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“She walked away and left you there, Stella. The evidence is pretty damning,” Seb says softly.
“Well look harder. This wasn’t her,” I bark, my heart thundering in my chest and my hands balled into fists in an attempt to stop them trembling. “She wouldn’t.” My voice comes out softer this time, emotional, and I hate it.
“Do you need us for anything else?” Seb asks, wrapping his arm around my waist and pulling me from the chair.
“We’ll pull the footage from the street, follow this fucker. I’ve got guys outside searching the wreckage. If we find anything, we’ll call you.”
“Thank you,” Seb says on my behalf before ushering me out of the room.
“Where are we going?” I ask, my voice barely audible.
Seb doesn’t respond, but when he turns me toward the stairs and encourages me to climb up, I get a good idea.
We move in silence until Seb comes to an ajar door and gently pushes me inside.
My breath catches as I step into the room, the orange glow from the huge windows capturing my attention, and without thinking, I walk toward it.
“Baby, don’t,” Seb breathes, but it’s too late. I’m already there and staring down at the charred remains of Theo’s home.
“This is all my fault.”
“No, baby. It’s not. The security on this place should have stopped it.”
“But it didn’t. And look.” I wave my hand in front of the window, tears filling my eyes once more as I watch everything about our lives together burn into nothing but dust.
“I know, Princess,” he says quietly, reaching out to close the curtains. “I know.”
He turns me into his body. Cupping my cheeks in his hands, he brings his face down until his nose is almost brushing mine.
“I thought I’d lost you again tonight, Hellion,” he says, his voice rough with the lingering fear and emotions that statement drags up.
“You didn’t,” I assure him, pulling our bodies tighter with my arms around his waist. “I’m right here.”
He stares into my eyes for the longest time, as if he’s trying to convince himself that those three words are true.
“We need to find this fuck, Princess. I can’t keep doing this.”
A humorless laugh falls from my lips. “Tell me about it.”
Tilting my head up, I brush my lips against his. But unlike usual, he doesn’t immediately dive into our kiss. His movements are unsure, hesitant.
“Seb,” I breathe, lifting my hand to his cheek and brushing my thumb back and forth. “I promise you, I’m okay.”
“Fuck, baby.”
Finally, I crack his resolve and his lips move, his tongue diving into my mouth and twisting with mine.
Desperation, relief and fear ooze from him. I feel it in every brush of his lips and swipe of his tongue. Yet I have no idea how to make any of it any better.
Until we put an end to this—to him—the risk is always going to be there.
The fear that next time, he might just succeed in his mission.
