“There is one more thing I’d like,” Robert says as he stands by his dressing table. He’s wearing dark slacks and a white dress shirt made of some material that looks like it catches sunlight and uses it to make itself glow. Robert is fitting gold links into the shirt’s French cuffs.
“Oh?” I ask from the edge of the bed where I’m lacing my boots.
“Go see your mother.” I straighten, blinking hard. Robert glances over at me before returning his attention to one of his cuffs. “I think it would be good for both of you.”
“Do you?” I ask, not even attempting to keep the sarcasm out of my voice.
He smiles as he reaches for the second cufflink. “Yes, she misses you. And has never met her grandson. You could consider it a favor to me.” He meets my gaze. “I’d owe you.”
“Oh, no,” I say, standing. “No way are we turning me visiting my mom into a favor that puts you in my debt.”
Robert’s lip curls at the edges into a subtle smile, as if I’ve just fallen into a trap. “I’d be happy to arrange it in any case.”
“I can make my own travel plans, thank you very much. Besides,” I say with a grin. “Your security isn’t what it used to be.”
Robert’s smile widens. “It has a weak spot when it comes to you. Just like me.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m leaving now. But I’ll see you in New York.” We’d planned to meet in the city for an intimate dinner with Richard Chiles. Giving me a chance to speak to the man…and drug him…then break into his hotel room and kill him. Well, Robert doesn’t agree to that last bit, but I don’t wait for permission to do what I want. It’s part of my charm.
The windows frame Robert in warm morning light. “Allow me to drive you to…” he leaves the sentence hanging, waiting for me to fill in my destination.
“I can walk,” I say, crossing the room toward him.
The skin around his eyes tightens. “I can follow.”
“But you won’t. You’ll trust me to meet you in the city as we agreed.” I stop in front of him.
His arm comes around my waist, pulling me close. “Yes, I trust you,” he says, his fingers slipping under my shirt to lie warm and possessive against my lower back.
His lips brush mine and I rest my hand on his chest, on the fine material of his shirt. A knock at the door interrupts us. I pull back. Robert raises his gaze to the door to glower at the interruption. “The car is waiting, sir.” Brock’s voice comes through the closed door.
“Are you sure I can’t drop you somewhere?” Robert asks again, looking down at me, his oceanic eyes smiling. He looks happy. The thought makes a breath of a laugh escape. “What?” he asks, his brows drawing together in question.
“You look happy,” I say.
“I am, Mrs. Maxim. I am very happy.” His hand comes up and cups my cheek. Robert’s thumb runs along my cheekbone. The way he’s looking at me has an edge--there is a dangerous quality to the adoration in his gaze. Seeing someone so powerful so enthralled sends a shiver up my spine. This could become an addiction for me.
“I need to go,” I say, pulling out of his arms. “James is still nursing, and my breasts are already burning.”
Robert escorts me to the front door. The morning is cold; a pale mist hangs over the lawn and shrouds the tree line. “You have someone picking you up?” Robert asks.
“Don’t worry,” I say, turning to him. “I can get home safe.”
He makes a grumbling noise. I rise onto my toes to brush a kiss to his cheek. Robert wraps an arm around my waist and pulls me flush to his body, turning his face to meet my mouth with his own. He kisses me like he owns me. And I don’t hate it. Because I own a part of him and that’s in the kiss too. I’m his addiction even more than he’s mine.
There is nothing I love more than a powerful man under my spell. Who could resist the thrill of such a dynamic?
I jog across the dew-soaked lawn and into the tree line. Shadows darken the thick woods, morning mist hovering between the trunks. My dirt bike comes into view and I pull up short. Brock leans against it, his arms crossed and smile tight. “May we speak, Mrs. Maxim?”
“If you call me Sydney, sure.” I let my arms hang by my sides, fingers loose and ready.
He nods, his lips tight. Brock is a block of a man, his shoulders broad, height intimidating, and jaw as square as his haircut. A cold wind rustles the empty branches around us. Brock straightens. He’s wearing a long black overcoat, a blood-red scarf wrapped tight around his neck. His brown eyes hold mine as his gloved hand reaches into his coat pocket.
I shift my weight and reach for my pistol at the base of my spine. I don’t pull it, my gaze riveted to his pocket. He pulls out a white business card. My shoulders relax, but I keep my fingers around the stock of my weapon.
Brock approaches, his winter boots crunching over the wet leaves still frosted from the night. He holds the card out to me. I meet his gaze again. “Next time you want to come for a visit, please call me.” The lack of ego in his voice has me narrowing my eyes and trying to read his expression. It’s open. Like he wants me to see this as a simple request. “I won’t tell him if you don’t want me to, but I need to know.”
Keeping my right hand on my gun, I reach out with my left to take the card. It’s just a phone number. No name or other identifier. The paper is a thick linen, the number pressed in black ink. “That would defeat the point of showing up all terrifying woman who can sneak into your house.”
Brock’s lips twitch. “I’m asking as a favor.”
Brock owing me a favor has an appeal—funny how you can suddenly want things badly you never even considered before. “How big a favor?” I ask.
“As long as it doesn’t hurt Mr. Maxim, as big as you need.”
I take the card. “I’ll be sure to call.”
“You can also text,” Brock says. “I know how your generation feels about phone calls.” Brock isn’t even ten years older than me, I’d bet.
I huff a laugh, releasing my weapon as I slip the card into one of the pockets of my cargo pants. Brock starts to move away toward the house. I turn to watch him go. “Numb Nuts,” I say, pulling his attention back to me. “I don’t want to hurt him either.”
Brock raises his brows. “No. Mrs. Maxim. You don’t want to hurt him, but it’s not beyond you.”
“How much does he pay you?” I ask, the words spilling out past all my filters.
Brock’s brows rise higher. “My loyalty is not bought, Mrs. Maxim.”
“Well, it reflects well on him.” Brock offers a subtle nod to my compliment. “Talk soon,” I say.
“Thank you.”
Brock turns around and continues through the woods, disappearing into the shadows and mist.