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“There’s no fire,” he says once I return to the front room. “It’s a bomb threat. We need to leave.”
“A bomb threat?”
He nods.
“Do you think it’s the Russians?”
He smirks, pride gleaming in his eyes. “I was just thinking that. I’ve been looking for a right-hand man ever since Kenny left. Are you auditioning for the role?”
Just like that, it’s as if we can forget about the yelling and arguing. As we leave the apartment, he takes my hand and leans in, kissing me on the cheek. It’s so tender after the hunger we just shared.
“I love that you’re a virgin,” he whispers huskily.
I squeeze his hand. “Really? Why?”
“Because it means I get to be your first time.”
Oh, jeez. It’s like he’s bringing my wildest hopes into the real world. An instinct tries to grip me, and I know I could snap at him again, but I’d be snapping at myself or, more accurately, snapping at the scared little girl who lives inside of me, sometimes caged, sometimes not-so-caged.
“We have to take the stairs,” Luke says, turning away from the elevator. “Protocol.”
I sigh.
“What?” He grins. “You don’t like stairs?”
“No, it’s fine. Really.”
“Nope. Don’t lie to me.”
For the second time, he scoops me into his arms. I cradle tightly to him, laying my head against his chest and listening to his heartbeat. I’ll never tire of how effortless he makes it seem. He shoves the door to the staircase open, carrying me down with ease.
“Isn’t this just crazy?” I say over the sound of the alarm.
“What?”
“This. You. Us.”
“Us,” he repeats, with that just-Luke husky tone.
He doesn’t say anything else, leaving me to wonder if he likes the concept of us or if it’s off-putting to him that we’re anything more than a few moments of heat. I remember what he said about wanting to be my first. Is that it? Does he have a virginity fetish, and once I can no longer fulfill it, he’ll kick me to the wayside?
On the ground floor, he puts me down, then leans forward and kisses me softly. I return the kiss with just as much tenderness, and he takes a big step back.
“I’ll get carried away again,” he says.
“Beast mode, huh?”
He nods. “Listen, Jane. We should try not to touch each other in public. If the Russians are watching, it will make them want to get their hands on you even more.”
Surely fear should be the main thing I experience with these words. Instead, suspicion slithers into me, like an idea sliding into a father’s head—an idea that tells him it’s better to take his wife and leave and not give a damn about the scared little girl.
No, no. I won’t go there. I never will.
“That’s fine,” I say, keeping my tone steady.
“I mean it. That’s the reason.”
“I said it’s fine.”
I push the door open, Luke walking briskly at my side.
“Sir,” Christopher says, approaching. “I’ve arranged for you two to wait here rather than congregate in the fire zone.”
“Why?” Luke asks.
Christopher glances at me.
“Anything you can say to me,” Luke snarls, “you can say in front of Jane.”
Despite the ambiguity of us, a thrill touches me to hear Luke Hart at least sound like he cares about me.
“The perimeter team got word that an unmarked car was waiting just outside the fire zone.”
“So the Russians called in the threat to kidnap me?”
“It looks that way, sir.”
Luke laughs gruffly, shaking his head. “You hear that, Jane? Help a few people to do the right thing, to bring killers and traffickers and sick bastards to justice, and they’ll never leave you alone.”
“You’ll be safe in here, sir,” Christopher says. “Both of you.”
Luke claps him on the hand. “Thanks, Christopher.”
Luke and I walk over to a seating area in the corner.
“You don’t seem very scared,” I murmur.
“That’s what they want,” Luke growls, dropping onto the cream couch.
“I thought they wanted you to stop the witness-protection stuff.”
“That’s what the Russians want, but that’s not who I was talking about.”
“Who, then?”
We sit close to each other, our legs almost touching, but only almost. It’s like the apartment and the stairwell was a different universe from this one. Now, we’re simply two people sitting on a couch with no sign of our heat.
“Criminals. They feed on fear. It’s the same as some sick bastard targeting an elderly person with a phishing email. Quick, answer now. Your social security is at risk. They want fear, Jane, because it clouds a person’s mind. Fear is why I started my business.”
The alarm cuts off.
“I thought you started it as a school project.”
“That’s the PR reason,” he says.
My interest couldn’t be more piqued. Despite the threat of the Russians, the fact he knows I’m the owner of a V-card, the distance between us… Despite it all, I’m desperate for this knowledge.
“There’s a different reason?”
“Yeah, the truth.”
