They formed a lose semi-circle around me. Not too tight as to alarm me or to draw attention, but enough so I could see them positioned strategically in case I decided to cause harm or do damage.
Whiskey. Tango. Foxtrot.
Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong.
I put my hands up. "Fine. I'm leaving."
The concierge gave me that tight smile again, bowing even lower. "Madam."
His effusive smile irritated me. "So, just out of curiosity, if I was staying here, could you boot me?"
His smile was easy enough. "Oh, I'm so sorry, Agent Kincade, but we're all booked for the evening. If you prefer, you can try and make an online reservation."
I shook my head. "Nope, it won't be necessary. I understand."
This was a mistake. It had to be. As I frantically staggered back out onto the streets of Soho and into the crowd of people bustling around me, the sounds of the car horns, the din of the city fading into the background, a numb, icy silence overtook my body. He'd done this on purpose. He'd blocked me. Between last night and this morning, something had changed. What the hell could have happened?
Or everything he’s told you was a lie. He doesn't actually care about you. He told you what you needed to hear to get what he wanted.
I leaned against the stone exterior of the hotel. I had no choice since I felt as though my legs were about to buckle and I couldn't breathe. There was no way East would cut me off like this. There was no way he wouldn't talk to me.
Well, he did. So, what are you going to do now?
My head swam. My brain refused to believe what was right in front of it. Refused to acknowledge that not only had I been cast aside, but in the most painful way possible.
East was done with me. But instead of talking to me this morning when he'd kissed me and told me how much he cared for me, all along, he knew what he was planning to do. He knew that he was done. He knew that I was blindly falling for him.
My automatic reaction was to fight back. Hurt him just as much as he'd hurt me. Hurt him the way every other man in my life had hurt me. I wanted to. I wanted to make him bleed. But some voice inside me which had been quiet before spoke even louder in the numbness.
Think. This doesn't make sense. Follow your instincts. Your gut will lead you.
But my gut was wrong.
Figure out the pattern. Apply logic. This isn't right. Something else happened.
I ran my hands through my hair as I tried to piece it together. We’d kissed goodbye. The way he'd woken me up this morning, all sexy, lazy smiles and let-me-feed-you breakfast, and 'Oh wait, here's my cock instead.' Kissing goodbye at his car. The way he watched me go down the stairs at the tube. And then I'd gone to Amelia’s secret flat. What could possibly have happened between then and now?
Nothing. You just got fucked and fucked over by the billionaire. You weren’t the first, and you certainly won’t be the last.
Chapter 2
East
It didn't matter what I told myself. Nothing prepared me for walking into her townhouse. Traces of her honeysuckle scent still clung in the air. Every surface was a reminder of somewhere I’d had her or somewhere I wanted to have her again.
Something in my gut tightened. God, why did she have to be such a duplicitous bitch?
Or why can't you choose the right woman?
That was a question for another time. And one I didn't really care to answer.
Breaking into her flat was easy. When I’d taken care of security because of Denning’s unannounced visit, I’d made myself a copy of her keys, but I’d never used them until now. All vestiges of giving her privacy or of me somehow being a good guy were long gone. I'd be coming back here to check on things, move cameras around in case it seemed likely she might be onto the surveillance.
Do you even care? Do you want her to know you're watching?
That idea tightened something else. I did, in fact, want her to know I was watching her. Would that make her hot? Would that make her breasts heavy and her nipples tight… knowing I was watching? I muttered a curse as my cock throbbed.
Christ. I did not have fucking time for this. Forcing my mind away from thoughts of her touching herself to the idea of me watching her, I focused on the job at hand.
Setting up the cameras was easy. Kitchen, bedroom. I told myself it was necessary. Not that I wanted to spy on her.
Who are you kidding?
When this bomb exploded in my face, and it would, neither of us would back down. And what the fuck would I do if she brought some dodgy bloke back here? Would I watch it?
Yeah, you will, you naughty boy.
I ground my teeth at that. The idea of someone else touching her was enough to set me on edge. I wanted to mark her, to make it clear to all interlopers that they were unwelcome. Particularly in the bedroom.
I’d have to curb my murderous impulses toward the unforeseen future bloke who wouldn’t even know I existed. When I hid the camera, just behind her mirror and motion activated of course, I noticed one of her drawers was open. A bright set of fuchsia knickers stuck out. I went to close it, my fingertips lightly tracing the satin. I groaned as my fingers traced over the lace.
You really are a sick fuck.
Goddammit. I hated her so much.
No you don't. You want her. And you're feeling betrayed. So you think a pair of knickers is going to solve your problem, but it's not. You’ve been down this road before.
Her scarf.
