Page 20 of The Boss
Alaric accepted the hit with a faint nod. “I’ll send updates. Lock your doors.” He looked to Leif. “Call if she sneezes.”
“She won’t,” Leif said, not looking away fromher.
Alaric’s mouth curved. “Don’t turn that into a rule.” He left them to the quiet, the door clicking shut behindhim.
The apartment went still again. The hush pressed in, broken only by the distant hum of the city beyond the glass.
Leif turned to her, eyes dark, voice final. “You’re staying here. until we find who tried to kill us.” He let the pause stretch, heavy with meaning. “But we both know that’s not the only reason.”
Mariah’s breath caught. The Brand pulsed in her palm, aperfect mirror of his. Her body still ached from the orgasm he’d torn from her, from the way he’d marked her, claimed her. She should’ve said no. She should’ve fought.
Instead, she whispered the truth she’d been running from since the moment she methim.
“I’m more afraid of not wanting to leave.”
Chapter 7
THE SILENCEafter Alaric and Magnus left pressed down. Their clipped voices and heavy boots still seemed to echo against the penthouse walls, but now that they were gone, the air changed. It wasn’t relief. It was heavier, hotter, more dangerous. Her confession hung in theair.
“I’m more afraid of not wanting to leave.”
Mariah stood frozen near the tall glass wall of Leif’s penthouse office, staring out at Dallas blazing bright in the morning sun, praying he wouldn’t comment on it. The Trinity shimmered in the distance, winding silver through the sprawl of the city. To anyone else it was just another weekday morning. To her, it was a miracle she was alive.
If Leif hadn’t paused with her in the hallway, holding her back with a steady hand at her waist as he bent close to speak, she’d have been inside the conference room when the blast ripped it apart. She should have been gone, shattered with all the others, including Leif. Instead, she was here, breathing in air that somehow tasted of smoke and ofhim.
Her reflection in the glass was almost unrecognizable. Damp ebony hair curling over her shoulders from the shower, bare facepale and too sharp around the eyes, his clothes draped over her body. The white lounge pants cinched at her waist were too big, sliding low on her hips. The white dress shirt was worse, gaping at the collar, sleeves rolled to her elbows, soft silk brushing bare skin where there should have been her own clothing. There was nothing beneath. No bra. No panties. The thought made her pulse trip and her body tighten with restless need. Every move reminded her that she was wrapped in him. Covered by him. Branded byhim.
She lifted her hand and saw it faintly glowing, the lion etched there pulsing as though it could sense his nearness. It burned hotter every time he came close, mocking her with each beat of her heart.
Leif’s voice cut through the silence, tough and commanding. “Sit down. Please.”
That final word stroked down her spine like a request she couldn’t disobey. She turned slowly, careful not to show how her stomach flipped, and crossed to the desk. She sank into the leather chair opposite, folding her hands in her lap to keep them steady. The distance between them seemed planned—he behind the desk, she in the chair—but she wasn’t fooled. He owned the air between them. He alwaysdid.
Leif leaned forward, bracing both palms flat against the polished wood. His forearms were taut, veins rising against the skin, the muscles shifting with quiet menace. His blue eyes locked on her. Fresh shirt, his sleeves also rolled back, white-blond hair curling faintly against his temple. He looked like power caged inside a man’s body. Control sharpened into flesh and bone. But hunger gnawed beneath it. She still sensed itnow.
“Three families didn’t send representatives,” he said. His voice was low, honed and decisive. “A funeral. Afever. Adelayed flight. None of it holds.”
Mariah forced her chin up. “People do miss meetings for real reasons.”
“Coincidence doesn’t time a bomb to detonate fifteen minutes after the planned start of the conference.” The words cracked the air like awhip.
Her breath caught. He was right. She hated that he was right. “Then it was one of them.”
“Or someone else entirely.” His hand swept across the desk, waking the monitor with a flick. Three faces lit the screen, cold in the sterile glow. “Someone who wasn’t invited. Someone who thought absence was insult enough to kill for.”
She studied the profiles—hard faces, men carved out of grudges and power. Her stomach twisted. “So which do you believe?”
His gaze slid back to hers. “That’s what we’re going to find out.”
They worked. The next hour blurred into the hum of the monitors, the shuffle of papers, the occasional clipped command into Leif’s phone. She sat at his side now, drawn into his orbit despite every warning screaming inside her. His presence pressed against her senses like the Brand on her palm. She couldn’t escape it. Didn’t wantto.
The footage played on loop. 7:45, the sweep. Nothing out of place. 7:52, the flowers arrived—too lush, too heavy, not on the order list. 8:15, the blast, fire blooming and devouring the screen. Every second was too accurate to be coincidence.
Mariah leaned forward, pointing at the blurred courier on the feed. Her shoulder brushed Leif’s arm. Heat seared through her, impossible to ignore. “Too small for hired muscle. Too efficient to be careless. He’s practiced.”
“Disposable,” Leif muttered. “They’ll vanish him before we find him.”
“Not if we move fast.”
