Page 52 of His Deadly Lies

Simple, clean, elegant. Like the woman herself, the room is done in shades of cream and a pale rose blush with soft fabrics and sturdy wooden furniture. A spider plant is perched near the window though the shades are drawn tightly shut.

An insular, healing space. At least, it better fucking be.

By the time I get back, she’s still clutching her stomach, but her eyes have closed, and she doesn’t seem to be sweating as much.

She’s so small, I think as I manhandle her into a seated position, pressing the glass to her lips and urging her to drink. So much smaller when she’s not spitting fire, and delicate in a way that makes me want to break the neck of anyone who ever hurt her.

Even her father for forcing her into a position where she has to accept a wedding ring without love.

For keeping her virginity intact and requiring her to accept a shackle around her ankle, a ball on a chain, without any say in it on her terms.

Fuck duty.

Concern keeps me there until she’s had more than half the glass of water, sputtering a little and pushing me away ineffectually. She blinks, catching my eye.

Water trails from the side of her mouth down toward the soft curve of her cleavage. Behave, I order myself. Especially when she’s not looking at me with anything close to fear.

It’s almost…relief.

“Don’t leave me,” she whispers.

I turn away and set the glass down on the bedside table. “I’m not going anywhere.”

The bed is fit for a queen, but that’s like throwing a red flag in front of a bull. There’s no way I want to stay so close to her through the night, not when it’s too easy to roll over and drag her into the curve of my body.

There’s a chair off to the side, covered in clothing, and I stand only long enough to take my suit jacket off and unbutton the top three buttons of my shirt. “I’ll stay here tonight. Is it time for me to start worrying?” I ask her, pushing my sleeves higher until my elbows are exposed.

There’s no answer, and when I turn around, Mia is sleeping soundly.

Honestly, I have no idea what I’m going to fucking do with the woman. Part of me thinks this debacle is a huge lesson for me and for her. Not to turn our backs or let our guards slip even for a second. Not knowing exactly what happened, with her drink and with the shipments, pisses me off even more and leaves me pacing the room like a caged tiger. How the hell am I going to sleep now?

I prefer to know exactly what and who I’m up against and where to point and shoot.

How much money am I willing to bet that whoever is stealing their shipments and threatening their drivers is behind the drink spike?

And depending on what was in her drink, she might wake up in a few hours feeling hungover or be fatally sick. Leaving her, even to start my own research on what’s been going on behind the scenes, is not an option.

A beep sounds from nearby. Sebastian, responding. Luckily the phone still recognizes Mia’s face with her eyes closed. Settling in on the edge of the bed, I read the text from Bash.

We didn’t find anyone matching the description, but one of my guys saw someone disappear through the back door.

Once Mia recovers, we’re going to have to have a serious talk about upping security. One man can’t do it all himself, and I’m fucking tired. She’s enough of a handful on her own.

If anyone thought the attack on her to be an isolated event, then it’s time to rethink and strategize.

When watching her sleep feels a little too intimate, my cock a little too insistent, I drop to the chair and cross my arms over my chest. I keep watch for hours. Jumping every time she stirs. And wondering who the fuck was brave enough to try and drug Mia in her own club.

15

MIA

Holy fuck.

How much did I…no. No thinking.

Not just yet. Not when everything hurts and coming out of oblivion leads to a pounding head and dry mouth. Worse than a hangover. So much worse because every part of me is achy and hot and tight at the same time. As though my skin shrank at some point during the night, and everything squeezes too tightly, inside and out.

The slight slits of sun shifting in through the curtains have turned me into a vampire. I shrink deeper into the cocoon of my covers, hissing.

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