Page 35 of Forging Caine

I sank against his hard body, his heart beating against my back, his warm breath on my neck, his overwhelming presence behind me. His hardening cock pressed against my ass. “You’re making it very hard for me to focus.”

He blew gently across my ear. “That may have been part of my plan.”

“I can’t leave the FBI files out.” One of my hands crept behind me to caress the side of his hip. “I signed a confidentiality agreement.”

“No one will come into the condo while we’re here. Especially not if we’re in bed.” He slid one hand down between my legs.

“I’d almost forgotten what it was like to have you here in person.”

“I suspect the last eight months have—”

Eight.

He kept talking, but I didn’t hear any of it.

Holy shit.

Eight!

My hands landed on the light table, searching. The sheet at the bottom left had the dots near the middle—eight of them. The sheet at the top left had seven dots in its corner.

“It’s like a die.” I pointed at another. “Six.” And another. “Five.”

Antonio rounded to my side. “Seriously?”

“Yes! Seriously!” I shuffled the pages, lining the seven and eight sheets up so the die markers were on top of each other. Then I added the six and five. As the numbers got lower, it was harder to—

“No, I mean seriously? We were having a moment.”

My head jerked in his direction. Shit.

“You always do this.”

I needed to line them up. I’d figured out the code. It would put the pieces together. I glanced at the light table, then at Antonio, and back again.

What would I do if I lined them up and figured out the mysterious letter? Would it tell me everything I needed to know? Or would there be more research? More digging?

Antonio folded his arms. He was clearly doing his best not to lecture me or complain. But he was right—I did always do this.

The spike of adrenaline coursing through me tiptoed sheepishly back into my brain. Why was a random person’s mysterious letter more important than my fiancé?

Be honest, Sam. And calm the fuck down.

It wasn’t.

“That shirt looks really nice on you,” I said.

His face scrunched up. “Scusi?”

“For better or for worse, Antonio, this is me. I’m not sure it’s something I can change.”

“I’m not following.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, I relate better to puzzles and frauds and artwork than I do to people.” I placed a hand on his forearm, all corded and muscular and clenched tight. “It may seem like it, but it doesn’t actually mean I love you any less.”

He tilted his head, scrutinizing me. “What you’re saying is… if I’d approached it this way—”

Before I could ask what he was talking about, he grabbed my face and his mouth crashed into mine, his hot tongue sliding into my mouth. He moaned and stepped closer, wrapping an arm around my waist to draw me against that still-hard cock.

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