Page 43 of Blind Prophet

The bed sinks, and she says, “Lie back.”

Confused, I crack an eye open. She’s sitting on my bed. Her back to the headboard.

“Lay your head down here.” She pats her denim-clad thigh.

She’s kicked off her running shoes, and her multicolored socks blur.

I lie back until my head rests on her thigh. She reaches for a pillow, tells me to lift, then recline.

“Better?”

“Yes.”

“Close your eyes.” And her fingers take over.

Magic. It’s the only word for her touch. She soothes the pain. Comfort and warmth permeate my chest. My neck muscles strain, but those magical fingers ease the muscles. I want to lie like this forever.

“You’ve never done this before.”

“You always told me to leave you alone.”

“Did I say that out loud?”

“Yes.” Amusement laces her answer.

“Damn.” What pills did she give me?

“These pills are going to knock you out, aren’t they?”

“I hope not. This feels like heaven.”

“You don’t take care of yourself.”

“I have an entire staff that takes care of everything.” It’s true—a machine of efficiency that runs my life while I run a company that tracks everything from weather patterns to global security threats. Twenty thousand employees worldwide.

“Yet you get migraines.”

“Why are you here?” My tone is purposefully soft. I don’t want an argument.

“You know why.”

I let my neck turn, face against her thigh, ending the conversation. She’s here for the divorce agreement. Another contract to negotiate, another asset to divide. The irony never escapes me—I can orchestrate a satellite launch from my phone, but I couldn’t keep my marriage in orbit. Father would say that’s the price of empire-building, and he would know.

We can’t negotiate when I’m incapacitated. I need sleep.

CHAPTER10

CAROLINE

“Don’t leave.”

The barely audible words circulate slowly, gradually depleting the surrounding oxygen. His breathing slows, and the muscle tension relaxes as he slips into sleep. The weight of his head on my thigh increases, and I take him in, so unexpectedly vulnerable.

A torrent of conflicting emotions erupts.

Sadness. Grief. Guilt.

I shouldn’t let my personal history interfere with mission objectives. Yet here I am, my fingers still working through his hair like we’re back in Oxford, before I understood what it meant to marry into a powerful, enigmatic family.

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