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“I do. I promise. What I’m doing isn’t anything bad. It’s actually good.”
“Good when it comes to you is a matter of perspective, Sophia.”
“True. But I need you to trust me on this.”
He captured my face with his palms and drew me to his. His lip coasted over mine.
“I do trust you. And until we find the asshole determined to pin Randolph’s murder on you, I can’t let my guard down with your security.”
“I’m not a bird you can cage. I’m not the woman who wants the life Maria expected from you. I prefer to make my own decisions.”
His fingers tightened on my skin. “Then you need to remember, you chose me.”
“It still doesn’t mean I’m going to let you lock me away in this tower of yours. I enjoy a life outside of you and plan to continue to enjoy it.”
“Not without me, you won’t.”
“Good luck with that, considering you have a billion-dollar enterprise you are neglecting.”
“I will punish you if you don’t take care of yourself.”
“Oh, like when you told me I don’t deserve your time or attention.”
“I was wrong to say that.” He released a deep sigh and dropped his forehead against mine, then after a moment, he said, “This is all new territory for me. I don’t know how to handle you.”
“That’s the whole issue. I’m not something to handle. You can’t manage me. I’m not an object you can put in a box.”
“If anything happens to you, I will unleash holy hell worse than anything Lucian’s twisted imagination could fathom.”
“There you go again, going straight from unhinged to psychopath.”
“I’m serious, Sophia. I’ve cleaned up for your brother for years, and only a select few know about it.”
“I figured out you weren’t a mild-mannered, famous architect with a tragic history with women when said brother warned me away from you.”
“The brat always has to make an appearance somewhere in our conversation, doesn’t she?”
“Of course, she does. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be Sophia Morelli.”
Chapter Sixteen
Damon
“Damon Pierce.”
I looked up from a set of change orders submitted by the construction foreman on a midsize high-rise to find two men standing in the doorway of the office I was using for the day.
Everything about them said cops, from their posture to the way they scanned the room. They wore suits, not designer but well-fitted, telling me they were detectives.
From the sneer in the taller of the pair’s brown eyes, it was obvious he thought coming here was a waste of his time, and he sat in the why bother conducting a solid investigation when the boss says to do otherwise camp.
And the fact they tracked me down in a random office on a project site instead of waiting to meet with me at my company headquarters or at home, meant they were here to fuck with me in some way.
“What can I do for you, detectives?” I asked, pushing back from my desk, and stood.
The one who disliked me spoke, “I’m Detective Stuart, and this is Detective Hatch. We are part of the team assigned to the Randolph case and have a few follow-up questions that need clarification.”
Interesting that these two came instead of the cops who’d held me in that interrogation room and questioned me for hours. These assholes thought I wanted to cooperate with them after they used me to get to Sophia.
