Page 14 of Blood Ties

With trembling fingers, she lifted the flap and dumped the contents out. One by one, her brows pinched tighter with each page she scanned. “Is this a joke? That’s not my email account. And these pictures… totally out of context.”

My gaze narrowed as I read every nuance of her body language and features. Every bit of it said she was telling the truth. “That IP address traces to your loft and your laptop. That’s definitely you in those images.”

“My laptop?” Sheer terror distorted her features. “My loft?”

At first, she looked like she was going to hyperventilate, then she dropped the pages like they burned her. She held a finger up as if she was asking for a minute as she stood and began to pace. The entire time, she was mumbling and holding her hands to her head.

“Nivea?”

She stopped in her tracks and stared at me in pained disbelief. Her shoulders curled in. “Who would do that to me? Why would they make it look like that? And why wouldn’t they just go to the police if they thought I killed him? And why do you have all of this?”

If I told her I’d been hired to kill her, that would be the end of this conversation, and possibly the end of my contact with her. At that thought, my stomach churned and my chest seized. “You obviously know my family. Let’s just say I have information from a reliable source that your stepmother hired someone to kill you because you killed Justin to get his money.”

“We met for lunch. He told me he had been suffering from a terrible headache. I told him I had an herbal blend that works wonders. He got a phone call that he excused himself for, and I mixed it up for him. He was aware, though. I have more in my bag—you can look.” She gestured toward her gigantic purse that sat on the end of the kitchen counter.

When I did just that, she murmured, “Zippered inside pocket.”

Exactly where she’d said, there were several small, folded parchment paper packets. Opening one, I found what looked like finely crushed herbs. A brief, curious sniff didn’t tell me exactly what they were. “You care if I have these looked at?”

“Knock yourself out,” she emotionlessly replied.

As I messaged my brother Gabriel, I kept an eye on her. She slowly glided over to the wall of glass in the living room.

“Can I ask you a question?” Her question was so softly spoken, at first, I wasn’t sure she was talking to me.

“What question?” I warily countered.

“The messages… and when you said you thought I was stunning, was that just part of your act?” she asked as she hugged herself and stared out of the window.

Maybe it was how lost and wounded she appeared. Maybe I was truly losing my edge. Or maybe I was simply a fucking idiot.

Regardless of the reason, my reply wasn’t in words. I stalked across the room until she turned to face me as I closed in. When it was obvious I wasn’t stopping, she backed up until her spine was to the glass.

Leaning in and bringing my face close until my nose nearly touched hers, I braced my hands on the cool glass by her head. I stared into her startled gaze. “You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. I’ve been attracted to you since the moment I had you in my sights. If things had been different, I would’ve brought you here and fucked you until your voice was hoarse from screaming my name. Does that answer your question?”

The text messages we’d shared for two weeks had been the first of my bad decisions, yet I wouldn’t take it back for anything in the world. Initially, they were simply supposed to be carefully planted seeds of trust and familiarity. They had quickly morphed into something I didn’t recognize—like I truly was Nick Bowman.

A different man entirely.

All day, every day, I checked my phone like some kid—hoping and praying she’d replied. Hoping I hadn’t gone too far with my suggestive comments. Obviously not, because somehow they had led us to this tense, heated place.

Her breath came in short pants that blew over my lips. I wasn’t prepared for her moving into my space, but I sure as hell didn’t waste time debating when she did. The second her lips brushed mine, I tilted my head and swept my tongue into her mouth.

She curled her fingers into my shirt, clutching the fabric tightly.

Claiming and devouring, our tongues swirled and stroked as I learned every contour in her mouth and tasted her desire. I kept my hands on the window until hers began to rapidly unbutton my shirt. The second her soft hands slipped inside and splayed on my chest, I lost my stoic battle. I slid one into the gap left by the curve of her back and down to grip her ass. When I jerked her close so she could feel what she did to me, she gasped against my lips.

“Does that answer your question?” I asked against her still open mouth.

Three heartbeats.

A few more.

“I need you,” she whispered.

My heart thundered and I dropped my forehead to hers. It took Herculean effort to get my dick to chill out. “This is a colossally bad idea—it’s the adrenaline. I’m not going to do something you’ll regret.”

“Why don’t you let me worry about what I will or won’t regret,” she murmured as she nuzzled the tip of her nose along mine. Her soft, full lips grazed the corner of my mouth and then my cheek.

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