T-Y-R-A.
My heart stalls completely in my chest.
Tyra is safely tucked away in the staff playroom with her nanny this afternoon. The nursery is physically empty, but it still holds her scent. It holds her toys. It is the undeniable proof of the secret I keep hidden from the entire criminal underworld.
Jude doesn’t reach for the brass handle. He just stares at it. He tilts his dark head slightly to the left.
His posture goes totally rigid. He takes a tiny, unconscious half-step toward the painted wood. He stares at the letters like they are a complex code he is absolutely desperate to break.
I have to distract them. I have to pull their attention back to me.
I need to get the drive out of my bra before it slices my skin open and bleeds through the emerald silk of my dress.
I bolt for the kitchenette.
I drop my heavy designer clutch on the small marble counter. I grip the smooth edge of the sink, trying desperately to control my erratic breathing.
A massive shadow falls over me instantly.
Nick steps into the tiny, confined space of the kitchenette. He doesn’t stop until his solid chest is inches from my back.
He is using his imposing height to dominate the room. He is looming deliberately.
The absolute, unwavering certainty rolling off him is suffocating. He watches me with the dark, unblinking focus of a man who has already claimed everything in his line of sight.
“You’re running,” Nick observes softly. His deep, commanding voice vibrates right down my spine.
“I am getting a glass of water,” I lie smoothly.
I reach up for a heavy crystal tumbler in the open cabinet.
Nick reaches over my shoulder. His large, calloused hand closes directly over mine.
His skin is blazing hot. Sparks shoot up my arm at the contact.
He gently but firmly pries the glass from my trembling fingers. He lowers it to the counter. He doesn’t just set it down. He places it perfectly in the dead center of a leather coaster.
I watch in stunned silence as his hand moves toward my day planner sitting on the edge of the island.
He picks up the small leather book. He shifts it exactly two inches to the right, aligning it perfectly parallel to the edge of the marble counter.
He is rearranging my belongings. He is systematically altering my environment to fit his exact preferences. He is claiming my space.
“You’re tense, Principessa.”
I spin around. I bump hard against the heavy Kevlar plating of his tactical vest.
“Do not call me that,” I snap.
“Why?” Nick tilts his dark head, his gaze tracking the frantic pulse hammering in my neck. “Because you’re already picturing your knees on this cold marble, Principessa. You’re wondering if my thick cock will stretch your mouth as wide as that text message promised.”
Heat floods my cheeks in a violent rush, pooling into a desperate, heavy ache between my thighs. I hate that he brings it up. I hate that he can see the exact moment my pussy begins to drip for him.
“That text was a joke.” I lift my chin, though my voice is a thin, betrayed thread. “A moment of temporary insanity.”
“It didn’t read like a joke.” Nick leans closer, the heavy, demanding ridge of his erection pressing through his tactical pants and into my stomach. He crowds me back against the sink until the cold metal bites into my spine. “It read like an invitation. And I always accept a challenge.”
“You are delusional.”