Page 173 of Safe Word

Beast recognising beast.

As if sensing the moment spiralling, Cain’s chin tipped up just enough to glance between Vinnie, me and the folder he’d been carrying from the penthouse – the Viking files.

‘I asked her,’ he said matter-of-factly. ‘She’s not too keen on it. Would you like a sneak-peek?’ He turned to the woman, who reached for the folder, but Vinnie suddenly snatched it with a chuckle.

‘Now, now,’ he said, flashing a grin. ‘Haven’t seen these myself. Just want to make sure not everything ends up in your notes – yeah?’ He pointed at her notebook.

She gave him a wry smile, insanely perfect teeth beaming like fluorescent bulbs.

‘Only things you say will find themselves in the article,’ she agreed.

Vinnie, sneaking an amused glance towards her, circled her chair and handed me the papers.

I raised them, irritation bubbling under my skin.

‘You knew he was going to ask me to co-write this?’ My voice edged higher, fuelled by the influx of hidden intentions and whispers behind my back.

Vinnie shrugged unapologetically, pouring himself some water from the dispenser before settling onto the sofa again.

‘I’m the manager. Of course I knew. So, how come you don’t want to write it?’

I stood, repositioning my chair further from my boss so that I could see both the reporter and him clearly, and plopped back down.

Predictably, Cain’s brow twitched at the change. ‘It’s just… a lot of research,’ I said, my voice more defensive than I intended.

‘That looks like a lot of paper to me,’ Vinnie said, gesturing pointedly at the stack in my hands.

‘Not enough,’ I countered, holding the papers tighter. ‘Neither of us has ever written about Vikings. I don’t know much about them. It might be risky.’

‘Risk is a good thing, sometimes,’ the reporter offered.

I ignored her.

Thoroughly.

Vinnie tapped his finger against his knee, his gaze calculative. He glanced at Cain, who didn’t move a muscle at his scrutiny.

‘Can I see those papers?’ Vinnie asked as he tipped forward in his chair and reached.

I sighed, leaning to the side and stretching to hand Cain the stack of papers, my dress pulling taut across my back. I winced as my sleeves inched up my arms, and a fleeting, unwelcome thought crossed my mind: have I gained weight, or had the dress shrunk in the washing?

Cain extended his hand to take the notes, the air between us charged with a tension like the moment before lightning struck. His fingers brushed the edge of the papers, his arm shifting as he pushed up his sleeve against the rising heat in the room. The movement was so natural – so mundane – yet it drew my eyes like a magnet.

Ice.

It climbed up my gullet, my lungs seizing mid-breath.

Bold, inked lines snaked over strong, veined skin, dark over sun-burnished flesh. An anchor. A helm. A memory.

Too familiar.

My heart misfired, every inch of my skin ablaze.

The air coagulated.

There was no mistaking it. I’d traced those symbols with my tongue, only at the time they belonged to the arm that had held me down, that had trembled when he came apart inside me.

Impossible…