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I laughed. Of course, Benedict was a health nut when he wasn’t on vacation. “Perfect.”
Steaming coffee in hand, ensconced by the warmth of his robe, I watched him cook. I marveled at the play of muscles over his shoulders as he mixed ingredients, and his firm bottom under his flannel pants. He peeked around and smirked at the direction of my gaze.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” I waved my hand, smiling, absurdly happy to lean against the counter in his kitchen and watch him flip pancakes, confident that I was exactly where I was meant to be.
Ibrahim and James joined us, freshly showered and looking good enough to eat in their suits.
“Making breakfast, Benedict?” Ibrahim asked, his voice full of surprise.
Was that a tinge of red on the tops of Benedict’s ears? When he turned around, he looked sheepish. His eyes flicked over me. “I promised to grovel.”
James laughed and kissed the top of my head. “If the boss wants to make breakfast, who am I to complain?”
“Set the table, brat,” he murmured, handing James a pile of dishes and silverware.
James looked at him with speculative interest. “Want to take that thought to its logical conclusion?”
Benedict’s answering smile was sharklike in its intensity. “Only if you’re looking for a spanking this morning.”
My breath caught as my eyes bounced between the two utterly delicious, masculine men, not sure if they were about to collide in an explosion of lust or a fight for dominance.
Ibrahim drew me against him, pulling me to the dining room table.
“That’s new,” I said to him as he dragged me into his lap.
“It’s a fucking delight,” he answered, running his lips up my neck and over my jawline. “I can’t wait for Benedict to rail James’ ass and teach him a fucking lesson.”
“I wouldn’t mind getting railed myself,” I said, then blushed at my blunt words.
“Eat first, pretty princess,” Ibrahim answered. “Then we’ll see.”
ALAS, GETTING RAILED by my men was not in my immediate future. After breakfast, Benedict hustled me off to the prosecutor’s office.
I held up the USB key of files from my employer.
“Now explain this to me, one more time,” the prosecutor said, tapping his finger on his yellow legal pad.
Benedict growled. “She’s explained it twice now. You’re the one who set her to researching instead of doing it yourself, asshole.”
I laid my hand on Benedict’s knee. As much as his growly alpha male protectiveness set my stomach aflutter, I was the one who decided to speak to Igor and assemble the evidence myself. “Easy, love,” I said, echoing words he’d whispered to me so many times over Christmas.
His eyes softened, and he unclenched his fists, nodding at me to continue.
At Benedict’s change in comportment, the prosecutor gave me an assessing look. That’s right, jerk. I tamed the beast. Show some respect.
“After my boss moved me off the file, I got suspicious, so I did some digging in my spare time. When I found evidence they were trying to launder money in addition to not meeting the terms of their tax abatement, I brought the file to you.
“Igor Lebedev told me they weren’t just laundering money, but laundering money from Russian oligarchs who can’t do business in the United States due to sanctions. Then someone attacked me in my apartment last night!”
The prosecutor sighed, running his fingers through thinning hair. “Your employer contacted me this morning, offering me evidence that Benedict laundered money through the same building prior to the sale.”
I sighed.
Benedict leaned back in his chair, our knees brushing. He took my hand, but stayed silent. I guess this was my show to run. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. “My former employer, you mean.”
The prosecutor raised an eyebrow.
“I’m not going to work for anyone who thinks it’s appropriate to send thugs to my house to threaten me.”
