Page 178 of Enemies

He grabs me and pulls me against his hard chest. His heart hammers through the clothing that separates us, but it’s his expression of awe that humbles me.

“You’re unbelievable,” he murmurs against my hair. “When you said I could put Ivanov in the past, I didn’t believe you. But now, seeing this place, it feels possible.”

“You don’t need to protect your parents’ legacy anymore. You can have your own.”

His arms are an iron grip around me.

It’s three in the morning, and I’m awake.

Not because I’m stressed or anxious. Because I’m happy.

We’re lying in bed together, Harrison asleep while I replay the moment he saw the sign I ordered over and over, when the phone vibrates on his side of the bed.

He stirs, groaning before he reaches for it to answer.

The moment he does, his gorgeous body tightens, and he shoots to sitting.

“Since when?”

He curses, and alarm bolts through me. I grab for his arm, but he’s already halfway out of bed and still on the phone.

“What is it?” I demand.

Harrison hits the lights by the door before moving to the dresser to grab clothing. He drags on sweatpants, still listening.

“What’s wrong?” I repeat, shifting out of bed after him.

He hangs up and riffles through his drawer. “Leni got a notification the security cameras are down at Kings.”

“We turned off the exterior ones this week so the sign would be a surprise.” I grab him a long-sleeved T-shirt and hold it out. He tugs it on with a grateful look.

“There was a problem rebooting them, and now all the cameras are down. We have no video of the premises.”

A chill runs through me. “Can’t someone else deal with it?” It’s late, and this is why he has people who work for him.

“I have a bad feeling.”

I follow him to the door. “I’ll come with you.”

The look he shoots me is quelling. “No. Stay here. I’ll call you if something’s wrong.”

That stalls me enough that I let him go. I stand numbly in the foyer.

I can’t reconcile our day with the middle-of-the-night call.

My feet carry me down the hall toward the bedroom.

It occurs to me how different this is from the last time I found myself alone in Harrison King’s room in the morning without him nearby. In Ibiza, I was afraid he didn’t have feelings, that everything that had gone down between us was a lie or a flirtation.

There’s none of that fear now. He loves me.

The bedroom feels disrupted, the covers on the bed thrown back. Hastily opened drawers stare back at me.

I won’t wait for him, I decide. I’m going after him.

I pull on jeans and a sweater, not bothering with a bra or brushing my hair. I snap on my gold cuff like a security measure before heading for the elevator.

The concierge looks worried when I demand a car, but he relents, waving over the valet to pull around a Nissan that evidently belongs to the concierge.

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