The Knight (Endgame #2)(57)

That’s not entirely true. I suffered some smoke inhalation during the fire. Wracking coughs that went on for days. Or maybe just minutes. And worse than the cough are the nightmares. Flames. Fear.

Gabriel’s expression darkens. “I’ll stay home.”

And every night Gabriel has been there to wake me up, to hold me in his arms, to murmur reassurance. At one time I wouldn’t have believed he could be tender. Now I know what’s underneath the muscle and flesh, the sternness and dark sensuality.

“Hey,” I tell him softly. “You’re only a phone call away. And you’ll be back tonight.”

He frowns. “A half day.”

My heart does a jump with relief. The truth is I want him to come home quickly. I don’t want him to leave at all. But I don’t want him to worry about me. If I don’t convince him I’m okay he’ll stay out of obligation. “Take as long as you need. Trust me, I need a long soak in that tub of yours with all the spray jets. Actually it will be good for me. I’m a little…sore.”

He narrows his eyes. “Are you trying to get rid of me?”

“Is it working?”

“No.”

I smile. “Good. Because I want you home. Once I’m well rested we can spend all night getting reacquainted. Ten hours is a long time to go without seeing you.”

“Oh, little virgin. Ten hours? After two you’ll be all closed up again, your body tight and fully healed. It will be my pleasure to tear you apart again.”

Heat sparks in my core, spreading along my skin like wildfire. My cheeks heat. “Maybe you could be a little late?”

He smiles coolly, enjoying my discomfort. “I couldn’t possibly. I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

I press against his side, savoring the hardness of him. “Are you sure?”

“Don’t go anywhere,” he warns, ignoring my plea. “If you need something talk to Blue.”

Security has been outrageous here ever since the fire. Patrols as if we’re in some kind of military compound. Men at every exit. More cameras installed. It’s supposed to make me feel safe, but I can’t shake the nervous anticipation.

“I’ll stay here,” I promise.

With a single hard press of his lips against mine, he’s gone.

After a few minutes of aimless wandering in his room, I head into the bathroom. The tub is truly lovely, large and filled with jets, water pouring down from a ledge built with stone. Little glass pots on the side are filled with everything I could want, and I pour in a small scoop of sea salt and a few drops of lavender oil. Steam fills the room, coating every shiny and reflective surface. It’s like bathing in a cloud. I close my eyes, breathing in the relaxing aroma.

The doorbell chimes. I jolt with surprise, sending water over the ledge.

My breathing is too fast. You’re safe, I remind myself.

There’s more protection here than at Tanglewood City Hall. Not to mention, if anyone had bad intentions they probably wouldn’t announce themselves by using the doorbell.

I grab a thick white towel and step out of the bathtub, taking care on the slippery floor. I dress in jeans and a T-shirt, my wet hair in a ponytail.

A man named Blue is in charge of security here. Apparently he owns a prestigious company that does protection for businesses, even celebrities. Gabriel insisted that he personally oversee my safety.

My heart skips a beat when I see what’s leaning against the wall.

Large and flat, wrapped in brown cardboard. “That’s me,” I say. “That’s mine.”

Even before I look at the label from the antiquities dealer in Maine, I know that it’s my mother’s portrait. I started looking for it as soon as the escrow account transferred to my name. Gabriel offered to buy it for me, but I refused. It’s important that the money from the auction goes toward rebuilding my life. My virginity will always be twisted with shame and responsibility, with darkness and dread, but there’s one bright spot. Because with that money comes independence.

I’m here by choice. I’m with Gabriel because I want to be.

It cost a small fortune to track down the picture. The original dealer had sold it to an anonymous buyer. I had to pull a Polaroid from insurance records and send it all over the country. Finally I found it. The agent I spoke with over the phone assured me it was the same painting. He even sent me a digital picture from his phone to confirm. I bought it from him immediately and had it shipped.

Blue’s expression is usually intimidating, military presence combined with hard experience. Now it turns even more forbidding. “I need to inspect the package, Ms. St. James.”

“I appreciate you taking the job seriously, but it’s just a painting. And it’s kind of personal.”

He nods without apparent sympathy. “I need to inspect it first.”

I hold back a sigh. “Okay.”

“If you could wait upstairs.” From the look on his face, this isn’t a request. It’s an order. And I’m guessing this man isn’t used to being disobeyed.

I know he’s under the strictest orders from Gabriel, so I take pity on him. “You have five minutes.”

Once upstairs I linger on the landing, elbows resting on the balcony. Blue glances at me, and I know he wants to tell me to go away. What does he think is in that package—a bomb?