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The thing was, there were no pictures. Not a single one of Westin. And I had snooped, looking for one. I figured there would be one of little Westin somewhere. But no, just the art and the exquisite furnishings, masculine but comfortable. It was well-decorated and beautiful, and it suited him in a way, almost in a way that said he was a chameleon. I don't know what it was, but something told me that he didn't live here all the time.
Of course, he doesn't. He goes where the assignments are. This is his crash pad.
Which was sad. Someone like him needed a home. Somewhere to land that he belonged.
Like you? Don't you need a home?
I did, actually. I had my sister. And when I found her, I would be at home.
If you find her.
My gut twisted just thinking about it. I had failed her.
You should have kept looking.
I’d beat myself up about this for so long, I didn't know when I should stop. I should have been looking. I had trusted my father to do the looking for me, but this whole time, he hadn't been.
And now, I was in this trouble because I simply couldn't let it go. I was determined I'd find her on my own.
If he lets you.
I was pouring over my International Law books, my eyes blurring as I stared at the words. There was a knock at the door, and Westin frowned. "You didn't tell Jamila where we were, did you?"
"No, you said not to."
"Then who the hell is that?"
"Julian?"
He scowled at that. "He didn't come to the flat when it was ransacked, he wouldn't come here now."
"Well, I didn't tell anyone we were here."
Westin nodded and indicated that I should head up to the loft. And then he reached under the coffee table. Hold up. Jesus Christ, was that a gun? "Where did that come from?"
He gave me a wry look and nodded his head indicating he needed me to get my arse upstairs.
After what had happened, I was more inclined to listen and tucked myself upstairs behind the door. But just because I hid that didn't mean I wasn't curious. So I pressed my ear up against the door, straining for information. There was another voice. Deep. Low. Westin sounded ticked off. "What the fuck are you doing here?"
"I can't come to see my little cousin?"
Cousin? He’d never said a word about a cousin. Finally, Westin called up to me. “Nissa, come on down.”
With the sound of the way he said my name, my belly flipped. Stop it. I’d already made it clear that what happened was a mistake and it was not going to happen again, so I needed to let it go. Even though I’d had fevered dreams of him over me, drugging me with kisses, pulling at my lips, the length of his cock between my legs, hitting my clit just right in an excruciatingly slow grind that made me ache all over.
Yeah. I had completely forgotten all about it. Not.
I jogged down the stairs and halted midway down when I saw the gorgeous man with a three-day-old scruff of beard. He was dressed in dark jeans and a white pullover jumper. His hair was darker than Westin's, but much of their coloring was the same. A hint of an olive tone, but not quite. Other than that, their features weren't similar at all. The stranger's eyes were a piercing green. "Ahhh, who's this?"
I wish I had asked the question with a stronger voice. One that sounded less breathy and worried. But I didn't. The stranger grinned at me.
"Hey, are you all right?"
He put a hand out for me to shake, and I stared at it. "Do I know you?"
I didn't mean to be rude, but a crazy man tried to take me off the street, and then my flat had been ransacked. Then the concert. I wasn't inclined to meet strangers whether Westin knew them or not.
When my gaze met Westin's, he was scowling at the other man. "Nissa Montgomery, meet Gabe, my cousin."
