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Pippy barks in agreement. Fuck, I’m in trouble. My ice-cold logic thaws at the thought of Pippy snuggling up in Freddie’s bed. He’s kept her all this time, meaning he’s been thinking about me.
My life is split into two parts. Life before and life afterthatnight. When I left the country, Ivy Penrose stayed behind, but being in London again blurs those boundaries. Over the years, my thoughts have sometimes strayed to the handsome stranger from the bar, only I convinced myself that instant connection didn’t exist outside of films. Horror overshadowed our initial spark, but now I’m questioning whether I misremembered at all…
I climb the stairs and admire the tasteful paintings on the walls.
“Do you like them?” Freddie asks, his lips curl into a half-smile.
“Yes,” I reply. They’re of nothing in particular—patterns, abstract shapes and splodges, but there’s a beauty in the way they are layered. “But what do I know? I don’t claim to be an expert on art.”
“Neither am I, but Bram is. They’re all done by a mysterious artist who goes by the nickname Raptor. Their work is hard to find.” His grin fades, his jaw setting in determination. “You can ask him more about it when we find him.”
“Why did they take him?” I ask.
“Revenge,” he replies darkly. “Let’s just say we got in their way.” Yeah, that’s one way to explain killing our client, wrecking two cars, and shooting an agent. “That’s why it’s safer for you to stay with us, where we can protect you.”
He doesn’t know that I could snap his neck with a flick of my wrist. We don’t stop on the first-floor landing and ascend to the next floor.
“This is what Seb calls our man cave,” he says, as my jaw drops open.
There are no walls—just one huge room. It has high ceilings, which is understandable considering the house is occupied by giants. There is a bar with comfy sofas and chairs alongside a pool table, gigantic TV, and a dart board.
I scan the area. Most people would overlook the slight size difference in the floor plan, but I pay attention to the details. There’s something else up here. What are they hiding? A secret door? Another room? Freddie gives nothing away.
“What do you think?” Freddie asks.
“That you never need to leave this house,” I say.
“You can come up here anytime,” he says. Pippy barks excitedly in his arms in agreement. I’m not sure whether she’s happier to be allowed in a room that’s usually off-limits or because she’s nestled in his muscular biceps that are perfectly framed under his shirt. He chuckles fondly. “Not you, Pip. The last time she came up here, she gnawed Seb’s pool cue.”
We head back downstairs. He places Pippy down, and she trots along the first-floor corridor. Six doors lead off it. A bedroom for each of the guys and a shared bathroom. Freddie explains they all have an ensuite too.
“Here we are.” Freddie opens the door to my new room. It’s tastefully decorated—minimal, like a luxury hotel—with a beautiful four-poster bed that has plush white sheets. “I hope you’ll be comfortable here. There are spare towels in the bathroom.”
“You barely know me,” I blurt out, unable to stop myself. He’s being nice. Too nice. “Why are you doing all of this?”
The burning look in his eyes sets my skin alight as he replies in a seductive rumble, “You know why.”
Pippy breaks the moment by scooting past our ankles into the room like the crazy little monster she is. My heart pangs. What the hell is wrong with me? I need to get a handle on my emotions. I clear my throat. “Thank you for looking after her.”
“You told me she was part of your family,” he replies. “I know it sounds crazy, but when we met, I felt…”
“A connection,” I finish his sentence.
His gaze lingers on my lips. I shouldn’t want him. He’s a mark, for crying out loud! But damn, my body has other ideas. I imagine running my hands through his thick hair, biting his bottom lip, and letting him explore every inch of my body. His sizzling stare moves back up my face. He wants the same.
I hold in a breath as he steps forward. He smells like fresh laundry, although there’s a sexy undertone of something oaky with a citrus twist, hinting of a bad boy hiding beneath his perfectly waved hair and pressed suit.
“It’s been a long day,” he says in a gravelly voice. “You should rest.”
He leans in. At first, I think—hope—he’s going to kiss me. A kiss that’ll make me see fireworks as he throws me down and disrupts the perfectly pressed linens, but he doesn’t. He plants a tender kiss on my forehead.
“Goodnight, Rose.”
My chest sinks as I close the door and listen to his footsteps grow further away. Am I disappointed?
“Snap out of it!” I mutter to myself, pulling myself together. “You have work to do.”
First, I have to make sure the room is clean. I launch into action, hunting for any hidden devices; checking under the bed, searching the bedside table, and peering into the empty wardrobe. I even lift a painting off the wall to check behind it. Nothing. Some bugs are so small they’re virtually impossible to detect. I should know; I’ve installed them in countless places before.
