
“Three days?” I was repeating everything like an idiot again. If I could have melted into a puddle of humiliation, shock, and relief, I would have. Apparently I had grossly overestimated my ability to keep a secret. First, Mrs. Arnaud. Now this. Clearly, I wasn’t cut out for a life of crime. “You’ve known all this time?”
“Yes. I run a full background check on anyone I’m involved with. I have to––I have to protect the bank.”
Involved with? Three days after meeting me?
“Aren’t you going to ask me if I know where the money is? If I was involved?”
“I don’t have to. I know you didn’t have anything to do with it.”
“Why are you so certain?”
“Because I know you.”
“I didn’t. Thank you for that.” I took a deep breath and something warm and peaceful spread through me. “I feel better now that I’ve told you. However it doesn’t change the fact that we can’t be seen in public. It won’t be responsible for hurting a hair on your head,” I said, yawning. “So tired…” My eyes drifted closed. I felt the brush of his fingers on my cheek.
“Sleep, baby. We’ll figure it out together,” I heard him murmur, before I slipped into a dreamless void.
Chapter Thirty-Two
The next day, I floated around like the weight of the world had been lifted from my shoulders. I hadn’t even noticed how much anxiety I was carrying around until it was gone. I slept like the dead, didn’t even stir when he left to return to his bedroom.
It was my day off and I had to be in Geneva for my doctor’s appointment by noon. It was unusually humid for July. I dressed in a simple white silk shell, a navy linen pencil skirt, and a great pair of silver thong sandals I had found on sale in Italy. Sebastian insisted that Bear drive us in. He would get dropped off at the office and I would go on to my appointment. I didn’t have the energy to argue. I didn’t have much energy, period. It felt like I was coming down with something. It was a good time for a doctor’s visit.
There was an awkward moment when François pulled the Mercedes GL out front. He held the car door open as I stepped inside and sat beside Sebastian. I blushed, of course. Sebastian slipped his hand between my clenched knees, inside my thigh, and left it there. Then he leaned closer and placed a kiss on my neck, marking his territory like a junkyard dog. He was gloating a little too much if you asked me, but I wasn’t going to be a shrew about it.
Isabelle came running out to tell him that his mother had been trying to get a hold of him––he hadn’t been returning her calls it seems––and witnessed the scene. She glared at me, wearing an expression that could only be described as a cross between Elmer Fudd and the Tasmanian devil. When I tried to put a respectable distance between us, Sebastian only pulled me closer. A shade of smugness remained on his features, even after I raised an eyebrow at him. That aura of invincibility had increased tenfold lately. Like neglected, tarnished silver, all he needed was some tender, loving care to bring back the sparkle.
My gaze swung out the window, the landscape passing before my eyes as random streaks of color. As much as I wanted to marinate in the groovy feelings that had developed between us overnight, the pragmatist in me still clung to doubt and concern. My past, his past, our present, our future––it was still all so unsettled. I did my best not to overanalyze it into ashes. Who knew what the future held…but what I did know was that I wasn’t going to let it keep me from enjoying the present.
His phone rang. Scowling at the screen, he answered and jumped right into rapid-fire trade talk. “Hi…how big a position do we have? The exact figure…and he wants how much more? …That would push us over a billion––remind him his last name isn’t fucking Soros. Yeah, in exactly those words…”
I loved watching him when he spoke of margin calls, futures, QE’s, what the Fed was doing. He was lit from within, a predatory glint sparking in his intelligent eyes. It was an incredibly sexy contrast; his voice full of authority and power while his splayed fingers gripped my thigh and his thumb idly stroked my knee with tenderness.
