Page 41 of Shield

Humiliation burns through me as I realize this breakfast is meant for him and Valentina. It’s immediately followed by a flash of anger at myself. I shouldn’t give a single fuck where this man puts his dick, much less who he’s eating with. I really shouldn’t.

I raise an eyebrow at Eleanor, who closes her eyes briefly, then opens them with a tight frown.

“Herbie, no. Not the penthouse. I told you those go to the 39th floor.”

She’s quick, I’ll give her that, but I don’t buy it for a minute. I try to step around them and get on the elevator, but she pushes Herbie back, blocking me again.

Really getting tired of this game.

Matti speaks up cheerfully. “No, that’s okay, Eleanor. Herbie, drop those here. Maybe my guest is hungry; I know I’m starving.” He moves so Herbie can push the cart into the penthouse, flashing me a wicked grin.

Nice. Okay. I see his game. Hewantsto piss me off, rubbing in the fact that last night’s workout with Valentina left him famished. Well, fuck that. I can play, too. Plus, I am hungry.

“Sure, sounds great.” I say brightly. Plastering on a fake smile, I brush past him and grab a piece of bacon off one of the plates and pop it in my mouth as Herbie leaves.

Matti closes the door behind me, and I turn, happily surprised to find him glaring at me. That’s more like it.

I stroll deeper into the penthouse, forcing myself not to gape at the sheer opulence—thick carpets, towering fireplaces, a navy-blue stained concrete table surrounded by plush chairs with a sleek matching desk behind it and floor-to-ceiling windows that look down on the lobby below, couches as wide as beds. This place is incredible.

I grimace at what looks like the remains of last night’s dinner barely touched, the bit of red lace peeking out of the garbage can.

Refocusing, I pull Emily’s phone from my bag, slapping it down next to his laptop on the table. “This is Emily’s phone. I found it in her stuff, and I want to access it—texts, pictures, anything that might help me. Obviously, it got wet in the plane crash, so I need help to get it working.”

Matti says nothing. Instead, he drops his towel and stridestoward the back of the penthouse.

I inhale sharply, my mind going utterly blank. All I can do is stare as his muscular thighs and ass flex with each step, his strong back shifts with the movement of his arms, tattoos rippling like liquid over his skin. My mouth goes dry.

“What do you think you’re going to find?” he asks, turning to catch me staring just before he disappears into what I’m guessing is his bedroom.

I whip away from him, clenching my jaw.Focus, Siena. Keep it together.

“I don’t know,” I lie. Probably shouldn’t tell him I’m hoping to find evidence against him, if he is the one who killed my sister. “Memories, mostly. Pictures. Maybe some more hints about what happened to her.”

Matti comes out of the bedroom wearing black jeans and no shirt. I turn at the sound, then immediately avert my eyes as he finishes buckling his belt.

Other than last night, I’ve only seen him in a suit, and holy shit, if it’s possible he’s even more devastating like this, relaxed in jeans, still damp from the shower.

The familiar heat coils low in my stomach, like it always does when he’s near me. My traitorous pussy clenches, and I curse myself. Even worse, my heart clenches right along with her, and I feel sick to my stomach.

I stalk toward the breakfast cart, ripping off a piece of toast and shoving it into my mouth. Matti smirks, following suit, standing far too close as he butters his bread and takes a bite.

“What hints do you have?” he asks.

Shoving the rest of the toast into my mouth, I say, barely intelligibly, “I didn’t say I had any.”

Matti raises an eyebrow at me talking with my mouth full,and I chew loudly.

“You did. You said you needed ‘more’ hints. Which implies that you have some already.”

“You inferred. I implied nothing.”

He stares at me for a moment, then steps in closer so that he’s only an inch away. His face is expressionless as he continues to stare. My chewing slows, then stops entirely as I swallow hard. The electricity between us is so thick it stings, the silence punctuated by my stifled breathing.

Reaching around me, he takes a pancake off the plate, rolls it up, and takes a huge bite. The muscles in his jaw work tightly as he chews and swallows, searching my face.

“What is it that you think you have, Siena?”

Every time he says my name like that—dry, detached—it feels like a slap. No more ‘kitten.’ No more sweet smiles. It’s all gone, replaced with cold eyes and thinly veiled condescension and contempt.

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