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CHAPTERFOUR
Midnight Sky
GRIM
I stare at the screen, at the man who stole my heart and made me an orphan. He looks the same as I remember and different in a way that’s difficult to pinpoint. There are lines around his eyes, and a tightness around his mouth that I have the sudden urge to soothe. He’s more muscular, if that’s even possible. His hair is a little longer on top and he’s clean shaven. If I weren’t already sitting down, I’d need to.
There’s no doubt that he’s grown even more handsome, and despite my head telling me not to get drawn in, my foolish heart is beating wildly. Don’t even ask me about my pussy because she’s already forgiven him and is about ready to throw herself at his cock and beg for oblivion.
“Fuck!” I swear, my gaze roving over every inch of his face as he stares up at the camera. This was a bad fucking idea. I can’t be weak for this man,I can’t.
Flicking my gaze to my phone, I consider calling Mark to come get his arse and chuck him out, but then I remember what Christy had said and I hesitate. My stomach churns with anxiety, and I grab my packet of cigarettes from the table, lighting one and dragging in a deep lungful. The tip sizzles, and when I blow out a stream of blue-grey smoke, some of the anxiety lifts. Narrowing my eyes at him I make a decision, then lean back in my chair and press the intercom button.
“Weapons on the table,” I say, keeping my voice steady, cold.
He stiffens, his muscles locking tight as he blinks back up at the camera. He wasn’t expecting to hear my voice. Good, let him feel as fucked in the head as I do. I take another drag of my cigarette, enjoying the power shift as he chews on his lip.
There’s no doubt that he’s nervous. Well that makes two of us.
“Weapons on the table,Roger. You’ll get them back when you leave.” I can’t help but grin at the surprise in his eyes when I call him by his real name.
Before, when I used to call him Roger, it was to wind him up, to get a rise out of him. Now, I just want to remind him that I can call him whatever the fuck I want and he can’t do a damn thing about it. It takes him a beat to reply, but when he does he gives me a grin that almost makes me forget what he did.Almost.
“I have no weapons. I come in peace,” he says.
I take another pull of my cigarette. There’s nothing about his body language that tells me he’s being anything other than truthful, and despite everything, I believe he isn’t carrying. Not that it would matter if he was, because my soldiers would have him disarmed and on his knees with a gun cocked at his head before he could even blink. Beast might be the best fighter in the cage, but he’s no match for the combined force of the mercenaries I’ve gathered over the two years since he’s been gone. Every single one of them walked into Tales as a fighter and stayed as my soldier, and I took full advantage of the universe bringing them to me.
We eyeball each other through the screen, and deciding that he needs to be knocked down a peg, or five thousand, I test his willingness to follow my orders because there is no way I’ll even entertain talking to him if he thinks he can just waltz back in here and pick up where we left off. I don’t care how fucking sexy he is, or how much he still makes my legs go weak and my pussy wet.
“Prove it. Strip,” I demand, smirking as I lean back in my chair and wait.
I don’t have to wait for long.
“Sure thing,Princess,” he replies then begins to remove his clothes.
I press down on the intercom about ready to tell him to fuck off for calling me Princess, but then he says something else that stills my heart and immediately puts me back in the headspace of the girl who was utterly in love with him.
“Ain’t nothing I wouldn’t do for you.”
I blink at the screen, at his sincerity.
Fuck. Fuck.Fuck!
Swallowing hard and pushing those feelings deep down, I scoff, then say; “Just get on with it.” Then I click off the intercom so that I don’t do something fucking stupid like ask him to do everything I’ve dreamed of in the privacy of my bedroom these past couple years since he’s been gone.
Dragging in another hit of my cigarette, I watch him undress, my mouth dropping open as I stare at the screen, transfixed. He strips right down to his boxers and there’s no denying that his almost naked form is as stunningly attractive as it ever was, but it isn’t his defined muscles or his broad shoulders and strong thighs that leaves me breathless. It isn’t even the intimidating size of his erection. It’s my handprint that’s completely filled in and resting over his heart in a permanent tattoo that sucks all the oxygen from the room and has my own heart pounding so loud that I barely hear my phone ringing.
“Shit! Fuck!” I exclaim, picking it up. “What?” I snap into the mouthpiece.
“He’s about to take his fucking pants off. Are you still convinced he’s packing?” Dom asks me, undeniable laughter in his voice.
He’s certainly packing, I think, my gaze trailing to his boxers and the bulge there. “Bring him to me,” I order.
“Sure thing… And boss?”
“Yes?”
“He’s a good guy.”
