Page 69 of Midnight Enemy

He strokes my cheeks with his thumbs. “I don’t want to keep asking, but I need you to know that if you want me to stop at any time, just say so, and I will, okay? I won’t be angry.”

This guy makes me melt. “I know,” I whisper, because even though I’ve just called him arrogant and privileged and he’s told me he always gets what he wants, I believe him. He hasn’t forced me to come here. It’s entirely my choice, and I know if I said I wanted to leave, he wouldn’t stop me.

I have no intention of doing that, though. Not in a million billion years.

“You going to give me a safe word?” I ask, trying to be sassy.

He chuckles. “You won’t need one.” He lowers his head and kisses me, this time so gently it’s as if a butterfly has landed on my lips. Then he lifts his head, touches his key card to the door, and we go inside.

Chapter Fourteen

Orson

“Jesus,” she says. “It’s enormous.”

“Thank you,” I reply, amused.

She sends me a wry look. “The apartment, I mean.”

I grin, take my Converses off, and leave them by the door, and she does the same with her sandals, leaving Bearcub sitting on them. Then I watch her walk forward and stand in the center of the living area. I move next to her, trying to see it through her eyes. The apartment takes up a corner of the entire floor. One side faces the harbor. The glittering lights of the Harbour Bridge across to the North Shore are reflected in the water, making it seem as if the city is strung with Christmas lights. The other window looks across the gleaming lights of the city with the Sky Tower just visible to the right, only a few hundred yards away. The view is magnificent in the daytime.

In the lounge, a plush light-gray carpet covers the wooden floors, and a light-gray suite with scattered fawn and navy-blue cushions faces a widescreen TV. A round dining table with four chairs sits to one side, not far from the kitchen. My housekeeper was in this morning, so the gray marble work surfaces and all the mod cons gleam when I switch the lamps on. The art on the walls is abstract and tasteful. I didn’t pick it—the decorators did, but I like it. My PlayStation sits next to the TV.

“It’s… beautiful,” Scarlett says.

I toss my wallet and keys on the counter, noticing her cautious tone. “You can say if you don’t like it. I won’t be offended.”

“No, I mean it, it’s beautiful, it just doesn’t look… lived in. It’s like a show home.”

“I don’t spend a lot of time here, it’s true. When I am here, I tend to go in the study.”

“Can I see that?”

Surprised, I say, “Of course. Would you like a drink first?”

“No, thank you.”

I walk across the room, and she follows me down the corridor, then into another room on the left.

“Wow,” she says. “Yes, okay, this is more you.”

Here, bookshelves line two walls, filled with books, magazines, and journals. There’s an old oak desk and a leather office chair at one end, and a very soft black leather sofa at the other, both facing the view of the city. The coffee table in front of the sofa is scattered with more books and journals, my Kindle, and my iPad. An open drinks cabinet holds a dozen different bottles of alcohol—mostly whiskey and bourbon, and a row of crystal tumblers.

“My den,” I say.

She smiles. “It smells of you. I love it. It’s much nicer than the lounge.” She glances at the books. “Can I look around?”

“Of course. I don’t have anything to hide.”

She walks around the room slowly.

“Are you looking for something?” I ask, perching on the edge of the desk.

“You’ve told me a little about your business. That you go to the gym and play video games sometimes. But that’s all. I want to find out what makes you tick.”

“Apart from you?”

She just laughs, stops by the first bookcase, and starts looking at the titles. She reads some of them out. “Profitable Properties, Property Management Excellence, The Psychology of Money, The Intelligent Investor.” She pulls a face. “They’re all business books. Very dry.”

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