Page 83 of The Woman at the Funeral

When I made it back out, she was dressed, had her bag on her shoulder, and was reaching to click Goya’s leash on.

“Do I need anything else?” she asked, looking toward her.

“Only if you want it. I’ve got us covered,” I told her, flashing my holster and gun.

She nodded and left her gun.

Like she completely trusted me to take care of her.

It wasn’t something that came naturally to her after everything she’d been through with Matt.

I would move fucking heaven and earth to prove I was worthy of that trust.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Blair

Okay.

It seemed safe to assume that it wasn’t regret or lack of attraction that made things tense earlier that morning. It was probably just the same uncertainty I felt that made him kind of distant.

After he charged into the apartment and completely lost control with me, it was clear I wasn’t the only one who’d really enjoyed our other little tryst.

The taxi hit a pothole, making the lingering soreness from our rough sex ratchet up.

Nico reached out, giving my thigh a squeeze and an apologetic look.

But I didn’t regret it, not in the least.

There was something beautiful about his lack of control, about knowing I did that to him.

So I leaned over behind Goya’s back to rest my head briefly on his shoulder.

The way he turned his head and pressed a kiss to my head had my heart swelling in my chest.

“How does he live above a club?” I asked as we climbed out of the cab.

“He claims it helps him think,” Nico told me as we moved inside and upstairs. “I wasn’t exaggerating, by the way,” he warned when we got to Zeno’s door.

“About what?”

“How bad it is in there. I keep meaning to hire someone to clean for him, but keep getting distracted by something else.”

“I’m sure it’s not that bad,” I said as Nico reached for his keys and unlocked the door.

Itwasthat bad.

It was worse.

But I didn’t even notice that right away.

Because the second the door swung open, Zeno swiveled in his fancy office chair, a gun the size of my forearm raised in our direction.

“Banana bread coffee girl!” he greeted, all smiles as he casually lowered the gun. “And the dog. Hey, buddy,” he called.

I was reluctant to let the leash go with such a mess all around, but Goya tugged until I let go, then bounded over to jump up on Zeno’s chair. But only to grab a chicken nugget out of the little square box on the desk.

“Goya!” I scolded.

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