Even as I take in this beauty, my eyes are drawn toward the companion at my side. The expression as she takes in my home and the ghosts of bruises not yet fully healed.
“How did you find this place?” Her fingers trail over a floral hand-carved into a thick, wooden banister. “It’s not like anything I’ve ever seen.”
“It belongs to a friend who used to be close with the Maxwell family.”
“Close enough to leave them their home? Must be a nice friend.”
“I know a little of the history of the home. I could share some things, if you’d like.”
Her eyes flit to mine. “Like what?”
“For one thing, this archway here separates the main house from the east addition.” Her eyes follow the point of my hand above our heads. “It was important to the architect to maintain the gothic style the original doorway had, paying homage to the past while embracing the new. This side was used as space for the Maxwell family’s guests. Its twin marks the family quarters to the west. Both were constructed in 1948.”
“Does this tour include the family quarters too?”
“You want to see the family quarters?”
“Hiding something, Charade?” Long, dark lashes ghost over the crests of her cheekbones as her gaze dips to the hand-painted vase on a shallow wooden table to our left. The corners of her pink lips rise, and that familiar spark of challenge glints in her eyes.
I move into her space and she moves with me, two magnets with perfect polarity. Something dark and ravenous starts to take control, my stance changing as I stalk toward her. Every sense hones in on her and her alone. Nothing is outside my scope of notice. Not the quickening rhythm of the rise and fall of her chest, the moment her pupils swallow the rich color of her honeyed eyes. I’m attuned to her in a way I’m sure isn’t healthy, and it’s saved my ass more than once.
“Is there something you’re trying to find?”
We’re on my terrain now. Her shoulders hit the wall, and there’s suddenly nowhere left to run. Leaning forward, I brace my weight against the wall beside her.
“You don’t scare me.”
“Is that so?” My thumb grazes the arch of her cheekbone, her lips parting in a gasp.
Soft. She’s so goddamn soft. Perfectly made to sink hard edges and teeth into.
My lips skim the warm shell of her ear. “Comfy, Checkmate?”
Her scent is all around me, rich and intoxicating in a way that overrides every rational thought in my head. Her palm rises between us to rest on my chest. “Perfectly.”
“Are you going to use your powers on me?”
She shakes her head. “I’m still too weak.”
“You have a willing source right here.”
The pads of her narrow fingers press into my shirt, and I close my eyes. Wait for the sensation of her draw.
Instead, so faint I’d never hear her if we weren’t so close, she admits, “I can’t.”
“Can’t? Or won’t?”
Her lips, so rosy and plush, are torturously close. I have no doubt they’re just as soft as the rest of her, that the heat of her passion would bear the hallmarks of her powers. I wonder if she feels it, this magnetic draw. If she drowns in it, as I do. If after all those long nights we faced each other, when her exhausted, battered body finally dropped into bed as the first light of dawn stretched in, she laid awake wondering—what if?
It would be so easy to ruin everything, but what a heavenly destruction it would be.
I push myself away, until I can no longer smell the floral notes hidden within the whorls of her spice. Kaye’s eyes slowly open, blinking against the sudden intrusion of light. The feather-light touch of her fingers over the flushed skin of her chest narrows my focus in a way I don’t like.
I knew I was attracted to Checkmate. I’ve always wanted things—and people—that I’m not supposed to have. But havingher here… It’s making me reckless. I can’t afford reckless—not if we’re going after C.
“Do you like chess?” I ask. “It would be criminal not to with a name like Checkmate.”
“Youarethe expert on criminals.”
