Page 32 of His Angel

There’s a little vein in his temple going apeshit.

“What is in this office no one wants me to see?”

“Mr. Del Rossa’s office is off-limits.”

I gasp. “A statue that talks. Should I curtsy or just applaud the miracle?”

Voices echo down the hall, and I move away from the door, relieved I no longer have to suffocate in Ryan’s enigmatic silence.

“I was sure you’d bring your bodyguard,” I hear Isaia say just as I round the corner, finding him, Alexius, and Leandra.

Alexius smirks. “I did.” Then he glances at Leandra, who’s clutching his arm as she stares up at him.

Her husband’s presence fills the room. Even with his collar unbuttoned and sleeves rolled up mid-arm, he looks like a force of cold authority, but Leandra steals the air. Elegant, fierce, her dark hair cascading like a queen’s mantle.

Isaia’s eyes find mine, burning, but Leandra’s gaze cuts sharper—cool, assessing, a flicker of something hard behind it. She steps closer to Isaia, her hand brushing his arm, and he leans into it—just a touch, but it’s there, a bond that hums.

“Everly,” Leandra greets, remaining at Isaia’s side. “I’m so happy to see you’re safe.”

“Thank you. It’s nice to see you again.”

She smiles, but it’s different.She’sdifferent. Not at all like I remember her at the fundraiser—soft and friendly, welcoming. There’s more of an edge to her now, a steeliness that wasn’t there the night I met her.

Isaia smirks and walks up to me, sliding an arm around my waist. “Did she behave, Ryan?” he asks without looking at my bodyguard.

“Yes, sir.”

“Good girl,” he murmurs, and heat instantly pools between my legs, clearly not caring that we’ve got company. He leans in, lips brushing my ear. “Now be a good girl for just a little longer, and I’ll fuck you pretending you’ve been a really,” he licks my earlobe, “really bad girl.”

Sweet lord.

With a nod toward Ryan, he says, “We’ll be in my office.”

That damn office is taunting me like a button I was told not to push.

Isaia and Alexius head down the hall, and Leandra lingers, gaze moving down my front, her brows slanted like she disapproves of my outfit.

Of course she does. Look at what she’s wearing. A short but sophisticated sage dress with a neckline that accentuates her collarbones and a thin belt to cinch her waist, showcasing her stunning figure.

There’s no question she’s a true Del Rossa; it’s all there in the way she carries herself, her poised elegance whether she’s the center of attention or not. Del Rossa runs in her blood. Clearly.

I clear my throat. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go get dressed into something less?—”

“I can assure you, you really don’t need less.”

“—PJ-ish. Something less…never mind.” I bite my bottom lip, diverting my gaze, and I swear to God this woman’s presence is almost as suffocating as her husband’s. “I’ll just…um…” I point toward the bedroom. “Go get changed.”

Thick tension hangs in the air as my bare feet pad down the hall toward the bedroom. Something that pulses.

The fabric in my hands flows like a whisper as I pull on the boho-chic dress, all soft ivory cotton with delicate lace trimming the hem, grazing mid-thigh, embroidered with tiny wildflowers in threads of sage and rust, catching the light as I pull it over my head. It drapes loosely yet clings just right, a breeze of freedom against my skin.

It does something to my insides, the fact that Isaia knows me so well my entire wardrobe is filled with items I would have picked myself. Other women might find it…creepy, maybe disturbing.

But me? Apparently, a man obsessed is my weakness.

After a few moments of pacing the bedroom, muttering a pep-talk under my breath, courage finally kicks in. The trek to the living room looms ahead since Leandra’s waiting there and I’m picking up a vibe. Not a good one.

Bare feet brush the cool teak as I step out, the boho dress swaying with each stride, but the living room stretches emptily. Confusion creases my brow when I hear a clink echo from the kitchen, movement stirring.

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