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Elias drew a knee up and braced his forearm on it. “By reporter do you mean paparazzi? Someone taking pictures with a telephoto lens?”
“No, nothing like that,” she replied quickly, not wanting to scare him off. “She’s just someone who’s been snooping around. She wants to write a book about us, I think. I don’t really know, Cass would have told me if pictures were involved.”
“Does she know about Halloween?”
“Not sure. If she did hear about it chances are Cass cleared it up.”
He thought about that for a while, and Bianca could understand why he was worried. Having a reporter following her, asking questions about who she was with, would probably destroy any undercover work he was trying to do. She pulled the sheet up to cover herself, suddenly feeling over-exposed.
“If you feel like you have to go, go,” she said. “I understand.”
He sighed and cursed under his breath. “Come here,” he said, pulling her close and shifting her under him. “I don’t want to leave,” he said, sliding his knee between hers and spreading her legs apart. She could feel him getting hard again and her body responded to his, softening in some places and tightening in others.
“Then stay,” she said quietly.
He looked down at her, his eyes tracking over her face and the way her hair was spread across the pillow beneath her before lowering his mouth to hers and kissing her.
Six
When Bianca awoke the second time it was to the sound of her Nespresso coffee maker growling downstairs.
She smiled up at the ceiling, pleasantly sore and tender-skinned, slipped out of bed, and wrapped herself in a silk robe before going downstairs.
Bianca had updated her brownstone in a lux modern French farmhouse style. The hardwood floors in the living room were covered in silk rugs in washed-out colors. The plaster walls and original crown molding were painted warmer off-white colors underpinned by pinks and yellows, and the plush furniture was structured, but not fussy, and made inviting with a few bright pillows. Natural light poured in through the tall, arched windows which were dressed in thick linen curtains.
In the kitchen her sleek marble countertops contrasted beautifully with the cabinetry that she’d done in an elegant shade of dark blue. A massive, custom-built island, also topped with marble and lined on one side by tall, cushioned chairs, separated the living area from the kitchen. On the other side of it, Elias stood bare-chested, holding his coffee, and talking on his phone. He was not speaking English. He looked up at Bianca when she came downstairs, mouthing the wordsorry,and ended the call after a few more exchanges. She went behind the island to make herself a coffee.
“Was that Mandarin?” she asked, guessing the language he’d been using.
He nodded. “Do you speak it?”
“Like two words of it, probably,” she replied, getting cream out of the refrigerator. She turned to him. “Is your family from China?”
He was leaning against the island, arms crossed over his chest, regarding her. He paused before answering. He suddenly pushed off the island and moved closer, until he was standing right in front of her.
“My father’s from Great Britain, and my mother from Singapore. I was born here. In Cambridge.”
Bianca’s eyes widened. It hadn’t escaped her attention that Ben Goh was from Singapore. She considered Elias’ gun again, the stark reminder that he was a special agent for the FBI. Bianca had never known anyone who did what Elias did for a living, and she didn’t know how to handle this situation.
“What?” he said, knowing she wanted to ask him something.
“Well, I’m just wondering if I’m allowed to ask questions about you having roots in Singapore, and the whole Ben Goh connection, and all the weird, fast cars,” she said, trailing off when his expression became suddenly shuttered. “Sorry,” she said, dropping her eyes to her coffee and taking a sip.
He took the coffee out of her hands and put his arms around her. “It’s not that I don’t want to tell you what I’m doing, Bianca. Ican’t. And the more you know about it the more I involve you.” He looked worried. “You’re already way more involved than I want you to be. Are you okay with not knowing certain things about what I do?”
She didn’t know. Right now, she was willing to say yes, but what about in a few weeks or a few months—if he was still in her life then. It was too big a thing to talk about yet, so she tucked herself against him in answer. He slid his hands across her silk-covered back and she turned her face up into his neck, licking the smooth, spicy-smelling skin she found there.
“I can’t,” he groaned. “I have to go to work.”
“It’s Saturday,” she complained, wiggling against him. “Do you work every day?”
“Sometimes,” he answered, pulling back to look at her but keeping her in his arms. “Is that a problem?”
“Ah—yeah,” she said, jokingly rolling her eyes. “Does the FBI know how great you look in my bed?”
He chuckled, and pushed her hair back behind her shoulder. “It’s not always like this. But right now, I have to follow up on a few things. I won’t be working the whole day.”
“What are you doing later?” she asked.
