Page 170 of Carnal Games

“Yeah.” His deep voice is torn and apologetic. “If I had listened to them, you’d be safe.”

I hear the guilt in him as heavy as my own. It crushes me. “Iamsafe, Kian. I was hurt, yes. But I’m still here with you, alive and well. We haven’t lost the fight.”

“No, we haven’t,” he rasps, gaze fierce.

“Do you think one person is involved?”

“If it were only you, then I would’ve thought so. But we cannot forget there were others before you. It’ll be too risky for a sole person to do this. Even if there are multiple people involved, there’s a chance the others could be outsiders.”

“True.”

“I don’t know yet why they’re targeting you and chose to come out of hiding after all this time. All I know is it’s my fault you were on their radar and for that, I am deeply sorry. I never should’ve hired you and given you the damn interview. It’s too late to fix my mistake.”

Nausea climbs up my throat, hearing him blame himself. At the same time, the pressure in my chest alleviates knowing he genuinely made an error in not believing the police. It affirms my determination to prove the same to Harshita.

I have to push past the suffocating guilt and do my job.

“You may think it’s a mistake, but I would go through it all over again.” I don’t even care how self-destructive it sounds because it’s true. Kian stills as I murmur with a smile, “Because it led me to you.”

He sucks in a sharp breath, staring at me with akin to wonder and primal heat.

Stretching my arm on the table, I rest mine over his clenched fist and uncurl his fingers. Intertwining mine with his, I stroke the inside of his wrist. “Neither one of us is at fault.”

Flipping my palm, he captures my wrist and tugs me into his lap. Grabbing my bare thighs with his large palms as my sleep shorts ride up, he holds me reverently. But his words are earth-shattering as he darkly warns, “Your unshakable faith in me will either be your downfall or my greatest reward, rainbow.”

If only he knew it’s the opposite.

Lifting me up, he rises to his full height. I have no choice but to wrap my legs around his trim waist. Awareness births goosebumps on my skin as my mind flashes to this afternoon, courtesy of our stance. As if he’s imagining the same, his grip slides to my ass.

The gesture awakens a painful throb in my pussy.

I draw blood as I bite my lips, trying to temper my moan.

In the hallway, he bypasses the guest room, and I blurt, “My room—”

“No longer yours. You’ll sleep in mine,” he declares. Domineering and possessive. Then almost softly, he utters, “Do you want to rest or watch a movie?”

My head snaps up in bewilderment. “Will you be watching or reading?”

“I owe you a movie night.”

Fuck sleep then. “Okay. Movie date it is.”

The metal in his eyes turning molten, he doesn’t correct me calling it adate.

I hide my pleased grin against his shoulder as we enter his masculine, modernly decorated bedroom. A tall, wooden built-in bookshelf in one corner of the room houses his prized collections of historical warfare books.

Stopping before his bed, instead of putting me down, he asks, “Pick your side.”

An innocent question. Yet the meaning is tenfold.

“Left,” I shyly reply. He rounds to my side, and I ask, “Which one is yours?”

“Right.”

I narrow my gaze, not believing his quick response. “Really?”

“From tonight, it is.”

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