Page 90 of Blind Prophet

The water temperature has cooled, and my skin is pruned, so I concur…it’s time.

“Is there any chance I can convince you to snuggle with me?”

“Snuggle?” I can’t block the incredulous smile. “Who are you, and what did you do to the business titan I married?”

Water droplets glide down his chest, and my gaze follows their trail down his fit abdomen to his towel. His work ethic clearly still extends from the office to the gym.

He smirks with cocky awareness.

“Is that a yes or a no?” he asks.

“Where do you want to snuggle?”

“My bed.”

I half-laugh but quickly realize he’s serious.

“Best view in the house. A fireplace.”

There’s a knowing look in his eye. When we first started dating, our favorite days were lazy Sundays. It’s not Sunday, it’s Friday, but it’s the state of mind, not the day of the week.

“All right,” I say. “Lead the way.”

He doesn’t lead, though. Instead, he slows his steps to match mine, and we walk side by side into his lair.

He tosses throw pillows to the floor and pulls back the luxurious comforter, gesturing for me to climb into his bed. I step forward, but he grips my towel.

“You don’t need this.”

I roll my eyes, but his comment is 100 percent expected. I let the towel drop and climb onto the bed. He drops his towel and settles beside me, pulling the comforter over both of us and me into his side.

“You’re more confident now.” His statement is matter-of-fact, void of judgment. “Why? Or should I ask who?”

“Langley.” The word hangs between us. The CIA changed me in ways I still can’t fully explain to civilians—even him. Gone is the naïve twenty-two-year-old who felt overwhelmed by his world. Intelligence work teaches you to see past the superficial power plays, to recognize that even billionaires are just people with their own vulnerabilities and tells.

I settle down on a pillow, facing him, and he turns on his side, mirroring my position.

“What are you thinking?” I ask.

“You really want to know?”

“It drives me crazy when you don’t tell me.” The argument is an echo of our past, but it’s different, because now I’m telling him exactly how I feel.

“All right. I’m wondering what I’m going to have to do to win you back. Because I want you back.”

“I'm not a possession.”

“Agreed. You’re the love of my life. How do I fix us?”

The irony isn’t lost on me. Here’s a man who can buy politicians and redirect satellites with a phone call, asking me how to fix something money can’t solve. Seven years ago, this vulnerability from him would have melted my resolve. Now, I recognize it as either genuine growth or excellent artifice. The trouble is, both look the same.

It doesn’t matter. You can’t fix a relationship that’s seven years stale. And I’m smart enough to know that for a man like Dorian, a man who has gotten literally everything he’s ever wanted and can buy anything he wants, he wants me now because I’m the one thing he didn’t get to keep. If I stayed, he’d fall right back into the routine where I ranked last. Maybe not at first, but eventually.

I open my mouth to tell him we’ve run our course, but he stops me with his lips. And soon, he does what he’s always excelled at. He eradicates all thought.

CHAPTER21

DORIAN

---