My eyes close at the sound of her voice. I capture her neck and pull her to me, teasing a length of brunette hair from beneath her wig. I lower my head to her shoulder and inhale.Lilacs.
London’s petite body molds seamlessly against mine, making me whole. My other half. Two puzzle pieces sliding together. A perfect fit.
I drag my palm up her thigh, memorizing the feel of her soft skin all over again. “God, you’re real.”
Her breathy whisper teases my ear. “In the flesh.”
I burned my fortress to the ground to set her free, so she’d remain innocent in the law’s eyes. The fire offered me time to escape, authorities burdened with the task of combing through the ashes as they sifted for my remains.
And for London? It put her above reproach. She’s a victim.
Only I know how truly lethal my sultry psychologist is, and feeling her now, her intoxicating scent invading my senses, I’m under her spell. She’s a seductress—seducing me from miles away, luring me here.
My thumb finds the pulse point of her neck. “You did this,” I whisper harshly to her. “You brought me here.”
Her glossy lips twist into a wicked smile. “I had to.”
My heart thunders under her palm. “This is dangerous. You’re dangerous.” I’m risking everything to be here, butexistence means nothing without her. I roam my hands up the curves of her body, feeling every delectable inch of her. “No handbag.”
She narrows her eyes. “No identification. Are you searching for a wire?”
I stop and pull her against me once more. “I would be stupid not to.”
“You’re paranoid.”
A devilish smile curls my lips. “Is that a diagnosis?”
“It’s a fucking observation,” she fires back.
“I’m on the run from the FBI,” I say, skating the pad of my finger across her bottom lip. She melts beneath my touch. “That tends to make one a little paranoid.”
“Not aboutme,” she stresses. “Don’t ever question me. I’m risking just as much as you are, Grayson.”
“Noted, doc.” Fuck, she’s fire and life. She brings color to my world. I’ve been waiting a lifetime for her without even realizing she was the missing part of me. Flesh of my flesh. “But you’re still dangerous,” I tell her.
Her silky lips find my neck. Her mouth opens to taste me, her tongue slips over my skin, and a hard shiver rocks through me. “That didn’t stop you before.” Her breathy declaration heats my blood.
I soar under her touch. “It won’t ever.”
“Grayson,” she says, her voice strained with raw emotion. “I found a way for us to be together.”
My body tenses. “It’s not time.”
The music changes beat, a provocative melody, forcing a shift in atmosphere around us. London pushes onto her toes and links her arms around my neck, whispering into my ear. “You have to trust me.” Her body sways, and I follow her lead as she guides us off the wall and into a slow dance. “You gave me a choice once, now I’m offering you one.”
Her body is so delicate in my hands, I could breakher. But I like when she leads. “Down the rabbit hole,” I say, remembering the moment on the hospital rooftop when I offered her my hand.
She rests her cheek against my chest. “Together.”
The music swells, ascending higher as I tuck her close, knowing that I’ll never be able to leave her now. The choices have always been London’s to make. I might’ve designed the traps, but she guided us there.
She traces something soft along my throat, and when she pulls back, I glimpse the dried clover. A smile tugs at my lips. The gift I left for her in her childhood dungeon. I gave her one small clue, and she took that little hint and used it to direct my course.
When she next appeared on the news, she had the clover pinned to her suit jacket. In a newspaper article, she was shown distraught, gripping a blue bar napkin in her hands. To anyone else, these objects would be meaningless. But to me, they didn’t belong.
Sometimes, it’s what’s wrong with the picture that captures our attention. And London and I…we’re very, very wrong. A portrait of the wicked and sinful. She’s the artist and I’m her canvas, waiting for her to complete our story.
Then recently, a broadcast on the web revealed the date: Her announcement that Agent Nelson was traveling to Mize for the reveal of the victims’ identities.
