He leaned back and pushed a breath through pursed lips. “I came because…leaving you at that airport was a mistake.” His gaze met mine, steady. “I don’t know what this is, Alex. But I know it’s not finished.”
A pause.
“And I don’t want it to be.”
I exhaled slowly. “That scares me.”
He didn’t move.
“Not because of you,” I added. “I just don’t trust my head right now.” I curled my fingers around the coffee cup, drawing in the heat. “But I don’t want it to be finished either.”
chapter
twenty-seven
In the short time I’d known him, Luka’s hands on me had meant a lot of things: restraint, lust, liberation. But now, in my own bed, his hands—his arms wrapped around me—felt like comfort. Safety. Home.
We lay together, naked in a tangle of sheets. His chest rose and fell against my back, and everywhere we touched felt like a shield. I shifted, but he pulled me closer. He hadn’t let me out of his reach since the coffee shop that morning.
I pressed my back into his chest and, for a long time, we didn’t move. He’d filled my body as soon as we’d made it to my bed. Now, as cliché as it sounded, he was filling my soul. Or, at least, giving it a place to land.
The silence was thick enough to keep us cocooned, but my mind floated above it, circling the same question over and over.What happens next?
I craned my neck to see his face. His eyes were open, unguarded.
He traced the line of my shoulder with his palm, then the side of my throat. “You’re thinking too much.”
I gave a nervous half-laugh. “Am I that obvious?”
“You never stop.” He brushed his lips along my ear. “Tell me.”
I gripped his forearm, just to anchor myself. “I don’t even know where to begin.”
“It doesn’t matter. Pick one thought and start there.”
Shuffling through the thoughts ricocheting in my head, I picked the lowest-hanging fruit. “Well, I managed to blow up my entire career in under a week. That’s got to be some kind of a record.”
Luka tightened his hold on my waist. “You didn’t lose your career. You lost a job.”
“It’s more than that. I failed the game. I pissed off people in high places—even though they absolutely deserved it. But people in my industry, they talk. They blacklist. No one would dream of hiring me now.”
He went still for a moment, then loosened his grip. “They didn’t fire you because you failed. They fired you because you became expensive.”
“So I’m, what…” The word lodged in my chest. “A risk?”
“Yes.”
“A cost.”
“Yes. One they can’t afford to pay.”
I swallowed. “So what are you suggesting?”
He shifted behind me, his voice quiet at my shoulder. “I’m not suggesting anything. I’m saying that you have damaging information, and they know it.”
“And?”
“They tried to buy your silence, and you refused.”