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My phone vibrates, and the doorbell rings again. The sound of someone pounding on the door reaches us. My phone pings with an incoming message.
"I think that must be your security team?"
"Fuck that," I growl.
"I think we’ve done enough of that, don’t you think?"
"When it comes to you, it’s never enough."
She draws in a sharp breath. Her pupils dilate. I lower my head and my phone vibrates again and doesn’t stop. At the same time, the doorbell rings, a series of long bursts of noise that tear through the liminal space we created.
"This isn’t over yet, Zara." I press a hard kiss to her mouth, then roll off her and off the bed.
She begins to rise, and I stab a finger in her direction. "Make sure you’re dressed properly before you come out there."
Turning, I stride out.
* * *
"I strongly advise that you not attempt to lose us again, sir. We are only doing our jobs in trying to protect you, and if you leave without telling us, and then disengage the tracking device on your phone, you put yourself at risk and—" Ralph, the head of my security team breaks off halfway through his tirade as Zara sweeps into the living room where I’ve been talking with them for the past forty-five minutes.
I told her to get dressed properly, and I have no doubt she hated the fact I ordered her to do so. It wouldn’t have hurt to tack on a please at the end of my statement, but had I done so? Of course, not. I was pissed with myself that I hadn’t found a way to get her to agree to see me again. At least, when I had her under me, I used my cock to seduce her into submitting to me, but with the length of the room between us, all I can do is watch as she looks away from me.
"Zara Chopra," she says, and holds out her hand as she approaches us.
"Ralph Sanders, Mr. Whittington’s Head of Security." Ralph reaches to shake her hand, and I stiffen.
Before I can stop myself, I step in between them, forcing him to retreat. I cut off his view of Zara and glare at him. "Shouldn’t you be out doing a search of the perimeter?"
"Already done," Ralph replies.
Behind me, Zara tries to peer around my back, but I shift my position.
"And checking my car to make sure it’s safe to drive back," I snap.
Ralph’s eyebrows draw down. "My men are on it."
"Ms. Chopra’s car..."
"Is parked in the front garage." She shoves at my arm, but I don’t move.
“You’re parked in the front garage, huh?”
“So?” She frowns.
“I’m parked in the one at the back.”
“Your point being?”
“Weston told me, specifically, to use the garage at the back,” I murmur.
“Huh.” She purses her lips. “Amelie texted me to say that I should use the garage at the front.”
“Jesus.” I roll my shoulders, “You don’t think—”
The creases in her forehead clear. “I do think.”
Our gazes meet, hold.
