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* * *
It’s still dark when Gabriel wakes me with a kiss on the mouth. I stretch, feeling the roughness of his loving in the tenderness between my legs, even if he’s been as gentle as I guess he can be.
“Good morning.” He nips my bottom lip.
His cock is hard against my hip, a reminder of last night and of what I can have again.
“Gabriel.” My voice is breathy.
He chuckles. “If I weren’t so concerned about not letting you sleep enough, I would’ve been buried between your thighs an hour ago.”
I shiver at the thought, desire making me wet.
A shadow creeps into his eyes. “You have to go. Carly will be up soon.”
It’s a logical comment, but it hurts, and that’s a surprise. Maybe it’s because creeping down the dark hallway like I have something to hide, like what I did with Gabriel belongs to the shadows, kills the emotional upsurge of last night.
“You’re right.” I sit up, clutching the sheet to my breasts.
Groping around under the sheets, I find my nightgown and underwear and pull them on. As I swing my feet off the bed, he grabs my arm. I pause, but I don’t look back at him. I’m scared he’ll see what I feel in my eyes. That I care.
He kisses my shoulder and brushes his lips up the curve of my neck to my ear. When he releases me, I take it as my cue to leave. I close his bedroom door quietly behind me and glance down the hallway to make sure it’s clear before I sneak back to my room. The room looks empty and cold. Out of nowhere, I have an attack of inexplicable loneliness, followed by a bout of guilt because Oscar is sleeping alone on my pillow.
I pick him up and hug him to my chest. “Poor baby. I’m sorry I left you all alone last night.”
He purrs and rubs his face against my jaw, not halfway as unsettled as I am.
* * *
Gabriel
There’s not much information in the country Anton can’t lay his hands on, so when he tells me Lambert Roos’ phone records have been wiped, I know the rat I smelled is real. I order Anton to dig into Lambert’s history, present and past, and to flag anything suspicious that comes up, especially pertaining to the Haynes family. Lambert did business with Marvin. I want to know why he stopped brokering the car cloning business after Marvin’s accident. I also want to know who Valentina’s rapist is, but I’ll have to get more information from her, a delicate situation I don’t look forward to. I already checked the police records. The family didn’t report her rape. My own research produced nothing helpful.
The remainder of my time is dedicated to preparing for tonight’s dinner meeting. Despite her protests, I ship Carly off to Sylvia for the weekend. I don’t want her around for the dinner party, not with the guests Magda invited. We’ll be catering for the Ferreira drug cartel men, Jeremy, the owner, and his son and future heir, Diogo. It’s tough enough stomaching the political pawns Magda likes to entertain. I don’t like hosting drug thugs in our home, but Magda is wheeling a deal to open a new financing franchise in Westdene, the heart of Jeremy’s territory.
From the minute they walk through the door, I dislike them. Jeremy has the close-set eyes of a crocodile who acts asleep to snatch his non-suspecting prey. He grabs my hand in a jovial shake, treating me like his long-lost son, while Diogo, a smooth, handsome man in his late twenties, gives me a measuring look that tells me he finds me too short, not in the literal sense, of course. He may be ten years younger than me and blessed with a whole body, but I have years of experience over him and a darkness he can’t begin to understand.
They kiss Magda’s hand and accept the cocktails and hors d’oeuvres she offers in the lounge. Their chitchat and pretense at civility irritate me. If it was up to me, I would’ve cut through the bullshit and gotten to the point. We want exclusivity in their area. They want our money. Simple. We pay a kickback, and no other loan sharks get in. A deal also guarantees that we don’t fuck with them, and they don’t kill our men.
Magda navigates through a whole family tree of questions about their wives, kids, grandmothers, and whatnot before she finally announces dinner is served. The tux I’m wearing for the occasion, these affairs being sordidly formal, is too hot. I hook a finger between my neck and the collar of my evening shirt and tug. The bowtie gives marginally, but I only breathe easier when Valentina walks into the room in her somber black dress and hair pulled back in a neat bun in the nape of her neck.
