Page 2 of The Perfect Deception

“God, is everything online now?”

“Yep,” I say. “I’m not even sure the people at the meetings would tell us if these guys were ever there. Anonymity and all.”

He rakes a hand through his thick hair before blowing out a frustrated breath. “We gotta try it. Come on, Cinderella, I’ll get you back to the palace.”

“Funny.” I smirk. “That joke still not old yet?”

Mischief lights up his face. “Detective Pragmatist staying at a multi-million-dollar penthouse apartment with her billionaire boyfriend? I imagine you’ll be hearing that nickname at your retirement party.”

I roll my eyes at his teasing, but he’s right. Practically the entire precinct has been calling me Cinderella since those damn cameras were found and Damien offered his penthouse as my safe haven.

“At least there’s a ton of security and cameras that are supposed to be there.” That and Damien’s doorman provide an extra level of protection than my house. “I turned down the personal bodyguard he offered.” Just thinking about the reason I’m going to Damien’s penthouse instead of my own house puts me right back on edge.

For days I’ve been trying to justshake it off,but I can’t. I haven’t been able to shake anything off because I think of all the privatemoments some perv witnessed. Me in my home, my safe space where I can relax, unwind from my crazy life.

It has to be the killer. Right?

That’s the thought that steals all my focus until Jay walks me to the door of Damien’s building before taking off with a laugh. “See you in the morning, Cinderella.”

I chuckle about that on the elevator ride up and up to what still feels like the one thousandth floor. But it doesn’t cover the nerves over the intruder. The killer has been in my house, at least once to install the cameras. God only knows if he was there any other time. I shudder at the thought.

The thought of a stranger in my house doesn’t just piss me off—it terrifies me. I hate that someone was there, violating my space, but somehow, being here with Damien feels right, even if the way I ended up here still makes me uneasy. It’s only been a few days, but it feels surreal, like I’m living in a dream I didn’t ask for. “A real-life dream,” I say to myself, stepping into the living room with a sigh.

The walls of windows stretch from floor to very high ceiling, offering a stunning view of the city below. It’s overwhelming but beautiful. The furniture is deep navy and cream, making the massive sectional look impossibly inviting. It’s gorgeous. And already, it feels too much like home, a home I wasn’t planning on having with him, not like this.

I head toward the primary suite, pushing open the door and taking in the bathroom that’s still breathtaking, no matter how many times I see it. Heaven on earth. The shower and tub sit side by side, separated from the rest of the space, while the toilet is neatly tucked away on the opposite wall.

I walk to the sink and start undressing, peeling off my clothes one by one until they’re in a heap on the floor. My muscles ache from the day’s stress, and the thought of a hot shower is the only thing pulling me forward.

I step into the glass shower stall, and the steam hits me instantly, wrapping around me like a cocoon. The water falls from the shower head in steady, hot streams, and for the first time in what feels like forever, my mind starts to quiet. My heartbeat slows. The tension loosens its grip on my chest.

I close my eyes, letting the water wash away the chaos, if only for a moment. Calm. Finally.

I step out of the bathroom feeling like a whole new person…for all of thirty seconds before the case creeps back into my mind. Shaking it off, I throw on some clothes and head downstairs to see what Damien’s private chef has cooked up tonight—because, of course, he has a chef who can whip up anything I can dream of.

If I wasn’t stuck in this wonderland, I’d probably ask for something healthier. Maybe then I could finally drop these last ten pounds.

The closer I get to the kitchen, the stronger the smell gets. It’s intense—in a good way. I can’t quite place it, but I’m picking up fresh basil and garlic, which means one thing: Italian. Please let it be fresh pasta. If I’m going to be living in this fairy tale, I might as well enjoy the perks, right?

“Damien? I didn’t know you were home yet. Don’t tell me you’re responsible for this incredible smell?”

He flashes a sexy smile over his shoulder. “Of course, I am. Come on over and have a taste.”

Have a taste.Even those three words from his lips sound positively erotic. “I won’t say no.”

“Words every man longs to hear.” His smile is contagious and when he waves me over, I close the gap between us until less than an inch separates us. “Come.”

Yes, please.“What did you make?” Being this close to him is making me a little bit dizzy. I’m not sure if it’s his expensive cologne or just the masculine scent of him, but lately I can’t seem to get enough of Damien.

“Open up and taste.”

My nostrils flare at his dirty words, and I lick my lips before opening my mouth. Fire, white and hot, flashes in his eyes at my easy obedience. A moan escapes the moment the sweet and tangy sauce hits my tongue. “That’s incredible. What is it?” It’s some kind of tomato sauce but not like any I’ve ever tasted.

“Caramelized onion, butter, garlic and Calabrian chili. That last one isn’t exactly authentic, but the spice is nice, right?”

I lick my lips again. “I’ve never been more turned on by a man talking food to me in my life. Are we alone? The chef not working today?”

He freezes, surprise lighting up his beautiful face. “Yes, kitten. We’re alone.”

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