Page 113 of Reckless Vow

Baldo lets out a long sigh and Chloe rolls her eyes. “So I guess it checks out, and it seems your jealousy cost you, boss.” She pats his shoulder and walks to the door. “I’m going to oversee the cleanup. You look like shit. I’m not sure when you last slept, but fucking do it now because I want to go home. Good night, Brook.”

When the door closes behind her, I stand up. “Is Miguel—”

“The arsonist? No, you were right—the bartender started the fire. He paid her to do it. It was supposed to be a diversion, so he could rob my safe.”

“I don’t think she wanted to do it. She was so nervous…”

Jesus, I brought this to his door. Not intentionally, but still. No wonder he’s looking at me like I’m a nuisance.Inconveniencehe called me before. “Baldo, I’m sorry.”

He rounds the table and pulls me to him, holding me close. “You have nothing to be sorry about. He blackmailed the girl, and he didn’t succeed with the other part of his plan because I intercepted them when I was coming down after the alarm.”

“You faced them?” I jerk back, the vise on my insides gripping tighter.

“I wasn’t alone. My men were still here. He didn’t time it very well.” He kisses the crown of my head. “Let’s go to bed.”

We head upstairs in silence that speaks volumes. I don’t understand what it’s saying, only that it’s loaded with pent-up energy.

We exit the elevator and Baldo picks me up and carries me to his bed. He takes off my clothes, and then his.

I watch his every move, enthralled by the sight of him and panicked by his aloof presence.

He climbs in beside me, nudges me to my side, and pulls my back to his chest. Wrapped in his arms, I feel slightly better.

Our breath synchronizes quickly and Baldo’s evens out. While my mind is swirling with uncertainty, the fatigue is stronger.

The heavy hands on my hips.

Warmth between my thighs.

A shiver of pleasure startles me from my sleep.

“Baldo…” I sigh and arch my back as he does that thing with his tongue that has my entire body trembling with need.

“Good morning.” He continues his delicious assault, adding two fingers. It takes no time before I get there, screaming his name.

He climbs up and positions himself at my entrance. I’m still dizzy from sleep and my orgasm when our eyes meet.

There is determination and adoration in his gaze. He moves slowly. Too slowly, but I don’t dare argue or demand. If this is what he needs, this is what he gets.

The least I can do after causing—unintentionally—so much damage to his club. And he’s in charge in the bedroom, after all.

But this slow pace and his disarming expression are too much. Too intimate. Too dangerous.

And somehow eerie. It’s like he’s saying goodbye.

“Stop it, Brook. Let me make you feel good.”

As if he could hear my thoughts. Jesus.

“Harder,” I challenge.

And he obeys me, which should feel like a win, but it doesn’t, because Baldo not reminding me he’s in charge is only further confirmation that something is broken.

But his pace gets relentless, and soon I can’t think anymore. Only feel. My body thrashes in a tornado of sensations, battling with my heart that weeps at the contrasting emotions.

I come and Baldo follows me shortly after, my name on his lips as he pours himself inside me. He rolls off and leaves for the bathroom.

I prop myself against the headboard.

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