Page 18 of Wicked S.O.B.

But who is it? And why follow me for weeks without making contact? Not that I want that to happen, of course.

I ask Ellen that exact question after she returns, and I tell her none of the images look familiar. “In my experience, they’re toying with you right now,” she says as she walks me to the front of the precinct. “It’s their sick way of announcing their intention to “establish contact.” What we don’t want is for them to take it to the next level and do something physical.”

I can’t stop the ice-cold shiver that runs through me. She spots it, and a tiny wave of sympathy crosses her face.

“I have to ask this. Could it be something from Blackwood’s side of the equation? The way he took his father down sent a lot of ripples through the governor’s office. A few prominent people were also caught up in the scandal. Maybe we’re dealing with a highly disgruntled employee?”

Since I have no way of answering that without involving Quinn, I say nothing.

Ellen holds the precinct door open for me. “It would be good if we could rule that out,” she says, reiterating the not-so-subtle point that I need to tell Quinn. “For now, though, if you don’t need to go out anywhere alone, then don’t.”

I nod my consent, and we part ways. The question of my stalker’s identity remains on my mind as I hurry back to the academy. As does the inescapable fact that I need to tell Quinn. What I didn’t tell Ellen is that the reason I haven’t told Quinn yet is because I’m terrified he’ll latch on to the problem and abandon his own healing process. One of the problems Dr. Freeman zeroed in on during our first meeting was that Quinn, no longer sustained by his years-long revenge plot, was floundering without the toxic intravenous drip he’d fed himself with. Put simply, he’d been addicted to exacting retribution for his mother. Nothing else had mattered. He’d made no room for a future, expecting to die in the process of bringing his father down. That future is still a nebulous mystery to him, despite me being in his life.

The last thing I want Quinn to do is bury his own problems and make me his next addiction. And he would. I have no doubt about it.

I hate keeping this a secret from him but I’ll be in enough shit as it is when I come clean eventually. A couple more days won’t hurt. I’ll tell him on Wednesday, after we’ve been to see Dr. Freeman. The fact that Quinn hasn’t fired the doctor yet might even be a good sign that we can trust Dr. Freeman to help us with this issue, too, once I confess it. Maybe. I grimace. I’m not looking forward to that, though. My lover isn’t good at sharing his joys or his problems.

The voice in my head that tells me I’m being a chicken shit is pushed away as I reach the corner of the school block and spot Quinn’s silver limo half a block away in the opposite direction.

Damn.

Quinn won’t be content with waiting for me in the car. I sprint into the alley and up the back stairs to the third floor. By the time I join the rest of the students as they spill out of the class, I’m flustered, and my hair is slipping out of the knot I put it in earlier. A few of them look at me funny but I ignore them. I think of darting into the ladies’ room to check my hair, but the last thing I need is Quinn prowling the halls looking for me, so I finger-comb my hair, run my tongue over my lips, and take a deep breath.

He’s entering the front of the building when I exit the elevator on the ground floor. As usual, almost everyone in the busy foyer takes an interest in the tall, charismatic, sinfully handsome man wearing dark jeans, an open-necked black shirt, and a sports jacket.

Quinn in casual clothes is second on my weakness-rendering list only to Quinn in the stunning bespoke suits he favors for work. No, scratch that. Quinn wearing nothing at all is the ultimate high. But I love him like this, too, with his hair a little windswept and his jaw still sporting the stubble that delivered delicious burns to my inner thighs this morning.

He’ll never pass for an ordinary human being—he’s too intensely electrifying and visually breathtaking for that—but dressed like this, he seems a little approachable. It’s a delusion of course, but one I’m content to fool myself with. People may stare from afar but the volatile force field around him is one only the foolhardy will breach.

His silver eyes zero in on me when the crowd parts, and my lungs debate whether to work or not. He heads straight for me and slides one hand around my nape. He says nothing, just stares at me as the departing crowd flows around us.

“Hi,” I murmur eventually, keeping my eyes on him.

After a year, I’m still not used to the attention we get when we’re out in public together, and it’s just easier to look at him than at the people watching us.

His ruthless gaze scours every inch of my face. Then his eyes narrow with intense speculation. “Hi. You want to tell me why you look flushed?”

Shit, I thought I had it under control. “It’s your fault. Sexting with you gets me insanely hot.”

He raises one eyebrow but he doesn’t speak as he steers me out the door. Lionel is outside and holds the back door open for me. Quinn nods a dismissal, and Lionel returns to slide behind the wheel. With his hand on the small of my back, Quinn guides me across the sidewalk to the car. Although he opens the door wide, he makes sure my body comes into contact with his as I slip past him to enter the car. He’s hard as steel, and he wants me to know it. That, plus the fact that he brought the limo for privacy instead of the town car tells its own story.

“That was over an hour ago,” he says once we’re inside and Lionel rejoins traffic. I’m sitting astride him, and his gaze is fixed on my face, intense eyes probing my every flicker of emotion.

I need to tread carefully. “You think there’s a time limit on how you make me feel?” I roll my hips, gliding the seam of my jeans up the solid length of his rigid cock.

Merciless fingers dig into my hips, and he surges up to meet me as he groans. “Nice save, Elyse. But I can’t shake the feeling you’re trying to distract me.”

Fuck. I force myself not to swallow the lump of apprehension lodged in my throat. I bury my face in his neck, taking a huge hit of his sandalwood and masculine musk smell. “I’ve been going crazy wondering what you meant with your text.”

“I meant exactly what I said.”

I raise my head and look into his eyes. “But…we’re going to Steinway’s.”

“Where the manager has agreed to shut the store for an hour and leave us to…browse in private.”

My jaw drops. “Oh my God.”

His eyes gleam with voracious hunger. “Quite.”

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